Warm, vanilla musk; A game of scopa on a coffee shop table; Hair curls held together by straight, metal clips; The smell of roasted Tomato sauce drifting from a small kitchen; Eyes that smile before a mouth; Narrow French doors; black stiletto heels; A cluttered bathroom sink; Rolled vowels that smell like fresh mint toothpaste; Golden, early morning light; Hot cups of espresso; a cigarette stained red with lipstick; Fresh florals on a coffee table; Buying red wine from a corner store in a fur coat; A shoebox full of sparse memories; Hushed conversations over a pay phone; a CD player accompanied by serval loose CDs scattered around a large purse; Turtlenecks under loose jackets; Dark hair spilled across cotton sheets.
Perception
Hair: Espresso brown, falling just above the shoulder in soft waves
Eyes: Deep blue, almond in shape, usually wide in expression, framed by carefully curled lashes.
Build: Average height, About 5’5. Thin, narrow, straight shoulders.
Usual dress: monochromatic or earth tones. Lacking in embellishment but not cut. Well fitted or intentionally loose. Almost always a stiletto. Jewelry but always sparingly. Not always a full face of makeup but never without a lipstick or gloss.
BIOGRAPHY
Maria Bertolla was birthed in Rome, a city that recalled everything—everything but her. Before she even got to experience the first full breath under its magnificent white marble and resounding churches, she was taken away—detached from the great and the loud, and instead placed in a little town that was so small it practically demanded nothing from its residents. There, time was a slower stream, and expectations changed into habits, and the air was rarely disturbed by ambition.
An aunt, a woman of order and determination, was the person to receive her. She was practical to the core and thought that love was nonessential, but the right arrangements could suffice.
Love was not in her vocabulary. Maria was quick to learn what was required of her and nothing more. She got a full academic education and an unofficial lesson in how to get through says without being noticed.
Between silence and repetition of the same activities, childhood went on with a hollow content until one single telephone call came along and disrupted her life like an earthquake.
She was going home.
The truth did not come out until the moment she stood in front of her mother—her real mother. Maria wasn't called for by desire or remorse. She was the one to fill the gap. She was a replacement. A backup plan. A living answer to the loss of another child. Her name, her position, her very being were all created by the sorrow that was—an echo made into reality.
Her mother was nothing like her aunt. One had been strict and consequential while the other was unapproachable and hollow. She claimed that disease had taken her from her easy-going self, that the process of suffering had reduced her to nothing. She lived with Maria but most of the time, there was no mother-daughter bond—Maria was like another piece of the furniture—there, but not noticed.
On most days, Maria left to her own devices. She had to jump straight from being molded to being independent and missed out on the gentle guidance in between.
As always, she adapted in a quiet way. Secretly. Unprotested. She stumbled through with no precise goal. Yet, at the same time, did not fall over.
Maria was now the "head" of the house. She became proficient in the language of envelopes and late payments, the tune of grocery ranks and food preparation, the unending process of washing and putting away. The load of responsibility was placed on her before she comprehended its weight. Adulthood did not come by choice—it came by necessity.
Then the phone rang once more.
Maria picked up and the voice on the other end was that of a ghost. Franco. He wanted to talk to their mother. Maria told him gently that their mother was too ill to talk. During that short silence, a secret came out; Franco had a sister. A little one.
He called again. And then again.. Not for their mother—but for Maria.
She was emotionally stunned that someone cared. Her words ran out of her, lively and abated. For hours, she was under the spell of the rare miracle of being acknowledged. Someone was listening. Someone wanted to know her ideas, her days, her voice.
After a few months of phone calls, without any warning, Franco came to take her to America.
Las Vegas looked nothing like Rome. Its beauty was loud and artificial, shining under neon lights which hid rather than drove away the danger lurking underneath. Crime was unnoticeable— as if it had been polished into invisibility. But it was lurking in the dark corners. The environment was a shock. It disturbed her. It was like all the progress she had made in getting closer to herself had been wiped out with one flight—her life reset again to an unrecognizable beginning.
But still, something was different.
She was basically rewinding the tape again. But unlike before, this time, she was not alone.
And for Maria Bertolla, who had learned to cope without presence, that little difference was enough to change in everything.
She considered Matavos a good friend. That fact alone gave her a sense of loyalty that landed her in the dark places they lurked now. Curiosity was a smaller factor. She couldn't imagine what was so enticing about someone else's belongings, but Matavos seemed to find great interest in it. Friends shared interests, didn't they? She was still learning the ins and outs of that.
The truck itself felt menacing, dusty coating the dark windows, paint faded in mismatched patterns. The wind felt as if it were whispering warnings, brushing its breath behind her ear. She watched the lights from Cupid's arrow, the shadows it cast setting the hairs on the back of her neck suddenly rising with a word of caution. Her body wanted to take her back.
Hesitation came in the form of her pulse. She could feel it once, twice, three times, before relenting and turning to face Matavos. Cold, narrow fingers slipped the pin from her dark hair, and she handed it over, her face bright with spatial awareness. She lifted onto her tiptoes to peer past Rika and Matavos. She wasn't sure if it was because she also wanted to see inside, or if she wanted to know when he was done.
"What is so special about it?" She asked in a whisper, not daring to make as much noise as Matavos did. Her voice carried unease. As if to confirm all the fears her body pressed into her, she felt a tap on her shoulder.
Blood pooled into her face, her heart beat picking up with a speed that could take flight as she turned slowly on her heels, hand grabbing the first thing it could find. Rika. Her nails pressed into the girl's bicep. A scream caught in her throat, her mouth gaped open, waiting for a sound that wouldn't come.
"Thank you kindly," Matevos said with a bit of a flurish of his fake British accent. "This should do the trick." And he set back to work. His fingers worked quickly, but he was well aware of the two at his back, and the possibility of someone seeing them. The lock was a bit jackey, probably used countless of times over the years, and maybe went through a few thefts as well. "The lock, just jankey," he said, waving the two of them back with an annoyed gesture.
He bit his lip and then heard the satisfying click of the mechanism giving way to his manipulation, the trunk opening with an audible screech. "We're in!"
He quickly took stock of what was within it, not noticing the sudden tension that took place behind his back. He should be surprised by the blood soaked linnens: but he'd seen blood before, it didn't much phase him. Instead, his eye was drawn to the mask. Not valuable, no, but... he didn't know. It called to him. Literally. He heard disembodied laughter in his head, ringing in his ears. With the hands of a skilled thief, he took it and let it sink into the messenger bag he was carrying.
She couldn't breath. Not from anything as physical as the figures before her, but from fear. She could only see the whites of his clothes, of his face. The contrasting black blended in with the darkness around him, as if it were apart of him. At his feet stood a beast. Maria was pretty sure it was dog, but something was wrong about it. Patches of skin shown where fur was missing, it's eyes bore into her in a way she found incredibly unsettling. She would have been afraid if any animal snarled at her the way this one did, but this was different. It growled with lips pulled back, large teeth bare, saliva dripping from it's snout. The two stood maybe five feet away, close enough that she could almost feel the air between them compressing into something suffocating. Atticus had been right, she wasn't much a fan of the clown either.
When her body finally made her draw a breath, it echoed through her chest, shaking her ribs as it filled her lungs. "We should go." The words left her no louder than a breath.
Her grip only tightened on Rika's arm, her other hand flailing behind her back till it found Matavos. She tapped him urgently and started to walk sideways, eyes still locked on the clown. "We need to go now." She whispered again.
outside the cupid's arrow / @moonlessmines & @bcbymaria
I have a bad feeling about this. A thought that had crossed Rika's mind so many times over that it threatened to border on parody. Yet, every single time, she was drawn into the heart of that doubt, like a moth to the flame. She'd always been a worrywart but she had always been terribly curious. Just when had one begun to outweigh the other? When had the promise of mystery become a siren's song? It had been Rika's own choice, after all, to follow along with the others when Daisy had decided to leave the Cupid's Arrow behind. Cautious though Rika seemed to believe she was (doubts growing, growing, growing...), leaving the others to walk into trouble alone was out of the question. After all, if Rika was the one who had doubts, if she was the one who was convinced there was danger on the horizon, did it not make sense for her to be the one to stand on-guard and keep watch?
"I just don't think we should go raking through somebody else's things," said Rika, dropping her voice to a hissed whisper. "I swear I'm not trying to be a buzzkill, we just don't know what we'll find in there. What if we upset the owner?" She was keeping her distance from the trunk but had remained just close enough that she could peer over Daisy's shoulder. Looking back and forth between the other two, it looked like Maria was holding her own reservations. For now, all Rika could do was get a feel for their surroundings. If they were in any sort of luck, the vehicle would block them from plain sight long enough to run off if needed. Surely, finding an escape route wouldn't be too difficult...? Not wanting to tempt fate, she shook her head and sighed. Rika was giving up. After all, a part of her did want to know why this unlocked trunk was waiting here, almost as if begging someone to go through it. "If you have to go through it... just make you put everything back, okay? Exactly as you found it, like nobody ever touched it."
Matevos never questioned his own mind when it wanted to riffle through other people's things. When he had an eagerness for crime - or possibly to earn some additional income - he did it. An unlocked trunk, perhaps with some trinkets inside that could be sold? How could he say no. He was also not so easily swayed by people who said "maybe not". A maybe wasn't a definite no. And it wouldn't be stealing if he asked for permission.
At the suggestion to put back everything exactly as he found it, Matevos presented his most winning smile. "Of course!" he winked, lying so easily as if he never dared to think otherwise. He didn't care if the person the trunk belonged to realised someone had been going through their things. He hunched down and checked the lock on the trunk. This had been his idea, and he hadn't expected either Maria or Rika to follow him, but it was good to have a look-out, better to have two. He attempted to get the thing open with the small lock-pick he always had on hand, but no luck. With his face scrunched up, he turned to Maria. "Care to borrow a hairpin? I need something a bit bendier."
She considered Matavos a good friend. That fact alone gave her a sense of loyalty that landed her in the dark places they lurked now. Curiosity was a smaller factor. She couldn't imagine what was so enticing about someone else's belongings, but Matavos seemed to find great interest in it. Friends shared interests, didn't they? She was still learning the ins and outs of that.
The truck itself felt menacing, dusty coating the dark windows, paint faded in mismatched patterns. The wind felt as if it were whispering warnings, brushing its breath behind her ear. She watched the lights from Cupid's arrow, the shadows it cast setting the hairs on the back of her neck suddenly rising with a word of caution. Her body wanted to take her back.
Hesitation came in the form of her pulse. She could feel it once, twice, three times, before relenting and turning to face Matavos. Cold, narrow fingers slipped the pin from her dark hair, and she handed it over, her face bright with spatial awareness. She lifted onto her tiptoes to peer past Rika and Matavos. She wasn't sure if it was because she also wanted to see inside, or if she wanted to know when he was done.
"What is so special about it?" She asked in a whisper, not daring to make as much noise as Matavos did. Her voice carried unease. As if to confirm all the fears her body pressed into her, she felt a tap on her shoulder.
Blood pooled into her face, her heart beat picking up with a speed that could take flight as she turned slowly on her heels, hand grabbing the first thing it could find. Rika. Her nails pressed into the girl's bicep. A scream caught in her throat, her mouth gaped open, waiting for a sound that wouldn't come.
with: @bcbymaria
where: the cupid's arrow
when: may 30th, 1997
Atticus wasn't terribly accustomed to indulging in nihilism. Social events were anxiety-inducing and borderline horrifying for him, especially when he was expected to navigate them alone at a younger age — it led other people to swoop in and coddle him, or intercept at the slightest inkling that he would be badmouthed for his poor propensity in holding a conversation. Crowded spaces like these, it was hard to discern if every shadowy person he caught turning a corner was actually a figment of his imagination or truly present, but he had done his due diligence to try and practice his grounding exercises or smoke a cigarette when Maria decided to step away or wander off for a moment.
The past few months had been a sliding scale of chaos, ranging from good to bad and everything in between. Did Atticus Pallas-Dexicos ever imagine himself practically already living with someone who he hadn't yet exchanged a heartfelt proclamation of feelings with, after years of looking the other way when a pulchritudinous madame dared to gawk in his direction? Definitely not, and when Annaki let it out of the bag to his middle triplet, he might not hear the end of it. It was an unplanned change, but the artisan knew it was the proper thing to do. Where did Maria have to call a home now? She had already given up Italy, and her belongings had been largely replaced by the opulent lens of her now late brother.
Essentially, her life had been upended and turned inside out, just to feel like a stranger without friends nor family to support her. In essence, it was like every other chapter in the Pallas-Dexicos family — adopting new family.
Truth be told, he secretly adored the free range to spend as much or as little time with her as he would like, if with the necessity that he should have the availability for her mourning. Was there mourning for someone she barely had the time to know? Returning to her side now, black hair with an underside layer of bleached curls poking out tousled by the breeze, he stuck out a plastic plate of fried dough and sugar. "I picked... ah, caramel funnel cake. Shall we share, cherie?"
A hand left the plate to fit his hands into the spaces of hers, and kiss her knuckles, granting a kiss as nobles would of princesses. "I do believe I am not a fan of the clown... I believe I saw a magician around here somewhere if you would like us to seek them out?"
These days, Maria felt like a shell. It was as if she had poured everything inside herself out, heaved the last drops onto Atticu's spare pillow.
She had only just gotten him, her brother. He was the first person who showed her kindness in a way that made her feel seen, feel wanted. He tried to save her, to give her a better life, all without getting anything in return. She had been given so little time with him. She mourned not only the future they had together, but the past that had also been stolen from her. She couldn't blame him for that, though; he hadn't known about her. She felt a small string pulling, as if it were attached to both the front and back of her ribs, tension building till it was hard to breathe. She tried not to be mad at her mother, but part of her was. She had kept Maria hidden from the only family who she felt truly wanted her around because they liked her, not because she offered anything.
Atticus had really gotten the short end of the stick here. He asked out a quiet, polite girl and in return got a sobbing parasite that could barely leave his bed. It took a few days, but she was able to pull herself together to some extent. She didn't do it for herself, but for him. He didn't deserve this; she didn't deserve him.
A nod and a sheepish smile accompanied her 'yes' when he asked her to go out tonight. He deserved some fun, some time to breathe air that wasn't heavy with her grief. She felt as if she had kept him locked in that room with her, suffocated him in wild fits that woke her from her nightmares. She would be good tonight, she would try, if not pretend, to have fun.
The air here was as thick as under the covers, but the smell was different; fried dough, spun candy, and an array of perfumes wafted with the crowd. Those were the more pleasant ones, though the animal stalls didn't bother her all too much. It was a nice change of pace, even if it made her feel like an alien.
She watched the lights overhead absently, her eyes drifting from one bulb to another, the stars above lost in the pollution of the event. She found that she missed them, in an odd, vague sort of way. Maybe she would ask Atticus to take her back to the desert to see them soon.
Her eyes refocused as she looked at him, life returning to them in whatever way they did these days. He was beautiful, his soul was pure, he was kind beyond comprehension, and he adored her. She tried to remember that and when she did, she couldn't help the way her eyes softened at the sight.
Maria responded with a small smile, her thumb and index finger pinching around the edge of the dough. "What is wrong with the clown?" She tried to make her tone teasing as she popped the treat in her mouth, eyebrow raising slightly in a manner that looked slightly detached. She would have to try harder. "Mmm." She licked the powder off her lips, her thumb brushing away what remained. "It is messy. But good."
Benny shrugged. Having been raised multilingual - his father having roots in Indonesia, thus speaking Bahasa at home, and his mother being from India and speaking a mix of Hindi and Bengali at home - he didn't fault anyone for thinking a language was hard. He thought English was easy in comparison to many languages, but one could also say that about Bahasa, in reality however, neither was easy to master.
Also, while he'd love to discuss languages, he'd much rather flirt with her.
He hummed. "Anyone can learn how to sing, I can name you plenty of singers who can't sing, but who have found other ways to sound pleasant. However... I can just as well teach you how to play piano. Perhaps easier," he admitted. He had been taught how to play piano before he found his voice.
He chuckled. She was cute, yes, but he found that he definitely underestimated that she was also funny. When she mentioned laughing, crying, and falling a lot, he laughed out loud. "That paints a vivid enough image," he said. "So alcohol is not your thing, then. Perhaps you need to try something else. You are in the city of Sin."
Anyone. Maria had a hard time believing that. She believed very much that, especially in the arts, not everyone was cut out to excel. "Piano feels like a much more... realistic goal." She needed agreement.
"I may not be good at sinning." She didn't think she was quite cut out for that either. She lacked confidence in all areas. The girl was so unsure of herself; every step, every word felt calculated as if she were on trial of those around her. Her aunt had raised her under the pretence a young lady was to remain silent, stand straight, obey god and those elder to her. She wasn't sure she particularly liked this theology, but she didn't mind sitting in it anyway. Perhaps it was conditioning. She wasn't really sure.
"The city certainly offers many opportunities, though. I fear I may fall into its ways." She smirked, the expression soft with mischief that almost felt like sarcasm.
Where: Vitelli Mannor
With:@mcdesties
When: March 1997
Sleep hadn't come easily the past two days. She wasn't even sure when it did come, tears somehow turning into unconsciousness, only to be broken by nightmares of gunshots and blood; her brother's blood. Atticus had been trying to help the best he could. He held her, wiped her tears, offered reassuring words. She appreciated it for what it was: care, but there wasn't anything that would bring silence to her mind when one of the only two family members she had may have been gone. She had only just got him. She wasn't ready to say goodbye.
The media had been no help, no news was released, and her call to Meera had gone to voicemail. She left one of course, her voice hoarse and frantic, too many questions left. It wasn't until yesterday that the call had been returned. The two had barely ever spoken, Meera having so many things following the death of their father. She hadn't spoken much to any of Franco's family, actually. They were a part of Franco that felt entirely separate from her. She felt, in a way, like a secret, kept from his more personal life with the quiet shut of a door.
Meera promised some answers, though she wouldn't disclose them over the phone. Maria wasn't sure if it was a lack of trust or if she wanted to tell her in person that their brother had died. She desperately hoped it was the former. Regardless, they agreed that Maria would return home, even if just for a conversation.
The door closed quietly behind her, carefully, with shaking hands, as if any noise would disturb the grief she imagined to radiate through the house. Perhaps it was only her own, so strong it filled the space as far as she could see.
"Hello?" She called timidly, her voice perhaps too low. With swollen eyes, she looked around the foyer, legs stiffly carrying her through the space with a sluggish weight.
It was not too late in the day. The sun was still high in the sky, demanding attention as it delivered a relentless heat across the desert — the 20th of March was a warm day with no precipitation whatsoever, a dry spell of heat that would clamber to unbearable degrees by the summertime, and he had been upstairs with the window to his bedroom open, grey eyes drawn to the pages of one of his books. At first, the frenetic thumping at the door was assumed to be a neighbor's — and then, a product of his own mind. When it did not cease to exist, he pulled himself away from the desk and walked down the stairs slowly, carefully, and shooed away the felines that were swarming the entryway out of curiosity. Annaki must not have been at work, but out somewhere else, because Pickles and Mochi were not palpable guests to the downstairs.
Making to open the door, astoundment washed over him and drowned him under the waves. Maria had natural beauty and was not someone who bore the fanciful image that her brother hailed a part of — but she was never as in disarray as he discovered his girlfriend to be now, looking as if she had gotten into a scrap and lost. "Ma cherie —" The greeting of adulation died partway from his lips, and he countered his own words as he parsed the fractured Italian that was becoming more fluent in their dates spent together. "Quello che è successo?" Her explanation was a fraught mess, and his brow furrowed. Something had happened to one of the most powerful figures in the city?
A hand beckoned her inside, the sight of her feet littering weeping trails of vermillion on the steps earning a wince, and he paused his first instinct to seek out his first aid kit and ameliorate her wounds to instead encase her in his arms. "How did you get hurt like this... yourself? Were you also part of it?" Atticus chose his words as simply as he could — he was no stranger to a state of anguish or blistering discomfort hampering the ability to think and speak in a second or third tongue, no matter how fluent, warping everything back to square one.
Breaths came in heaves, air painful as it entered and left her lungs. They burned, and she welcomed the distraction, even if it was minuscule in comparison to the fire that raged between her skull.
"Non lo so. Alcune persone per strada hanno detto che hanno sparato a Franco. Ho provato ad andare al discorso, ma la zona era bloccata. Nessuno vuole dirmi cosa è successo." She was grateful for the language switch. It was easier and faster. The words left in a rush, blending together through one long breath and another.
There was no hesitation as she stepped through the door, her hands clutching Atticus' bicep for support. She needed it emotionally more than physically, though the state of her body wasn't in much better condition. Her feet carried dirt and probably hepatitis through the doorway. She would need to see a doctor about her feet; the streets were disgusting. That would be a concern for later, though; now, the thought barely crossed her mind enough to be coherent.
"No, no I- I was not there." The reversion back to English must have been triggered by his own distress as he looked at her. She must have been a mess. "I ran I did not know where else to go. I need to know. I need to know if my brother is alive." The sentence ended in a sob as her head hung with exhaustion.
Where: Atticus' apartment
When: End of March 1997
With: @pcisxnivys
Before she was even able to mentally work through the options, she found herself standing at his door, fists pounding in a greeting she had never had the gall to use before. These weren't acts of deliberation; they were acts of survival. Every nerve ending in her body screamed, both from mental anguish and physical pain. The heels she had carried at the beginning were long gone, dropped at some point in her journey for breathable air. It didn't matter, she wasn' sure anything mattered anymore.
She hadn't realized she was still knocking till the door pulled open, her fist freezing in the air between them. Her hair stuck to her sweaty face at odd angles, knotted on the sides from fighting crowds. In the places you could still see, the skin bloched heavy with swollen, red patches. Bare arms bore red and newly purple marks, feet blistered and bleeding. She looked about as bad as she felt. No, almost as bad.
The second Maria's eyes met Atticus', her chest heaved with a sob that pleaded so desperately that the sound made her sorry even for herself. Tears streamed down her face as she shook, the strain she put on her body finally catching up to her. "Franco-I don't know. No one will tell me-"
Something blank settled into her head, thick like cotton balls, pressure building on all sides. The myriad of noise around her pinched together till it was just a long, high ring. Air pressed tight together so that her chest couldn't rise, breath catching in her throat as her head whipped around the busy sidewalk as if looking for something that, if found, would bring some sort of clarity.
It came to her in a murmur, a name that drifted to her through chatter and car horns. 'Francisco Vitelli'. The rest that followed was a tidal wave of uncertainty, of grief. 'He has to be dead. They shut everything down so fast there's no way it didn't hit.'
Hands gripped shoulders too hard, too urgently. "Who was shot?" Her voice was louder than usual, stronger as she demanded answers. The confirmation only fed the fire that was growing from somewhere deep in her muscles. She could feel the heat of it spreading, urging her to move, and so she ran.
Thoughts spun themselves faster than a top as she moved, heels that she had apparently removed at some point stayed clenched between her fist, breaths so painful she felt as if her ribs would break. The only part of her body that seemed to have any idea of what to do willed her toward a direction she didn't remember deciding on, and when they stopped, she stood behind a large crowd that buzzed like cicadas.
Maria's tiny shoulders pressed as hard as they could as she wedged herself between bodies that shoved back. She could feel the blisters forming on her feet, the bruises forming on her arms. She pressed, pushed, all but clawed until she reached a barrier of tape. She stared, wild eyes, desperate to find him. They came up empty.
"Excuse me! Please!" Words practically wailed from her body, strained with an edge that roughened up the phrases like sandpaper. She wasn't sure how many times she pleaded. Eventually, an officer came to calm her.
His words never reached her ears as he tried to guide her backwards, back into the crowd. All she could hear was her own pulse, the wild, uneven thrumming of a heart ready to stop.
"My brother! Franco, where is he? Francisco Vitelli, what happened?"
The English must have come out muddled when she spoke because the man paused, waited, listened. When he seemed to understand, he frowned. Something about not being able to divulge information, a run around about the investigation. Somewhere in there, though not directly spoken, was confirmation. It had been Franco.
A single, heavy sob escaped her lips, and the officer lifted his hand as if he were going to try to console her but she ran. She couldn't be here, the heat from the crowd, the noise, the smell. Something smelled wrong.
Again, her body carried her, this time for what felt like a century. She didn't know where to go. She couldn't go home, not to the mansion filled with strangers who might have answers. No, she wasn't ready to face them, not even with the need for answers pressing against her skull so hard her vision blurred. Not yet. She wasn't ready yet.
She's nice, friendly, lying obviously but with good intentions. Something he can relate to. He chooses to accept her flattery with a shrug, an if you say so written across his forehead in the consolation of a friendly smile and a complacent expression. Happy to breeze on past.
He listens to the things that she's struggling with which, thankfully, was a single word. One that made him laugh, a smile wide and genuine, head thrown back just a little, face scrunched and contorted in genuine warmth. Crinkles at the corners of his eyes. The kind of smile that's wide enough to be infectious. He radiates it like fucking sunlight as jostling shoulders settle and he composes himself.
"Sounds 'bout right. Vegas' it's own kinda beast. You'll work it out." He's got every confidence in her; she seems smarter than he is, simply because she's attempting to converse in a language not in her native tongue and Wyatt's barely got half a tertiary education. He's built like a brick shit house, strong through the shoulders, the back, the arms, the legs—save for a scar from knee to mid-shin, hidden under long black slacks—and survived most of his education on athletic scholarships. She seems the type to have earned her way into whatever level of education necessary. Like a panel was practically jumping at her with offers. He thinks it's her kindness that convinces him so.
"Strong brain?" He pauses deliberately, giving a shrug, a raise of his brows, then a gesture to his absolutely fucking clown suit of pants a couple centimetres too short and a shirt poorly ironed, sporting the LVPS logo against his top breast pocket. "Dunno 'bout that one, Maria. That's a real first for me, but I'll let you whistle that tune." She might be the only person alive that thinks Wyatt's got some kind of intelligent cell willing itself to multiply.
"You don't gotta learn it all in one sweep, though. Just take a small bite today, 'nutha one t'morrow. Make a couple friends, cop a tour from a local... You'll get there."
His reaction to her compliment made her frown. Clearly, people didn't think very highly of his intellect. She suddenly found herself feeling guilty for her earlier assumption.
Granted, he was poorly dressed. Maria had never had a lot of money, but she still took the time to make sure her clothes fit properly. She assumed that maybe that was more of a cultural trait. Americans didn't have a great reputation as far as fashion went. She chose to chalk it up to that.
Still, despite the clothes, occupation, and strange speech patterns, she didn't think anyone should feel that low of their own abilities. Ironic coming from her.
"You remember many places and names. That requires much thought." She was defending him to himself. She shook her head in disapproval. "Do not think yourself short.
Half of what he said was completely lost in translation but she felt she got the gist of it. "Go slow." She signed. "I am not sure it is my choice to decide how fast I go. But I will try."
"Thank you." Her voice carried an honest gratitude as she offered him a small smile, lifting her bundle to him.
with: annaki and maria
where: annaki and atticus's townhouse in the croix townhouses
when: after mid-march
"Ah, bonjour, cherie." Atticus greeted Maria at the door, anticipating her arrival as to not be tardy in answering it when his focus would lapse and discombobulate with the rest of his thoughts in an entangling spiderweb. Taking her hand and welcoming her into the home, he placed a chaste kiss on her cheek. Physical contact remained to be disconcerting, and yet, he was adjusting — it was easiest to branch out with one person alone, and the pace with which they were taking their standing was relaxed. Although there had been the budding excitement of what could be, as they were getting along in mutually and exclusively seeing one another, they were both new to it, and the world was their oyster.
Resolutely, he had invited her over for dinner, although he was more of a baker than a cook, but it proved to be less awkward than the pair taking up real estate in a kitchen of the Vitelli Estate that was meant to be helmed by a brigade of personal chefs and butlers than for two people to cook their own meals. The compromise that they had in mind was to cook something together at his home, as he trusted her to cover up for foible in his off-kilter culinary skills. If he was demoted to chopping vegetables and peeling potatoes, it would be for the best.
"Why don't you put down your things and I will freshen up? I already set the table and I made, ah, French apple cake for later. With those apples that we picked from the orchard the other week." Smiling at her, he carded a hand across her cheek. "My sister said she would arrive home soon from the shops but I don't think she will disturb us much during dinner..."
By the time he had shuffled back down the stairs after tending to the bandages for the lymphedema inflaming his legs, he was surprised to be greeted with the blonde already in the house, inherently talking up a storm. Probably all without introducing herself. "Annaki," there was exasperation in his voice, sidling up to her and glancing between her and Maria. In vain, he did make an effort to clarify that, of his three sisters, the bubbly burst of bubblegum pink was evidently his roommate. "Maria... this is my sister, Annaki, and Mochi." He pointed to the pup next to their feet, grimacing in Annaki's direction and reluctant to ask, "You have not said anything embarrassing of me since you walked in, have you?" / @wiithstars
MOCHI WAS UNCHARACTERISTICALLY TUGGING upon the leash in their hand, just as eager to get home and closer to dinner as Annaki was themself, earning a chuckle falling from their lips as their key fit into the lock and allowed the duo in. "Your food isn't going anywhere, silly boy," they chided, always one to speak aloud to the canine who spent practically every waking moment at their side, grey eyes rounding and large when their head lifted to find an unfamiliar brunette there. They weren't the quickest to reach conclusions but there was only a momental hesitation before glee overtook their expression, hands clasping together in front of them once they had unbuckled her faithful service dog from the leash, dropping it on the counter. "Oh my goodness, are you the pretty girlfriend Atticus keeps telling me all about?" They squealed excited, rising to the balls of her feet and back down multiple times, as if their body was simply at a loss with what to do with the excitement that was budding up inside of them. "I've wanted to meet you ever since you went on your first date and I could tell from the smile on his face when he got home that it went well," they giggled, oblivious to the idea that such a fact would probably humiliate their dear brother, and yet, they were caught in the midst of a tornado of enthusiasm that nothing out of their mouth was sent through a filter, though it rarely was on their best day. "I'm Annaki, his sister. And this is Mochi, one of the best behaved dogs you'll ever meet. Do you have anything against pigs? Because I was going to let Pickles out of his crate, but he can be....a lot." Despite being oblivious to the fact that they were also a lot, the obnoxious piglet made it so obvious, it couldn't be ignored. "He'll probably just follow me to my room, though. I don't want to interrupt your date night--Did he tell you he baked a whole cake?" Their name being spoken with chagrin wasn't new, and yet innocent eyes turned upon her brother when he reentered. "I know how to introduce myself. Mochi, can you sit and offer a paw?" Ever the dutiful pup that he was trained to be, the medium-sized dog sat and raised one foot, as if he was an esteemed gentleman looking to shake hands. "Nothing I wouldn't say in front of you," they promised with a giggle that implied otherwise, offering Atticus the most innocent of smiles, not that they had any intention of embarrassing them regardless. All of their words regarding him were only flowery and complementive in their own mind, even if he could embarrassment in them. "Right, Maria? I've been on my best behavior. And not only because I really do want to try a slice of that cake later." // @bcbymaria
Cooking was an activity of comfort for Maria. It had been almost meditative back with her mother; the only sounds in the room the simmering of a pot and the low hum of a TV in the next room. It had brought peace. She found herself more excited than she anticipated to share the activity with someone else, with Atticus.
The kiss was returned, her planting one of her own on his face with the same foreign greeting. Nerves twitched at the mention of his sister. She was nervous to meet her, scared of being disliked, of not meeting expectations. She had never met anyone's family before, not officially. The closest experience was the few, short encounters she had with Franco's family, his adopted one. That hadn't been the warmest experience. No one was unkind, but the stark difference in upbringing and status was undeniable.
She nodded, her smile wide, all dimples as she retreated to the kitchen to unpack the bounty of ingredients he brought with her. Zucchini, hazelnuts, mint, garlic, ricotta, she hadn't even placed the bottle of white wine on the counter yet, when the front door opened again.
Tightness pressed at her throat in anticipation, only to be met with an enthusiasm she rarely received. She was pretty; a bright smile that met her eyes, delicate stature, and something there that Maria couldn't quite place, but it reminded her of Atticus.
"I am Maria." She returned the kindness, but her voice still carried a note of timidity as her cheeks bloomed a shade of pink at the compliment, at the implication. 'girlfriend'. It was such a strange term, warm, but felt as if it didn't quite describe her properly.
Words continued to fall from the girl's lips with a speed that made it difficult to keep up. By the time her brain processed one sentence, another was already finished. There was something refreshing in it, though, the knowledge that she wouldn't have to try to hard to maintain conversation. It was a difficult task, a daunting one that Annaki had just soothed the burden of.
"I am very glad I am spoken so well of." She chuckled in embarrassment, probably as much as Atticus was sure to feel momentarily. "It is very nice to meet you, too. I have heard so many things about you."
The pig was of much interest. She had never seen one off of a farm, and even then, only from a distance. "Oh, I do not mind. And yes, we may need help with the cake. I am not sure I can finish it myself." She laughed
Her head whipped back to offer Atticus a reassuring smile before turning back to her very one-sided conversation. She watched the dog for a moment in shock, the gesture looking so odd on an animal that she had to giggle. Very slowly, she knelt down to take the small paw. "It is nice to meet you as well." She offered the greeting curtly.
"She had been very pleasant.." Maria nodded, and it wasn't a lie.
( willa and ivy's place, evening, early march ) @bcbymaria
The Solstice Apartments weren't the most glamorous digs, but Willa did her best to make the apartment she shared with her roommate a homey and whimsical place to live, with throw pillows and her collection of crystals lining almost every surface. Though Ivy's tastes ran much more in the direction of the dark and macabre than the brunette's own mystical aesthetics, her friend was blessedly okay with the reporter turning their shared abode into the cozy and magical living quarters of her dreams.
Eric had never allowed Willa to have an input on the decor of the apartment that they'd shared during the course of their fraught relationship. It had been his apartment, after all—his name on the lease, not hers (a fact he loved to remind her of whenever they got into it). She had no right or claim to be changing things in his space, had no room designated to put her personal touches on, either. Thankfully, her current living situation was a lot less hostile than the last. She was even welcome to invite friends over to her apartment, a novelty that she wouldn't have even dreamed of at Eric's place. It was a privilege that Willa took full advantage of, especially on nights that Ivy was out with their siblings or Samantha.
A mug of hot chocolate nestled between her hands, the cup piled high with a veritable mountain of whipped cream and a bed of marshmallows, the brunette beamed over at Maria. "Okay, I picked up While You Were Sleeping and Sabrina this time. What did you bring?" she gushed, pulling up her legs onto the couch to cross them Indian-style. The coffee table in front of the two girls was piled high with an assortment of snacks and deserts to sample from throughout the night. Their movie nights had become an honored tradition between the two since their friendship began, and although they weren't restricted to only bringing romantic movies to chose from, it was the genre that won out most often between the two of them.
"Sooo, how have things been lately? Are you doing anything exciting for your birthday? With a certain someone, perhaps?" Willa wondered, feigning a tone of innocence as she fished for gossip from her friend, eager to give Maria any advice that she had to offer. Now, was Willa in the position to be doling out life advice to her younger friend (or... anyone for that matter)? Given the last few years of her life, maybe not. But that certainly didn't stop her.
Willa's apartment looked like something out of a magazine. It was flooded with trinkets and plush pillows with lighting that made one feel like being relaxed wasn't a suggestion, but a demand. The first time Maria walked in there, it reminded her of the gypsy caravans she had seen at a fair one time; the kind where mysterious women read your palms and drew cards for your future. Maria was devoted to her Roman Catholic roots, but that never deterred her from the mystical. In her opinion, catholics practiced things much the same as those they looked down on for heathenism. If anything, she found the whole concept fascinating, not that she would accuse Willa of being a witch. It just reminded her so much of the mystical stories that trickled their way around Europe of the Romanians.
The hot chocolate the girl made was phenomenal. Willa had a talent for steamed milk. She was the kind of comfortable friend who made small talk easy. Maria had missed out on so many teenage experiences, sleepovers and gossip included. She imagined, though, that it felt a lot like this.
"Clueless. I hear it is a staple? I still have many movies to catch up on. Oh! and Ghost. The boy at Blockbuster said it was a good choice but I don't know how true that is."
Maria pulled her knees up to her chest at the first question. Things had been...interesting. Franco had dropped a bomb the size of Chornobyl just a few weeks ago. His crime involvement, the danger she was now in, moving her out of the apartment she had just gotten comfortable in and into a home full of other people she barely knew. She hadn't been able to talk to anyone about it. She wasn't sure she ever would be able to. Her loyalty to her brother was stronger now than ever, protective almost. She was grateful when the question had a follow-up.
Eyes rolled at the implication. "I have plans, but I do not know what they are. Atticus told me to take off work that day." She had explained to Willa before that she and Atticus were just friends. While others say there were clear signs of there being more, Maria wasn't so sure. She couldn't imagine being in a relationship, didn't know what it would entail. Besides, Atticus was just kind. There was nothing more to look into.
She held him in much higher regard than he did himself. But that was nothing new. Matevos did not underestimate himself, but he also didn’t overestimate himself. He knew he couldn’t get a veterinarian certificate the good old-fashion way. Because that meant studying and learning and remembering things - though he figured real veterinarians also constantly checked the books. He had all the important ones at his job.
And he didn’t think he’d get that much faster. But he just shot her a look that said: in time, I will. With the belief of someone who was excited to get better.
He hummed. “If it’s a game of chance… I don’t,” he said. However, if it was in a brawl, Matevos tended not to accept defeat unless he was truly defeated. He would never accept a draw.
“Work rarely is fun,” he agreed, checking his own cards, and smiling when he wiped a two and three off the table with his collected five. His pile was getting bigger than hers. He might win for once. Or he might get distracted by conversation and lose again. “I just imagine you playing all the players with your dealing… is that even possible? I’ve never played poker. Nobody has ever been as patient as you to teach me.”
There was a gracious recognision in his lack of confidence when it came to the game. She knew the signs of taking a compliment even when you didn't quite believe it. She was well practiced in the art.
"You don't?" She repeated the end of his sentence with a slightly raised brow. She placed a card, swiping two in return. He was getting better weather he would admit it or not. This round might be his moment.
"I enjoy working." It was her first job. Well, first official job. Caring for her mother felt like work most of the time, but it didn't quite qualify. She enjoyed having her own money, something she earned herself regardless of whether the job itself was a favor. "No, I don't think so." She laughed with a shake of her head. "I work the blackjack. Poker is harder, I think. Blackjack is as easy as Scopa."
Getting flustered from social blunders was prosaic for Atticus. The troubling amount of bullying he was afflicted by throughout high school had pushed him to perfect his non-native tongue to near immaculate span of vocabulary, if developing a periphrastic way of speech. It appeared as banal for Maria, too, as they tended to find one tripping over the other when they did not match up in understanding, and yet, it resolved itself so seamlessly and warm that he didn't have to agonize over the consequences to drop like another shoe from the sky. Learning together was comfortable — in many ways, he was still a foreigner deserted to distant lands. "You look magnifique. There is not many people. Or so I hope."
His eyes scanned across the personalized belongings, more than the capitalistic material items that came with owning a home. Photography was not his life's calling but he appreciated that it had meaning, served as a kind of universal language amongst humankind, finding himself meandering to study them whilst she tended to the flowers that he had gifted, lingering grey eyes on each photo with authentic interest and care that was absent when he was focusing on nothing in particular. Connecting with his emotions flowed when he was with someone he felt he understood. Few others had that privilege, except his sisters. ( He and Cyrek had always been frigidly polar opposites, and didn't always see eye to eye. ) A shadow darted from the corner of his vision, but when he spied after it, it was gone — a trick of the mind.
"What other things would you like it to have?" he inquired when she scooped up her coat, a fond twitch of a smile rounding his features, "Do you... enjoy antiquing? I collect vintage things, perhaps we could go looking together sometime." Maybe then, it would be under the guise of more than friends, if he could convince himself to work the words out of his chest at the end of the date, and spend the rest of it lamenting over how to piece it together as eloquently as a fine woman from Italy such as herself was deserving of, dressed as a pulchritudinous vision that excelled the flowers that he had gifted.
I am ready for you to take me away now. Before he could resist, the laugh rumbled in his chest, a grin morphing his lips into the shape of a heart and displaying rows of ivory. He offered her his arm to walk her to his car. "It is out of the city limits, so I suppose... the saying to run away with me is not unfitting," he said thoughtfully, descending the steps of the townhouse and pausing to ensure she had locked the door. Minding his manners, he opened the passenger side of the Jaguar for her, the polished vehicle the only luxurious purchase that dented the savings he had accumulated from his tenure with the philharmonic in Paris. Once he was in the driver's seat, he started up the car, shifting it into gear.
— TIME HOP —
Rainbow Vista overlooking the Valley of Fire had parking near to the picnic area that he had been planning to take them to. Maria had made it apparent in conversation that she hadn't had time, nor means, to explore much outside of the city — the desert may have seemed vast and empty driving along it, but there were hidden gems in the structures of nature that could be admired by an artist's old soul like him, and he hoped that Maria would appreciate the vibrant streaks of colors across the red valley and the rich palette that looked like someone had taken a crayon to the canyons and painted them by hand. "Is it too much?" he asked, his voice a bit soft against the vast space that was open and free. "I thought I would pack us something... homemade. Well, it's storebought, but it is made well. If we get lucky, we could see the Frankenstein rabbit, though?" The bow of his grin alluded that he was teasing her, pulling the seat back from the driver's side to uncover the blanket for their picnic and a wicker basket overflowing with items.
Thus far, he had neglected to mention his birthday — it had not been important growing up, nor celebrated, and the day of love was neither celebrated by his family, either. The occasion, however, was an excuse for them to spend more time together, and get to know each other more without the noise of the city and the pressing obligations that surrounded their daily lives. As they crossed the parking lot together, he nudged her with his elbow, suggesting, "Why don't you pick us a spot? What seems like the best view to you, Maria?" Encouraging her choice, he let her lead him by the arm wherever she saw them fit to lay out the blanket.
"Thank you." She accepted it with a laugh, though she rarely agreed to compliments aimed at herself. It seemed the best course of action here; she didn't want them to keep flustering each other. She was dead set on a light-hearted and enjoyable evening. "You also look very nice." Her face froze for a moment as she thought through her now strange array of vocabulary. "Dapper?" It felt right, but Maria could never be sure. She had been watching a lot of movies lately, TV too. People said it helped with improving languages. She felt it was, to some extent. She learned new words at the very least.
Her smile widened into something more genuine, excitement sparkling behind the blue pools that lived in her eyes. "Yes!." She responded almost too eagerly. "I like things that have seen the world, even if only a small part. New things, they just don't feel the same. Empty, maybe." Maria had owned very few new things in her life and when they had arrived, it was from her aunt and they usually carried an underlying agreement of some kind. They weren't gifts, not really. They were like an individual contract to ensure certain behavior. She much preferred the used things, the things that came without any strings attached, though some may be frayed.
She returned his laugh with one of her own, bells chiming through the open door. She knew her English could sound funny sometimes and with Atticus, it never felt embarrassing. He stumbled himself from time to time and it made it comfortable, easy to laugh at. With a gentle squeeze of her fingers around his bicept she took his arm, brilliant smile landing between then as she mused. "I always wanted to run away." It came out lightly but the truth in the words squeezed at something deep in her chest that she pushed away. "You are good company for it."
____ Jump ____
The scene was exquisite. Her jaw fell lax as she took it in; The vast openness on the way here was enough to awe at in itself, but this... "Yes." She breathed, her eyes glued to the colors of the sky. She couldn't look away. "It's beautiful." And it was. It was like nothing she had ever seen before. Maria had always found Rome to be something to marvel at, but this made the city look like a parking lot. She heard him, but it felt like he was far away. "Ok." Was all she replied, not turning to see the grin, or to understand any of the meaning behind the gentle words that left his lips. She was captivated.
With much reluctance, she pulled herself away from the view and the car, followed next to him, her head slowly swiveling around like an owl looking for a meal. "Anywhere." She laughed, and it was true. She couldn't think of any place in this vast, never-ending sea of sand that couldn't be a good spot. "this is...eccezionale." Nothing she knew in English could explain it, nothing in Italian either, if she were to be honest. "We can sit anywhere and I will be happy." She looked at him now, for the first time since arriving, with admiration. He had such a beautiful way of looking at the world.
Where: Disneyland CA
With: @outlcws Atticus
When: March 16, 1997
Being asked to take off work on her birthday was exciting enough in itself. In her whole 23 years of life, Maria's birthday had never been cause for celebration. She didn't mind it, really. In her little world, no one celebrated theirs; not her aunt, her mother, and well, anyone else who circled her small life was too fleeting to make an impact on the matter. Usually, there would be a small dinner, herself and her aunt, when that was the company and her mother after the fact. There would be a desert with a candle and a small gift. Her aunt usually gave something practical, notebooks for school, new shoes, or splurged on a more expensive coat. Her mother's were slightly more meaningful; a hand-me-down old camera, which she still loved, a CD from the store down the street that had a cover photo she thought was nice, hair clips with her favorite flowers on them. These things, these gestures, always felt like enough. Atticus, though, had a tendency to take things well above and beyond what he was even comfortable accepting. This felt like a lot, though, even for him.
He had kept it a secret far too long. She expected something grander than the usual, maybe a reservation at Piero's Italian Cuisine (somewhere she had been told would taste like home, somewhere she had mentioned, but failed to try yet) and a walk through the Conservatory and Botanical Gardens she liked so much. Nervousness began to eat through her excitment though, as he became more and more cryptic about it. It turned out her gut feeling hadn't been able to fully grasp the extent of his generosity.
Disney wasn't something she had ever even considered dreaming of. Her upbringing made it quite clear that any place that would center on her entertainment was well beyond being in question. She was never bitter about it. She never held onto dreams she didn't see a point in having so she simply dismissed it and moved on to something more practical. The return of the lost yearning for childhood magic resurfaced in a bout of nostalgia that threatened a tear.
"This is too much." Her head shook through her emotions, fighting the unprepared reaction that threatened to escape her. She could feel it trying to seep through her ribs, her eyes. He must have wanted to go for himself, of course. She allowed the logic to ease her shoulders. It was still too big a gift, the tickets, the travel. She would have to make up for it, pay for each meal, each drink. She could already feel the math beginning to lay itself out in her head, trying to find a way to make it even.
The secretary grinned. Not because he understood the embarrassment, but because he was glad she didn’t ask him to stop. He’d been there. People had found he used all together too much slang, especially in the workplace. Not that Zakir knew how to stop, it was like breathing. His dadi couldn’t go a single sentence without saying wallah, and it was how Zakir had been raised to. On such a mix of languages and cultures that it was hard not to express himself.
“It is,” he agreed. “Unless you have a good guide, someone to take you along on the journey, to answer questions, and so forth. Can’t be that for you in the States, I fear, English is my… fifth language, but culture wise it’s very different from India. I suppose it’s very different from Italy as well? There is no rougher way to learn a language than to be thrown to the wolves.” He gave her a smile that could almost be described as pitying. He was lucky that English was often spoken in his home country.
“Ah, that’s okay. Hindi is one of many, many spoken languages in India, same as Gujurati. And Urdu, hmm, it’s very similar to Hindi, but it’s spoken in Pakistan.” He flashed her a smile. “Arabic is a beautiful language, Bismillah, I am grateful to my dadi. Even though I hated her lessons as a child.”
She was right that it wasn’t normally Zakir’s music, but he listened to most things, if they were exposed to him. He listened not just to the music, but to the language, to the different instruments. He moved his head along a bit.
“It doesn't sound strange. You can miss home and still find more in the place you came to.” He paused. He was curious, but he wasn’t nosy, he found that there was no good reason to coax answers out of strangers, but he did want to learn about them. “Why did you move to the States?” he asked.
Eyes grew wide at the revelation. "Five?" She shook her head as if somehow it would make the concept easier to grasp. "You must be very good at it." America was very different. She could imagine it was a harder adjustment from India though. She had never been, ofcourse, but from what she knew, read, it was basically it's own world. "India. That must have been very hard. Italy, it is not so different. Mostly just the light and noise, language. Food is not so good here, but that is ok."
"I have a brother..." She began, her lip finding its way between her teeth as she mulled over the facts. "But, he is busy. Sometimes, his assistant helps me. She is very nice, but also busy." Everyone in this city was, admittedly, very occupied. It never slept, never slowed, never took a moment to breathe. That within itself was an adjustment. "I have made a few friens though, I think."
Maria nodded at his explanation as if she had even the slightest clue as to what he was going on about. She could ask him to explain language, take the opportunity to learn but she felt she would be nothing more than a vacuum of his time. It would take a while for him to explain, at least in any way she could understand. She felt as if she were doing that a lot lately, simply pretending to know what was happening.
"Your Dadi?" She would have assumed he meant his father, but then he used 'she'. "Was she important to you?" She could feel a pull toward the woman she didn't know. There was something about his tone when he spoke of her. She found herself wanting to know her.
She wasn't entirely sure what to tell anyone when they asked that. There was the simple, generic answer she gave at events. She could tell him she wanted to explore the world or that she simply wanted to be closer to her brother but it was so much more than that. Besides, that didn't make for such great conversation. It was usually given to stop it, rather thanencourage. "My family, it is complicated. But my brother, he lives here. He thought it would be good, to have me here."
“Taxis move fast in this city, but you never have to wait long for the next one.” He got all kinds of people in his taxi, people with accents, people with very little English, people with no English at all. Nass barely registered anymore, if someone started speaking in other languages to him, he usually figured out a way to understand. All he needed was an address after all.
“Ah, you’re on a mission,” he commented, as he began to steer the car into traffic. “To learn something new. I wish I could say I have any recommendations but I can recommend asking the employees. That always works for me.” Nass always had other people pick his food or drink orders, or clothes, or movie… he didn’t want to choose himself. That was why cab driving was his favoured profession: other people decided where he was going. He didn’t need to drive around aimlessly by himself to keep the demons at bay.
"I am use to being in a hurry." The explanation was delivered almost as an apology. Almost everything Maria said carried an undercurrent of remorse. It was rarely warranted; she was always treating others as if they were made of eggshells, delicate bombs that could be set off by the smallest of mistakes.
There was a slight nod at his suggestion. "Everything here is something new. I lookforward to the day some things are familiar." The smile behind her words was almost audible, the dry humor being pushed into something softer out of habit. "I take lots of suggestions. People have lots of opinions. It can be interesting." She watched him through the reflection of the rearview mirror for a moment before deciding to ask. "What is it you have found? By asking."
