Rosita Espinosa (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
handleyourshit) wrote2032-07-23 01:51 pm
handleyourshit) wrote2032-07-23 01:51 pm
"So far." She shrugs, but it's not off the table that Carver will someday try something on with one of them - in fact she'd bet money on it. Until then though, there's a kind of camaraderie he seems to be willing to entertain as well, so she'll claim him as one of hers.
"And I'm glad I have Jesus." That part is unequivocally good by her estimate. "I don't take that for granted, you know?"
"And I'm glad I have Jesus." That part is unequivocally good by her estimate. "I don't take that for granted, you know?"
"It's a backup. I'm not just going to let him hang, or vice." Now or ever.
"But we both figure if we can find some other connections it would be for the best. He's always liked meeting new people anyway, and I'm not his type."
"But we both figure if we can find some other connections it would be for the best. He's always liked meeting new people anyway, and I'm not his type."
"Yeah, that's what I heard, but that's not how the language reads."
There's a very specific line about being able to provide for a Submissive's sexual needs, and she supposes that could be just giving them free rein to find someone they're attracted to and comfortable with, but she's wary all the same.
"And we don't need things to go weird between us if it can be settled another way. I'll manage, but I'm still pretty new."
There's a very specific line about being able to provide for a Submissive's sexual needs, and she supposes that could be just giving them free rein to find someone they're attracted to and comfortable with, but she's wary all the same.
"And we don't need things to go weird between us if it can be settled another way. I'll manage, but I'm still pretty new."
"The language is vague enough people find all kinds of loopholes. Some even get away with making quota without having sex themselves... so if it's ever prison or signing with someone you're not into that way, all that matters is you trust them."
If that trust isn't there, a sub could actually take pretty bad advantage of her, but Drake figures Rosita is smart enough to realize that herself.
"Made any friends yet? Prospects or not."
If that trust isn't there, a sub could actually take pretty bad advantage of her, but Drake figures Rosita is smart enough to realize that herself.
"Made any friends yet? Prospects or not."
"You know - before the world as we knew it ended where I'm from, I was working at a law firm. I never thought I'd use that bullshit ever again." It had, in fact, been especially useless in the world they were left with instead.
And now here she is. "If I can get my hands on some samples, I'll make it work - for me, and for whoever." But he keeps mentioning trust and he's not the only one, and Rosita knows for a fact there's only one person here she does.
"Yes and no. I make friends wherever I go, you know? But there's friends and there's friends."
And now here she is. "If I can get my hands on some samples, I'll make it work - for me, and for whoever." But he keeps mentioning trust and he's not the only one, and Rosita knows for a fact there's only one person here she does.
"Yes and no. I make friends wherever I go, you know? But there's friends and there's friends."
[ It's been some time. For him, it's between twenty years, although he didn't remember Duplicity in that time. It's been several weeks for her, and she's had to live through every moment of that, with every memory.
Just because he's sure she's tough enough to do that doesn't mean that she shouldn't get the apology she deserves. He'd like to do it face to face, but the eyepatch still feels strange to him, and he's aware she might not want to talk with some grown-up arsehole. ]
We didn't trade names, in the Pit. But you and I had a conversation about cake, although really it was about me being bloody stupid.
I'd like to apologise to you. About shrugging off what you had to say.
Just because he's sure she's tough enough to do that doesn't mean that she shouldn't get the apology she deserves. He'd like to do it face to face, but the eyepatch still feels strange to him, and he's aware she might not want to talk with some grown-up arsehole. ]
We didn't trade names, in the Pit. But you and I had a conversation about cake, although really it was about me being bloody stupid.
I'd like to apologise to you. About shrugging off what you had to say.
[It's not the first time she's survived a hostage situation with people who were determined to do whatever they were going to do and not listen or cooperate with anyone else; and to their credit, she's sure the people those who died intervened on behalf of are grateful. She's not built anymore to call that a win, though. She'd rather have had someone capable of fighting at the end when the big push did, eventually, come.
She saw him die. She saw his body carted off and his people mourning it. She felt her skin crawl with the ingrained urge to make sure he stayed down and the knowledge that no one did, but there was nothing she could do. And now here he is on her communicator, someone different, but the bones underneath are the same. She's learned how to recognize that, too.
She watches it a few times from where she's burrowed into blankets and pillows in Jesus's loft, trying to decide if she trusts it or not. Ben came back. She acted like a total ass with him, and she's not exactly sorry given the givens, but she does regret treating him badly.
She watches it again, then flicks on the audio, her voice tired but guarded.]
No one was at their best. If this is really you, I think you paid enough, and you don't owe me anything.
She saw him die. She saw his body carted off and his people mourning it. She felt her skin crawl with the ingrained urge to make sure he stayed down and the knowledge that no one did, but there was nothing she could do. And now here he is on her communicator, someone different, but the bones underneath are the same. She's learned how to recognize that, too.
She watches it a few times from where she's burrowed into blankets and pillows in Jesus's loft, trying to decide if she trusts it or not. Ben came back. She acted like a total ass with him, and she's not exactly sorry given the givens, but she does regret treating him badly.
She watches it again, then flicks on the audio, her voice tired but guarded.]
No one was at their best. If this is really you, I think you paid enough, and you don't owe me anything.
[ He can't see her expression, her camera is off, and that makes it tricky for him to work out exactly what she is thinking. Still, she deserves her privacy, and who knows what went on in that place after he... well. After his memories cut out all together. ]
No, none of us were. But I should have been better than I was, and listened when someone had a better idea than I did.
[ It's easier to apologise, when you aren't trying to prove yourself all the time. When you acknowledge you still have things to learn.
He reaches up to the bridge of his nose, fresh scar tissue pulling somewhat and he tries to ease that a little. ]
I'm not sure who else I would be, in truth. Nor would I wish anyone else into being me either.
My name is Jacob. Jacob Frye. If you ever want to talk about... it. Then I've become a better listener.
No, none of us were. But I should have been better than I was, and listened when someone had a better idea than I did.
[ It's easier to apologise, when you aren't trying to prove yourself all the time. When you acknowledge you still have things to learn.
He reaches up to the bridge of his nose, fresh scar tissue pulling somewhat and he tries to ease that a little. ]
I'm not sure who else I would be, in truth. Nor would I wish anyone else into being me either.
My name is Jacob. Jacob Frye. If you ever want to talk about... it. Then I've become a better listener.
Where I'm from, people who die in front of me don't come back in any way that lets them make a phone call. It takes some getting used to, is all.
[She does not want to talk about it. She doesn't want to talk about any of it, not before, not during, not after, not any of the other things going on that makes her want to enforce distance between herself and everyone she would have to explain her life to - which is why she doesn't hang up. Nothing good happens from only doing what you want, and he clearly does want to talk about something. She would never have said anything to him again if he hadn't started first.
So:]
Rosita Espinosa. I should probably go outside today. You like the Up or the Down?
[She does not want to talk about it. She doesn't want to talk about any of it, not before, not during, not after, not any of the other things going on that makes her want to enforce distance between herself and everyone she would have to explain her life to - which is why she doesn't hang up. Nothing good happens from only doing what you want, and he clearly does want to talk about something. She would never have said anything to him again if he hadn't started first.
So:]
Rosita Espinosa. I should probably go outside today. You like the Up or the Down?
[ Not wanting to talk is a problem, when it's healthier to let this out. Its clear from the way his expression changes, the way his brows raise momentarily, that he has questions about what she's just said. Unfortunately she doesn't seem to be in the mood to answer any of those questions, and he'll respect that. But it makes him wonder exactly what she does to people who die near her.
And, he supposes, it begs the question how many people stop being dead to use the phone. ]
The Up. The natural light is... Nice. And the weather isn't bad either, if you do want some air.
And, he supposes, it begs the question how many people stop being dead to use the phone. ]
The Up. The natural light is... Nice. And the weather isn't bad either, if you do want some air.
Up it is. The park on the north side has nice trails.
You know it?
[Jesus will be happy to hear she went out without him prompting her, and not to a bar or club; now that she's decided to do it she does think some air might be nice. The open space that comes with it will just have to be something she deals with.]
I can be there in an hour.
You know it?
[Jesus will be happy to hear she went out without him prompting her, and not to a bar or club; now that she's decided to do it she does think some air might be nice. The open space that comes with it will just have to be something she deals with.]
I can be there in an hour.
I'm confident I know the one you mean. An hour should give me plenty of time to get over there.
[ He appreciates that it might well be a concession to the events theyve bith been through.
Trapped inside, unnatural light, stagnant air. The city's not exactly open and airy and bright, but its a damn paradise in comparision to the caves. Or the cell Jack had kept him in.
But he tries not to linger on those thohghts.]
I'll be the English man in the dark clothes and with only one eye.
[ He appreciates that it might well be a concession to the events theyve bith been through.
Trapped inside, unnatural light, stagnant air. The city's not exactly open and airy and bright, but its a damn paradise in comparision to the caves. Or the cell Jack had kept him in.
But he tries not to linger on those thohghts.]
I'll be the English man in the dark clothes and with only one eye.
And I'll be the hot latina way out of your league but talking to you anyway.
[The words could be flirtatious in nature, but she offers them almost rote, certainly dry-toned; they don't mean anything, and she's hanging up a moment later.
It's fucking weird, talking to a man several years older than the one she spoke to, telling her details of a conversation no one else was there for. The Creator has pulled similar stunts, but she can no more explain that than she can this, so she has to let it go for now.
She turns up walking along the tree line, her left arm splinted and in a sling strapped against her ribs and torso, her other hand shoved in a pocket. She's dressed functionally in layers, a tanktop and a loose button down with the left sleeve torn completely off for the splint, jeans tucked into boots, and a large fixed blade knife worn openly at her hip. Her long, dark hair is pulled through the back of a military style cap, and she has a lot more color to her than the last time they saw each other, watchful around her in the habitual way of someone who is used to walking in places that aren't safe.
She greets him with a crooked smile and:] Looks like you were right to be confident .
[The words could be flirtatious in nature, but she offers them almost rote, certainly dry-toned; they don't mean anything, and she's hanging up a moment later.
It's fucking weird, talking to a man several years older than the one she spoke to, telling her details of a conversation no one else was there for. The Creator has pulled similar stunts, but she can no more explain that than she can this, so she has to let it go for now.
She turns up walking along the tree line, her left arm splinted and in a sling strapped against her ribs and torso, her other hand shoved in a pocket. She's dressed functionally in layers, a tanktop and a loose button down with the left sleeve torn completely off for the splint, jeans tucked into boots, and a large fixed blade knife worn openly at her hip. Her long, dark hair is pulled through the back of a military style cap, and she has a lot more color to her than the last time they saw each other, watchful around her in the habitual way of someone who is used to walking in places that aren't safe.
She greets him with a crooked smile and:] Looks like you were right to be confident .
[ "Several" is a kindness. It's been twenty years for him, enough time for his entire life to change completely. Enough time for him to have lived and loved and lost over and over and over again, but thats the way of the world.
The man she meets now is the same man from the Pit. But there's grey in his hair, crow's feet at his eye, and, well. Only the one eye. But that appears more recent than the rest, something thats only just healed and scarred. The city likes to try and fix these things, when people appear. Pity they don't help with the trauma.
His own garb is dark, his coat long and worn, more antique that old fashioned, and yet the most noticeable thing is the leather gauntlet on his left wrist, the glove armoured over the knuckles, his clothing pulled free of it. But he's paying it no heed.
Her crooked smile suits her, but with the cap casting shadow over her eyes he isn't sure it goes all the way up. ]
Looks like I was. I'm glad someone set that arm.
The man she meets now is the same man from the Pit. But there's grey in his hair, crow's feet at his eye, and, well. Only the one eye. But that appears more recent than the rest, something thats only just healed and scarred. The city likes to try and fix these things, when people appear. Pity they don't help with the trauma.
His own garb is dark, his coat long and worn, more antique that old fashioned, and yet the most noticeable thing is the leather gauntlet on his left wrist, the glove armoured over the knuckles, his clothing pulled free of it. But he's paying it no heed.
Her crooked smile suits her, but with the cap casting shadow over her eyes he isn't sure it goes all the way up. ]
Looks like I was. I'm glad someone set that arm.
It doesn't quite reach her eyes, but then, she hasn't quite decided what to make of him yet. Her nerves are still buzzing from the last few weeks, from being semi convinced that at any moment someone is going to try and take her again because they still don't know what they wanted - and this time she'll be ready, one way or another.
It means that even if she were used to such things as the dead coming back to life as anything other than a walker, she'd be suspicious of such a big change. She can recognize the same features in his face as the younger man she talked to in the pit, older now and weathered by life as much as anything, but she doesn't know the first thing about what it means.
She looks down at her arm, flexing her fingers, curling them again loosely. "Maybe it'll actually get to heal this time," is her comment, dry and without any real hope in it. She notches her chin at him, at his eye: "What happened to you?"
It means that even if she were used to such things as the dead coming back to life as anything other than a walker, she'd be suspicious of such a big change. She can recognize the same features in his face as the younger man she talked to in the pit, older now and weathered by life as much as anything, but she doesn't know the first thing about what it means.
She looks down at her arm, flexing her fingers, curling them again loosely. "Maybe it'll actually get to heal this time," is her comment, dry and without any real hope in it. She notches her chin at him, at his eye: "What happened to you?"
She doesn't know him, she has no reason to trust him. That's why he stays in front of her, hands visible, no movement fast. They went through too much down there to trust so readily, and she didn't seem the most trusting person to start with.
"Hope so. Life is better with two arms."
But if it doesn't heal, she's the sort of woman who would portable adapt very well to only having one. But that doesn't mean that's anyone's first choice.
"I know some people who have talent with healing. Vrenille. Chris Sonom. They might be able to help."
He says that casually, just in case she doesn't know of them, of the possibility of them being able to assist. Chris helped when his eye was still hurting the scar tissue too tight still. He wouldn't begrudge anyone getting their pain taken care of.
"I was stabbed. Not here. I don't remember what happened down in the Pit. But I lived back home in London, for nineteen years. Surgeon there put me under to finish clearing up the mess- and I came round back here. In a cave."
That's it. Well, the abridged version. She won't care about the other details and he doesn't care to tell them.
"Hope so. Life is better with two arms."
But if it doesn't heal, she's the sort of woman who would portable adapt very well to only having one. But that doesn't mean that's anyone's first choice.
"I know some people who have talent with healing. Vrenille. Chris Sonom. They might be able to help."
He says that casually, just in case she doesn't know of them, of the possibility of them being able to assist. Chris helped when his eye was still hurting the scar tissue too tight still. He wouldn't begrudge anyone getting their pain taken care of.
"I was stabbed. Not here. I don't remember what happened down in the Pit. But I lived back home in London, for nineteen years. Surgeon there put me under to finish clearing up the mess- and I came round back here. In a cave."
That's it. Well, the abridged version. She won't care about the other details and he doesn't care to tell them.
Rosita has had to adjust to a lot on the fly in the last few months and quite frankly, she thinks she's done admirably. Amazingly, even. She thinks she deserves a goddamn medal because in what world can someone just switch worlds for half a lifetime and then come back like it's nothing?
It gives her hope in a weird way, and it scares her in another. If she dies here, maybe she could get to go home, see her people again, sleep in her own bed; if Jesus dies here, maybe he doesn't come back again, maybe he wakes up in a wooden coffin buried under fresh dirt. She weighs this information for a moment, then tips her head the way she'd already been walking, a silent warning before she steps out again, ignoring the comment about healing for now.
"I know someone else that died in the pit too. He woke up in the Springs, but he didn't go home. Just lost his memory for a bit." So she's not sure what to think. "How can you say you don't remember what happened, but you remember we talked?"
It gives her hope in a weird way, and it scares her in another. If she dies here, maybe she could get to go home, see her people again, sleep in her own bed; if Jesus dies here, maybe he doesn't come back again, maybe he wakes up in a wooden coffin buried under fresh dirt. She weighs this information for a moment, then tips her head the way she'd already been walking, a silent warning before she steps out again, ignoring the comment about healing for now.
"I know someone else that died in the pit too. He woke up in the Springs, but he didn't go home. Just lost his memory for a bit." So she's not sure what to think. "How can you say you don't remember what happened, but you remember we talked?"
If only it were so easy. It isn't, but over the years Jacob has learnt his lesson. He can't go back to the bottle, it won't solve his problems. He can't throw his toys out the pram. He can't just give up. There's a lot of people he has to support, a lot of lives that require him to focus and work hard. So he keeps pushing. He tries to do the right thing, and he tries to make up for his mistakes.
One mistake was giving this woman shit when she was trying to point out the truth.
He will walk with her, keeping her on the right side of him. After all, his left is a blind spot now.
"I hope he's recovering." Jacob replies, when she mentions she knows someone else who passed away down there. "Dying is not as easy as I thought it might be."
Her question is a valid one, and it's one he's been trying to answer too. His memory is patchy, but he remembers the earlier days more so than the latter.
"My current theory is that when we talked, I hadn't taken so many blows to the head. My body was still...functional. I can't say I remember every detail of our discussion."
One mistake was giving this woman shit when she was trying to point out the truth.
He will walk with her, keeping her on the right side of him. After all, his left is a blind spot now.
"I hope he's recovering." Jacob replies, when she mentions she knows someone else who passed away down there. "Dying is not as easy as I thought it might be."
Her question is a valid one, and it's one he's been trying to answer too. His memory is patchy, but he remembers the earlier days more so than the latter.
"My current theory is that when we talked, I hadn't taken so many blows to the head. My body was still...functional. I can't say I remember every detail of our discussion."
Rosita doesn't mind the arrangement, since it puts her bad arm on the inside between them; it gives her range to bring her good arm up if he tries anything, but lets her guard them both from her side anyway if someone else tried something. She can make it work. She always makes it work.
"I'm beginning to wonder if I lied about it to all those people all this time too," she mutters, because apparently everything doesn't just stop. But even if he doesn't remember what they talked about, she does. She remembers him coming out with that out of nowhere.
She's able to feel it, now. "Probably for the best. I won't say I wasn't myself at the time, but I will say I was the smallest version of me. Not one I'd want most people forming an opinion on."
It's not shame that makes her say this, not for a moment. It's concession that even though she doesn't regret who she becomes when survival is on the table and she can't be made to, she knows it's not sustainable once the crisis is over.
"I'm beginning to wonder if I lied about it to all those people all this time too," she mutters, because apparently everything doesn't just stop. But even if he doesn't remember what they talked about, she does. She remembers him coming out with that out of nowhere.
She's able to feel it, now. "Probably for the best. I won't say I wasn't myself at the time, but I will say I was the smallest version of me. Not one I'd want most people forming an opinion on."
It's not shame that makes her say this, not for a moment. It's concession that even though she doesn't regret who she becomes when survival is on the table and she can't be made to, she knows it's not sustainable once the crisis is over.
She will no doubt notice the way he keeps his head turned, in part to keep an eye on her, but also to turn his gaze to the left, watching the rest of the park. Thankfully, his sight is not the only keen sense he has. His hearing is still better than most people's, and his Eagle vision is unimpeded by the loss of one eye. Like her, he's watching. Quietly, casually, as if this way of walking and talking is second nature, assessing what might be a risk and how to deal with it whole holding a conversation.
"I don't think you were lying. I think the circumstances play a big part in what the truth is, ultimately."
After all, here? Everything is different from home. His home, her home. Most people's homes. That doesn't make her wrong about the situation she's used to in her own world. Nor does it make it different here.
"I think the people left behind still have it worse. I was none the wiser back home. But my contract partner here? He mourned me. And he still is. I'm not the man he knew, and thats hurting him."
He's twenty years older, for a start. Less fun, less attractive, less jaded.
"I'm afraid I wasn't the version of myself I would like most people to meet either." He will admit that freely, taking his cue from her. Scared, in pain, and looking for a way out. "I won't go as far to ask for a fresh start, but perhaps a continued examination of the facts?"
"I don't think you were lying. I think the circumstances play a big part in what the truth is, ultimately."
After all, here? Everything is different from home. His home, her home. Most people's homes. That doesn't make her wrong about the situation she's used to in her own world. Nor does it make it different here.
"I think the people left behind still have it worse. I was none the wiser back home. But my contract partner here? He mourned me. And he still is. I'm not the man he knew, and thats hurting him."
He's twenty years older, for a start. Less fun, less attractive, less jaded.
"I'm afraid I wasn't the version of myself I would like most people to meet either." He will admit that freely, taking his cue from her. Scared, in pain, and looking for a way out. "I won't go as far to ask for a fresh start, but perhaps a continued examination of the facts?"
There's a whole lot to unpack there, and she's still deciding if she actually wants any of it. If she wants to open the door for him to ask similar things of her. The people back home, after all, are still mourning Jesus while this morning he made her breakfast; they might be mourning her, although she has no clear memory of what might have happened like the others here who know they've died. Maybe it was that quick, that complete for her. Maybe it just means she's not dead.
Either way, she's still worn out enough and the loss is still fresh and unprocessed enough that here, away from Jesus who has his own issues to deal with around his death and doesn't need hers, she feels the faint pinprick sting at the corners of her eyes and shoves it back mercilessly to focus on what Jacob is saying. It's stupid, anyway.
"Alright. I'm game for that. We've already started with names, so the next logical step is are you reaching out to a lot of people from the pit, or is there another reason you wanted to talk to me again?"
Either way, she's still worn out enough and the loss is still fresh and unprocessed enough that here, away from Jesus who has his own issues to deal with around his death and doesn't need hers, she feels the faint pinprick sting at the corners of her eyes and shoves it back mercilessly to focus on what Jacob is saying. It's stupid, anyway.
"Alright. I'm game for that. We've already started with names, so the next logical step is are you reaching out to a lot of people from the pit, or is there another reason you wanted to talk to me again?"
It's a lot, but it can stay in its box. Why unpack before you've moved in? There's no need for them to share those wounds, no need for any more than a passing comment at this stage, a nod of I understand. Sometimes that's all you need, a little squeeze of the soul to say you aren't alone with the thoughts and the pain.
He notices the slight tension that goes through her shoulders and doesn't press the point, let the moment pass and ease into nothing again, let it ease before it causes more upset.
Her question is a good one- he assumed she would go for a more personal, more usual question, something about him, but perhaps the question she actually asks will tell her far more than asking about hobbies and living situations and all the rest of it. He can answer it too, and perhaps far more easily than he could tell him facts and figures about himself at the moment- he's still struggling with the memories of being a young man here, less than a month ago, and being a man in his forties that has lived a full life elsewhere.
"I'm trying to speak to as many as I can. We went through something terrible down there. Even the ones who walked or limped out, the experience leaves scars. I wanted to make sure everyone who needed it had the chance to talk. And, I suppose for myself? It's cathartic."
He notices the slight tension that goes through her shoulders and doesn't press the point, let the moment pass and ease into nothing again, let it ease before it causes more upset.
Her question is a good one- he assumed she would go for a more personal, more usual question, something about him, but perhaps the question she actually asks will tell her far more than asking about hobbies and living situations and all the rest of it. He can answer it too, and perhaps far more easily than he could tell him facts and figures about himself at the moment- he's still struggling with the memories of being a young man here, less than a month ago, and being a man in his forties that has lived a full life elsewhere.
"I'm trying to speak to as many as I can. We went through something terrible down there. Even the ones who walked or limped out, the experience leaves scars. I wanted to make sure everyone who needed it had the chance to talk. And, I suppose for myself? It's cathartic."
She hadn't bothered to expect any answer in particular - she doesn't know him that well or vice. All the same it's an answer that surprises her because she hears it so rarely, and that shows in the brief glance she spares him, measuring and sidelong.
Everyone where she's from has trauma of one kind or another to spare; everyone still alive, that wasn't able to find a community from the drop, has done something they're not proud of. Usually multiple somethings, possibly something they're outright ashamed of, horrified by. No one is eager to talk about those things, so the standard is not to ask. Not to try.
Rosita is an exception, sometimes, when someone is struggling enough that it risks them or someone else. Siddiq every now and again, Jesus... frequently, honestly. Maybe King Ezekiel. That's pretty much it in her experience, so she studies Jacob now and wonders - "Why? Okay, for yourself, got it. But why is it your responsibility to worry about the rest?"
Everyone where she's from has trauma of one kind or another to spare; everyone still alive, that wasn't able to find a community from the drop, has done something they're not proud of. Usually multiple somethings, possibly something they're outright ashamed of, horrified by. No one is eager to talk about those things, so the standard is not to ask. Not to try.
Rosita is an exception, sometimes, when someone is struggling enough that it risks them or someone else. Siddiq every now and again, Jesus... frequently, honestly. Maybe King Ezekiel. That's pretty much it in her experience, so she studies Jacob now and wonders - "Why? Okay, for yourself, got it. But why is it your responsibility to worry about the rest?"
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