handleyourshit | TLV Inbox

This is Rosita. I'll hit you back when I can.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

"He's not. I'm not sure about Astarion--he's a different kind of vampire. Godric's a leader. He wants peace." Which, well, is catnip to Jesus Rovia.

And indeed: "Of course."

Which means it's a dice throw if Rosita will get along with him, but they can cross that bridge when their feet get wet.

"I talked to Astarion. He's pretty much the only person besides you that's talked to me, and not at me."

"He seems okay. I haven't talked to him much yet." But the fact he gets on with Rosita is a huge plus in his favor.

"I saw him during the... flood? Too. He was starving, I think, but he didn't even try to bite me," she adds, shrugging.

"He told me he's not allowed to drink from humans. I told him if he tried I'd stab him in the head, and he said I should aim for his heart."

So. That happened.

Huh. "I'm impressed. And now you know," if the head doesn't work there's always another place to stab.

"Humans work that way too," she reminds him, dry. It would have been her second choice regardless, if she was lucky enough to get a second chance.

"Malcolm tried to apologize to me but it was bullshit, and Shaw doesn't think she should have to talk to me directly, but other than that people have mostly left me alone."

Which is what she wants.

"Malcolm is... Still learning about apologies I think," he says, diplomatically.

"And Shaw's usually pretty direct? What did she do?"

"She asked you about me after - all this," she points out, gesturing vaguely.

"You two tried to handle it between yourselves. And I get keeping me and Root apart, but I can answer are you okay."

He frowns. "I wasn't trying to handle you or handle things for you. She was concerned you were hurt. But yeah next time I'm pretty sure she'll go straight to you."

"She said she went to you because I'm more aggressive than you are and she 'didn't want to deal with defensive posturing,'" she answers, her tone... unimpressed.

"And she didn't come to me. I contacted her. If you were having a problem with someone, would you want people to only come to me about it, to not even try to talk to you because they think you're difficult?"

"Of course not. And I don't expect you to like it either. But I don't mind helping while you figure things out. I know this place is...a lot. And the people are- difficult." Rosita isn't the only one with that label.

"She didn't seem like she understood why I was annoyed," she shrugs.

"We'll see what she does next time. I just don't want people running to you instead of me every time, and I don't need handled."

"Well if anyone comes to me I'll tell them to go to you." But there is a reason they come to Jesus first, and he hopes Rosita realizes that.

She does realize that, even if Shaw hadn't pointblank told her as much. She also thinks it's chickenshit just now.

"Did you tell her to go to me?" she asks. She just wants to know.

"I...might have told her that I want her and Root to both talk to you." He hesitates. "And she might have suggested a dinner together. And I think it's a good idea."

She just stares at him for a moment. Not surprised, no, not at all - and not horrified or annoyed.

Just studying him before she sighs.

"Do you really?"

"Yes, I really do." Because Root thinks they're even, and Rosita is capable of making alliances with people she's punched. They've both done that several times by now. "I like Root. I think you will too, when she's not being impulsive and violent."

"Impulsive and violent is kind of my people," she huffs at him, but he's not wrong. She's more annoyed that Root initiated a fight she lost pretty easily than that she did at all, but other than that, she just shakes her head.

"Was it really Shaw's idea?"

"It was, but she beat me to it. I would've come up with it sooner or later," he grins. It's just how he operates, trying to get people to get along.

"So you'll do it?"

She doesn't want to do it. She still remembers too clearly how Alexandria tried to welcome Rick's group in with a pot luck, with a party, and how hard she'd worked to encourage Abraham to go to it. How hard she'd worked to get him to fit in, to meet people, to make friends because this was home now.

God, what a fucking idiot. But if she says no, he'll ask why, and she might have to explain all of that; it's easier, then, to just nod as she flips the ice pack over and presses it back to her face again.

"No promises for how it'll go," she warns.

"As long as no one gets stabbed with anything I'll count it a success." Maybe they'll have soup. No forks or knives.

"Have you thought anymore about staying at my place? even just a couple nights a week?"

"God, you are fucking relentless," she mutters, not quite under her breath, but there's no teeth to it.

Louder: "What, you want me to sign a lease or something? I said I would."

Jesus grins. "I just like hearing you say it," he teases. "I've been toying with the idea of getting a tv. Do you remember bad tv?"

"What stations would we even get out here?" she snorts, because yes she does, and it hadn't even occurred to her.

He laughs. "My inmate watches bad movies all the time, and I saw another warden watching cooking shows. The Admiral must have some kind of magic cable connection. What did you binge on? Talk shows? Reality TV?"