A Good Cause
| A Good Cause | |
|---|---|
"I'm still one of the lucky ones." | |
| Players | Mike's Diner Javi and Fiametta make a plan. Some other things come out. |
<TXT> From Javi to Fiametta: hey fi <TXT> From Javi to Fiametta: how do you feel about doing something a little shady but it's for a good cause <TXT> From Fiametta to Javi: For a good cause? I'm in! <TXT> From Javi to Fiametta: meet me at the diner and i'll tell you about it? <TXT> From Fiametta to Javi: kk see you soon! <TXT> From Javi to Fiametta: <3 :hug: :thumbs up: Javi may have already been here when he'd texted Fiametta to come meet him to talk about doing something shady (but for a good cause), because he's a) snagged a booth, and b) already ordered, apparently for both of them. There's a milkshake that seems like it's probably for her, anyway -- unless he's planning on drinking two milkshakes, which to be fair may seem like something he //would// do, but it's the flavor she'd gotten last time -- and a giant plate of fries, plus two smaller plates to put handfuls of them on, one of them in front of him and one of them across from him. He's scrolling through his phone as he waits, but he's obviously not in any sort of hurry.
When she sees Javi, she waves if she can catch his eye--but then she drifts quickly to the booth, her hands clasping together briefly in delight when she sees there's already a nice spread put out on the table. But then she narrows her eyes mock suspiciously at him. "Hmmm. There more shady than good in this, or something?" she teases him. But like, she's not going to say NO of course.
"Damn, look at you," he remarks. "You got a hot date or something? My shit's not that important if you're going somewhere." Not that she doesn't always look good, but sometimes one is going somewhere. He has to laugh a //little// wryly at the question, but he shakes his head. "Nah," he replies, "it's not that bad. Like, no one's getting hurt. Just not, you know." He waves a hand vaguely in the air that ends up with a gesture toward the opposite seat.
Fiametta waves a hand, before she snags one of the fries. "My hot dates don't really involve dressing up," she laughs, wrinkling her nose at him impishly. Silly Javi. "But, I did need to go visit a few theaters this afternoon. And I figured since I was going out in daylight hours, that I'd be nice to to the neighbors. Even though I kinda like to see the sideeye that one gives Razi, like a lot." This seems to amuse her greatly. Probably because for all his measured patience, it's possible that Razi might not even have /noticed/ the Karen next door. Ish. She seems neither relieved or disappointed that no one is getting hurt, at least, as she perches on the edge of her seat, resting her elbows on the table and gazing at him directly with that occasionally-unsettlingly in its intense directness stormy-blue gaze. Of course, since it's Javi across from her, what might be intimidating to others is quite ruined by the genuinely soft smile curving her lips. "I'm all ears."
However, he seems perfectly willing to get down to it, and the intensity of the stare is cut enough by the smile that he doesn't think anything of the former at all. Or maybe he's just comfortable with her now. Either way, he replies, "Okay, so. It's kinda weird but you know, all this shit is weird. People want what they want." He shrugs, spreading his hands out wide and rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. He doesn't know, okay? "So there's this guy, and he wants his ashes scattered at Wrigley Field, right? Except they're in a crypt over there at Graceland, you know? 'Cause I guess the whole family's in there and it was like a thing, and he died kinda sudden and he ain't leave a will or nothing so no one knew about it. So basically he wants me to get 'em from in there."
The mention of a crypt has her lips parting from her straw, though. "Umm...you mean the little house things?" she asks, sitting up more straight. "Well, I guess if someone busts us breaking into one of those things, at least we know a good lawyer," she says, thoughtfully.
He reaches for a fry, nodding as he dunks it in the little ketchup holder on the edge of the plate. "Yeah, those things," he confirms. "It's pretty old so we could probably do it and it wouldn't be that hard? But, you know. Last time I tried to pick a lock I really fucked it up, so." He seems to be aware that he's not selling it particularly well, but at least he seems to be amused, even if it's a little self-deprecating.
"I never picked a lock in my life," she admits. "But I could give it a try. Or at least try and run off anyone who comes to bother us. You think this guy's family will be sad though, if they find out his house thing got broken into?"
Instead of saying anything more about that, he focuses on the question. "Nah," he says quickly, "they won't. Don't wanna mess it up, you know? He's probably in, like, an urn. Just gotta dump the ashes out and put it back how it was, they won't even know. To be honest we probably don't even need all of 'em for it to work." Whatever 'it' is that needs to 'work.'
She chows down on a couple of more fries, looking thoughtful once more. "Did he say how come he wants to be in a stadium instead of with all his folks? Or is it kinda bad to ask stuff like that?"
As for the //why//, he shrugs, and his expression softens a little bit. "It's not bad. You gotta ask stuff sometimes. Guess he's just a fan, though. He just wants to be over there. Probably 'cause none of his family are really still here. Just him. So he don't wanna stay like that. You know?"
She absorbs his answer solemnly though. "Guess that makes sense. It would really suck to be mostly alone. And to be that way....well, forever I guess? Unless someone helps you out." There's a little bit of kinship she feels in that, it's plain on her delicate features.
He finishes off the fry, reaching for the shake again so that he can tap his finger against the glass. "Not today. Maybe in a couple days? It's not, like, time sensitive." His smile has faded a little bit now, mirroring the sober look from her. "Yeah," he says, a little more quietly. "It does." His mouth pulls a little bit to one side, "They ain't really themselves, you know? But yeah. Being somewhere and not being able to do anything about it." The words are said a little delicately now, too, like they're trying to approach something else -- and he's not exactly //subtle//, with the way he's looking at her, but he doesn't go directly there yet.
Its a few minutes before she trusts herself enough to look up. "I wonder," she muses, "If it feels better to be an echo, even if it's frustrating. Or if it's better to really come back as something that's been shattered and pasted back together into something else and living in the shadow of all the time that you missed. I mean, I can see in the moment how being /in/ whatever you are might just be painful no matter what. I guess it's better to be a smashed up something, but you can still choose what you wanna do, going forward. Maybe the hurt is worth it, even though there's old hurts /and/ new hurts."
"Yeah?" He seems to think better of it as soon as it's out -- or at least that it might need a little clarifying. "How do you do it? How do you, like...be here? After that." He glances down now, too, reaching a hand up to rub a knuckle against his forehead before his hand shifts to start to twist the straw in between his fingers so the bent part waves back and forth.
Delicate fingers lace together on the table in front of her. "I don't know. I mean--I didn't have t' come back to someone else living my life, like a lot of people do. But I--" Her throat tightens, and she pauses for another long few minutes, until it passes. "I mean life goes on without us, while we're gone. Before, I had dreams, I was working hard to try and make my life better for us. Most of them weren't really dreams for me, but for her. But I was really young, I was just learning how to make those dreams for myself, you know? I heard her, calling me, there. It reminded me of who I might be." She turns her face towards the window, so she has something to look out at, even if the glare of the interior lighting means it mostly looks like her studying her own reflection. "But I can't get back my life, Javi. I was gone too long. She doesn't need my dreams for her anymore, she got her own. It's a /good/ thing. But I lost all those years, and I can't ever--I can't ever be what was the best part of me, before. It's gone. It's too late. I visit her sometimes, when she doesn't know and can't see me. Lots of people don't have what I have. She doesn't need me anymore, but I found other people who I can take care of. Some for a little, some for as long as I'm alive or they're alive. And maybe I'll figure out some new dreams, as some point."
"Sorry." It's very low, and wholly inadequate, but it may be all he can get out at the moment. He clears his throat and tries again, and this time he manages a little better, but it's still not //quite// steady. "I mean, feel like I'd probably still need you if you were my mom." The tiny laugh that escapes is not amused -- it's the sort of involuntary reaction that happens when big emotions start to meld together and come out in ways you don't expect. He realizes that, too, and there's another wince as he shakes his head. "But, you know. Yeah." He probably gets it. He takes in a breath, letting it out slowly. "It's good you, like...found people. It's good to have people."
"I think I need her more than she needs me. If I was good, I wouldn't risk tearing everything she's believed and used to make it through apart. I was lucky--she landed in a good place. People that care about her, that she seems happy with. And I can't be a mom now. I wouldn't know how. I mean, she's around our age I guess, a little younger. I don't even know how to be whatever age I'm supposed to be right now." She smiles then too, because it's true, with her mercurial moods, and timelessness, all those years locked away by the memories mostly gone. "It is good to have people," she agrees. "Whether they're with you for a little while before they choose to move on, or you have them for a long time. I'm lucky. I have lots of people I want to take care of. And most of the time they let me." She smiles at him, then, with surprisingly gentle fondness, though her eyes still shimmer just a bit in the light. "I'm sorry, though. You have a enough shit on your shoulders, you know?" She looks down at the table again.
He's jolted out of the state he's in by her apology, though, and this time when he looks up at her it manages to stick. "You don't need to be sorry," he says quickly. Maybe a little too quickly, but only just. "I mean, I really don't. I'm good." Yes, he's very obviously good, and sure to convince anyone who's listening to him. "I'm fine. Doing fine." He reaches for a fry, but he doesn't actually eat it. "I'm just, you know. That just really sucks. It's like...the worst thing. Wish I could fix it, that's all."
"I didn't have a real great environment growing up. Probably why I got into the situation I did for a lot of things. I can relate to...a lot of bad stuff. Even though I do some of it now. I'm not really a real person anymore. But I do really like you a lot. And I like to help you, because it's fun and I like the time. You don't got to share anyone else's secrets with me, even your own, not ever. But if you do, I know when to keep my mouth shut about things people tell me." She seems to notice the temperature differential on her face, and she touches her cheek, quickly grabbing a napkin to blot her skin and eyes, as if suddenlyt embarassed. "I wish I could fix some things for you too. I know I can't /really/. But I'm still here. Maybe somday I'll earn it a little." And that at least draws out a smile.
"You //are// a real person." His voice is still quiet, in deference to the fact that they're in public, but there's some force behind it. "Maybe you're not the same person. But you're real. And you're fucking amazing. You're this whole...like, you know, yeah. Kinda do wish you were my mom." A laugh escapes him, a little unsteady. "It's just like, I'm not gonna be whining about my dumb shit when you went through the worst fucking thing in the world, you know? It's just whatever. It's not that deep."
"Well, you don't /have/ to whine at me--though I don't think I'd think you were whining either. And whatever you go through, it's not dumb shit to /me/. Not ever. If there's anything I've learned since being out it's that sometimes comparing notes just means that you don't end up saying what you need to say. Or letting people that want to catch you catch you." She squeezes his hand, gently. "I hope we got enough time that you'll see it's okay to do that sometimes."
"Yeah." Javi doesn't argue, and there's a certain pleasure in being counted among her //people//, evidenced by the widening smile. It brightens even further when she mentions lovers, but he doesn't //quite// ask yet -- though the quality of it is different this time. Like he's probably going to do it at some point because he wants to hear about it, but is giving it a tiny bit of space first. His fingers curl around hers, and he, too, seems to settle, his shoulders relaxing as he lets out a longer breath. "I will," he says. "I mean, we will. Not gonna go anywhere." It's pretty confident, for the man who sees ghosts and so brushes with death every day, but he sounds sure. However, he's looking at her more steadily now, and even though he's still considering her words, he also seems to be considering something //else//. Placing things in his mind, or moving pieces around. "Dunno if you know about this," he finally continues, "but in Santería there's an oricha, Yemayá. I mean, she's water and you're not water, you feel more like fire." He can't //see// it, but he's felt the warmth more than once by now, and he's clearly made some assumptions. Of course, his assumptions are usually based on something. "So it's not like, you know. Exact. But she's the mother. Like, //the// mother. You got that, too. That vibe. 'Cause when she goes to war for her kids, no one can beat her. That feels like you." He squeezes her hand, then tips his head toward the counter. "You want some pie? 'Cause I'mma get some pie." And he'll either get one, or two, and the eating of them will not be rushed, though it may be spent discussing lighter topics. | |