handleyourshit | Duplicity Inbox

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

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"Sex is like a job here though." He has more sex now than he ever did in the old world, and he has to work hard not to take it for granted.

"Yeah, that's why 'had'," she chuckles, because it's hardly stress relieving in its entirety here now.

"And as for building, I'm going to assume you're going to read too much into that and tell me it's not a proper hobby." She drops the paper down on the counter, sets her pencil down on top of it so she can clear plates.

"It would be a hobby if you didn't have to do it," he corrects, flicking a little painty water at her. "A hobby is a luxury. We get luxuries now, Ro. We get to do things like self-care."

She puts up a hand to keep the water off her face, but she's smirking.

"You ever tried just hammering away at a piece of wood for blowing off steam? Works great." But she knows what he means.

"I built a set of shelves, back home. Felt nice."

He gives her a Look to let her know the double entendre he reads right into that statement, and then laughs at himself. "I'm spending too much time with M."

He adds another line of color. "Maybe you could try sculpting. Wood carving. All the decorations we have at Broken Hollow are from Jacob or whoever had it before him; we should make it ours."

She just smiles mildly at the look - she didn't mean it that way, but it's not like she couldn't, except they're here. It still works with certain people, but there's too much wrapped up in sex now for it to ever be simple.

"Maybe I will, once we get this place into shape."

"It's getting there. How's the plumbing coming along?" She's good at plumbing but he comes with helpful hands, too.

"Good," she answers, honestly.

"Drake offered to help with some of it. We're having to pull a lot of it out and replace it, but it's not like we weren't going to have to repair a lot of these walls anyway. Once fields are planted, next order of business outside is a well, and then we can get some running water in here."

"Well, K and I can get them planted this week." They both work a lot, but if they put in time on their days off it's doable.

"This place will be in really good shape come harvest time. We should have a little get together then."

For as far as she's come, as willing as she is to let more people than just her and Jesus move in and around this place, to live here if they ever need it - he says that and she stiffens right up.

"Here?"

"Nothing like my birthday party. Just us, and whoever has helped make this place." The community.

She nods then, starts to relax again; she trusts Jesus, but they have different thresholds for different things, and this is one of them.

All the same, she frowns a bit, thinking.

"We owe an olive branch," she says, not exactly hesitant, but definitely something adjacent.

"We do," he agrees. "But do you want that to be the harvest party? We could still just invite them all to Broken Hollow."

"...I really don't." She wishes she could say it doesn't matter, because in all likelihood it doesn't, except that it does.

"You won't judge me for that, right?"

"I have never judged you." He can even say that honestly. "I won't start with that. I'm...nervous about it, too. I'd rather have it at Broken Hollow than here."

"I don't really want to know where the line starts," she chuckles, both joking and not.

"But I'm good with that. We can work around that. And the harvest party here is... good."

She'll still have to decide if she invites Carver or not. She probably will, though.

"When do you want to extend the olive branch? I've been holding off doing anything until you're ready, but the house is set up for it whenever." It's built for entertaining.

"That's Carver's call," she answers fairly readily.

"I'm good whenever, too. Things are... going better than I expected."

He decides he's done with his painting and swirls the brush in the water. "Really? Better how?"

She tilts her head, looking at the finished piece.

"Just in general." She's not used to peace, and especially not after bullshit like the Creator pulled.

But also - "Did I tell you about the train," she sighs, knowing she didn't.

There's something in her tone that worries him about this story, but that makes him glad, too, that she's telling him.

"What about the train?"

"So he didn't either." Jesus wouldn't be able to hide it. That's not how he works.

She presses her lips together for a moment, arms folded.

"I... had a bad moment. On the train. In the middle of rush hour."

"Rush hour is hard." Hard for Jesus, too. He watches her, worried, sympathetic. "What happened?"

"Crowds are always hard," she agrees.

"The train is hard for me too. Not always, just when I'm already wound up." Like in the middle of a crowd.

"And then there was this... guy. Selling something. I didn't even see what it was, but I could smell it. I could smell it, and then he shoved it in my face and I thought -"

She clears her throat. "It was just all too much, together. I went for my knife."

"Did you kill him?" Jesus has killed since he's been here. There's no judgment for this either, just a deeper worry. You kill the wrong person--and in public--and it comes back on you hard.