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
"Yeah," she agrees. Yeah, stores are hard.
"Why me?" she asks after working a moment. "I will, but why not one of your people?"
"Why me?" she asks after working a moment. "I will, but why not one of your people?"
"Sara and Alaric... their worlds exist. Still." They haven't seen it all end. They haven't had to survive a nuclear blast.
Neither has Rosita but her equivalent isn't far off.
Neither has Rosita but her equivalent isn't far off.
"Which means stores aren't a problem for them," she points out. Not condescending or impatient but it's not a good answer for this as she understands it yet.
"Mm." Which means 'yes'. He looks at his hands. "They don't understand. Why it's hard. That it is."
"Yeah," she offers after a moment - and that much, she does understand. He doesn't have to explain about the myriad things that normal people - in this regard, anyway - will never have the capacity to understand because they've never had to survive it.
"You don't want to have to explain to them?"
"You don't want to have to explain to them?"
Someday, Rosita thinks, she'll eat like she doesn't expect to starve again; today is not that day. She listens, and she nods readily, but she eats without stopping as well until she catches herself.
Slow down. There's time.
"You haven't told me about the aunties," she huffs, mock offended. She knows, of course. She had aunties too, related and not. But she wants to hear it from him.
Slow down. There's time.
"You haven't told me about the aunties," she huffs, mock offended. She knows, of course. She had aunties too, related and not. But she wants to hear it from him.
"Not at all," she admits.
"It seemed so important, before. Then laws didn't mean anything at all, you can't eat or hide behind pieces of paper, and I realized all of it was literally nothing."
"It seemed so important, before. Then laws didn't mean anything at all, you can't eat or hide behind pieces of paper, and I realized all of it was literally nothing."
"I haven't," Carver realizes, and his expression softens a little. It's easier talk about these things than the bruises around his throat, the shit that went down here and got him spun out. Some of the history from back home is tender, a break only just healed, but not that.
Nah. Not that.
"I grew up nearby the Ute Mountain reservation. My grandma, she knew a bunch of people there and they looked after us even though we weren't part of the tribe." He smiles at the remembering: those were good times. Good people. "Auntie Teresa, she was my favorite. She and her husband, they had horses. Taught me how to ride. And I'd hang out with the cousins. They treated us like family. Course, my grandma was dating all their brothers, but they just rolled with it."
He huffs.
"My grandma was a little wild. Good and bad ways. She was drunk more often than she wasn't. Nearly burned our house down twice. But we did all right, in the end."
Nah. Not that.
"I grew up nearby the Ute Mountain reservation. My grandma, she knew a bunch of people there and they looked after us even though we weren't part of the tribe." He smiles at the remembering: those were good times. Good people. "Auntie Teresa, she was my favorite. She and her husband, they had horses. Taught me how to ride. And I'd hang out with the cousins. They treated us like family. Course, my grandma was dating all their brothers, but they just rolled with it."
He huffs.
"My grandma was a little wild. Good and bad ways. She was drunk more often than she wasn't. Nearly burned our house down twice. But we did all right, in the end."
"Can't. Can't explain." He frowns at a scar on his wrist. "Words don't cover it. For you either. Alaric can see my thoughts. But still. I don't understand what happened; how can he?"
"I know, but I want some laws to matter in the communities. I want us to have some kind of guidelines. Maybe we don't need meter maids and inheritance law anymore but we should all be able to agree some things deserve correction." He can't stop thinking about the communities and he stops himself. He can't ever go back.
"Do you hate being the leader here?"
"Do you hate being the leader here?"
She hasn't forgotten the bruises or the marks, of course. Her eyes catch on them occasionally as she looks at him, not staring, not horrified or shocked, but still concerned.
There's time. She listens to him talk about his aunties and his cousins, about Teresa and his wild grandmother, about the things in between the lines - not belonging to the tribe really, being drunk more often than she wasn't - and she picks the meat out of the pie filling to eat first.
"We had horses, back home. A few. I'd been around them some before, back in Dallas, but never really ridden or driven them. I liked it, though, once I learned." And of course she learned.
"I'm glad you had them. The aunties, the tribe. I had a big family I was related to, and I knew who most of them were, they knew who I was, but I wasn't really close to any of them."
There's time. She listens to him talk about his aunties and his cousins, about Teresa and his wild grandmother, about the things in between the lines - not belonging to the tribe really, being drunk more often than she wasn't - and she picks the meat out of the pie filling to eat first.
"We had horses, back home. A few. I'd been around them some before, back in Dallas, but never really ridden or driven them. I liked it, though, once I learned." And of course she learned.
"I'm glad you had them. The aunties, the tribe. I had a big family I was related to, and I knew who most of them were, they knew who I was, but I wasn't really close to any of them."
"It was good when I was growing up. Lots of people around to teach me things."
His smile fades a little.
"It didn't matter that I wasn't part of the tribe. Until my grandma died, and then it did."
His smile fades a little.
"It didn't matter that I wasn't part of the tribe. Until my grandma died, and then it did."
"...yeah," she agrees, gently, because that's why she's not close to hers. His grandma was part of the tribe, and he came with her. Without her - without her own mother - the tie is broken, and the obligation gets forgotten if there ever was one.
"How old were you?"
"How old were you?"
"Twenty-two. My mom'd died during my first tour."
He shakes his head. He'd been a kid still, but old enough to go to war. Old enough to think he knew everything.
"I got leave to go to the funerals. Only, I couldn't get back in time for my grandma's. I sold her house, her truck. Gave the dogs away. And then I back to Afghanistan."
He shakes his head. He'd been a kid still, but old enough to go to war. Old enough to think he knew everything.
"I got leave to go to the funerals. Only, I couldn't get back in time for my grandma's. I sold her house, her truck. Gave the dogs away. And then I back to Afghanistan."
She nods. Older than she was thinking, younger than she'd hoped. But he has his military tribe by then.
No wonder he was easy pickings for Pope.
"I'm glad you were able to get her affairs settled at least." That's a shitty thing to say. "I'm sorry."
Better but only just.
No wonder he was easy pickings for Pope.
"I'm glad you were able to get her affairs settled at least." That's a shitty thing to say. "I'm sorry."
Better but only just.
"We have some," she reminds him, more gently than she might have otherwise when she looks up and sees something behind his eyes.
"But they're all mostly common sense. It's different." It all applies, or no one survives.
She snorts. "I'm still not convinced I am the leader. I think I'm just the meanest."
"But they're all mostly common sense. It's different." It all applies, or no one survives.
She snorts. "I'm still not convinced I am the leader. I think I'm just the meanest."
"There aren't words for everything," she finally says, digging through her pack for a solution for a dressing.
"There aren't reasons. Sometimes just doing whatever you have to in order to find the words is what it has to be."
"There aren't reasons. Sometimes just doing whatever you have to in order to find the words is what it has to be."
"I squared everything away," he agrees softly. "I owed her that."
He tried his best to be a good grandson. But after, there was no playbook. No one waiting to tell him what to do next.
"She never forgave me for enlisting. But, I thought I had to do it. What'd you know when you're eighteen, anyway?"
He tried his best to be a good grandson. But after, there was no playbook. No one waiting to tell him what to do next.
"She never forgave me for enlisting. But, I thought I had to do it. What'd you know when you're eighteen, anyway?"
"I'd bet rations she understood," she says quietly after a moment. Carefully.
"I'm sure it still hurt and she was still upset, but I don't see how she couldn't have understood. That's how it has to go. The first generation wants things better for the next."
She guesses. It's trite and it feels like something placating, but it's one of the things she hopes can still be true. Like Carver wanted better than fighting and starving and hurting for Matthew.
"I'm sure it still hurt and she was still upset, but I don't see how she couldn't have understood. That's how it has to go. The first generation wants things better for the next."
She guesses. It's trite and it feels like something placating, but it's one of the things she hopes can still be true. Like Carver wanted better than fighting and starving and hurting for Matthew.
“Yeah,” he agrees, soft and a little sad. “She didn’t want history to repeat itself.”
But their family was a line of soldiers and alcoholics, and Carver knows he ended up mirroring his mother in more ways than one.
“But I had a good start. Not everyone gets that, you know? And I tried to remember those parts when i was with Matthew.”
But their family was a line of soldiers and alcoholics, and Carver knows he ended up mirroring his mother in more ways than one.
“But I had a good start. Not everyone gets that, you know? And I tried to remember those parts when i was with Matthew.”
"It shows, Brandon," she promises him, swallowing quietly.
"I know it's hard for you to hear sometimes, or believe. But even when you don't know how to do something, how to be something -" As he's often said hi smother didn't know what to do with him, or how to be a mother. "- you try. Even if you're not perfect, even when it's ugly, you try, and that shows who you are."
She doesn't look away when she talks. She wants him to know this is exactly what she sees.
"I know it's hard for you to hear sometimes, or believe. But even when you don't know how to do something, how to be something -" As he's often said hi smother didn't know what to do with him, or how to be a mother. "- you try. Even if you're not perfect, even when it's ugly, you try, and that shows who you are."
She doesn't look away when she talks. She wants him to know this is exactly what she sees.
It’s a careful thing, the way they’re watching each other. They’re trying to be people, Carver thinks, trying to be decent to each other even when this place makes it so goddamn complicated. It matters.
Breathe out, Carver thinks, and he does. He meets Rosita’s eyes, and he nods. Maybe he can’t always hear it, or believe it, but he’s trying. They both are.
“Thank you,” he says, very softly.
Breathe out, Carver thinks, and he does. He meets Rosita’s eyes, and he nods. Maybe he can’t always hear it, or believe it, but he’s trying. They both are.
“Thank you,” he says, very softly.
Her lips twitch, a larger smile hiding behind the smaller one, cautious. She isn't ashamed of it, not really, but it's still complicated. Still tenuous for her, still almost directly on one of few weak spots capable of bringing her to her knees.
But she's trying too. She smiles, he says thank you, and nothing hurts - or at least nothing hurts too much to bear.
"You're the one doing the hard work," she points out. Then she picks up her empty plate. "Literally and figuratively."
But she's trying too. She smiles, he says thank you, and nothing hurts - or at least nothing hurts too much to bear.
"You're the one doing the hard work," she points out. Then she picks up her empty plate. "Literally and figuratively."
Carver huffs at that, watching her with a quiet sort of fondness. “Careful—she’ll go for your crumbs.”
Indeed, the kitten is giving Rosita’s plate a very careful look.
“It helps having something real to do,” he adds, a little more seriously. “And it’s not so loud here.”
That helps, too.
Indeed, the kitten is giving Rosita’s plate a very careful look.
“It helps having something real to do,” he adds, a little more seriously. “And it’s not so loud here.”
That helps, too.
She glances at the kitten, waggling her fingers in front of her to distract her, to give them each something to focus on when she asks, "How's that been?"
She already knows. He's here for the quiet. He can answer or not and she won't push, but sheal asks, just in case.
She already knows. He's here for the quiet. He can answer or not and she won't push, but sheal asks, just in case.
Page 72 of 100
Page 72 of 100