cry me a river. (pranto) wrote in fableless, @ 2017-03-25 00:27:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! log/thread, pilar samaniego, victor ellington |
WHO: Victor Ellington and Pilar Samaniego
WHEN: Friday, March 24th, 2017
WHERE: Breadcrumbs.
SUMMARY: Pilar and Victor finally reunite ... by accident. The former's a gigantic asshole about it. :|
WARNINGS: All Spanish dialogue is noted in italics.
STATUS: Complete.
Though the bakery had been reopened for a few weeks now, it’d taken Pilar a while to check out the new place. It wasn’t until she’d heard there was concha bread that she’d willingly biked to Breadcrumbs, plucked two loaves off the shelf, and made her way to the register. Some fumbling around her wallet for cash turned up empty (“...hold on a second.”), so she handed the cashier her credit card. Victor was aware that he was probably being a little unnerving, peering at one of his customers with obvious interest. She was young and he was not, he knew that too. And really, he wasn’t trailing her for anything malicious or depraved, he simply was absolutely certain he knew her. “Actually, I’ll help her - Joe needs help in the back, if you could?” The cashier gave an odd little look (he was used to those by now, Victor knew he was strange), but nodded, smiled and made themselves scarce. Pilar also shot an odd look in his direction. What the hell was wrong with the cashier? “Sorry for that - Pilar is it?” Said her card, but Victor didn’t look convinced. “...yeah?” Pilar arched an eyebrow. Getting more impatient than suspicious, she stared at the man, waiting for him to hurry up. Victor held the eerie scrutinization for perhaps longer than he should’ve, but what were the odds that his niece was all the way up in Woodsbridge. Anything was possible, he supposed. “I apologize,” he started, and continued, in Spanish, “You look very much like my niece. But her name is Katerin and she’s in Colombia. You couldn’t possibly be her, could you?” The familiarity of being talked to in Spanish had been buried for so many months that it felt as startling as being woken up at an early hour. However, it was the familiarity of being (indirectly) referred by her actual name that had been forcibly shovelled so deep like a Texas funeral -- that to be called Katerin again was as startling as being woken up at an early hour because your house was on fire. And just like there were too many things to think about salvaging when your house was on fire, there were too many things racing through Kat-- Pilar’s mind right now. “First of all, you are not even sorry,” she began. Was it the sudden dryness of her throat or the abrupt transition to Spanish that made her words parched in their tone? “Second of all? You’re really creepy.” Her eyes zeroed in on her credit card, which was still in the other man’s possession. “You’re very right,” Victor conceded, continuing in Spanish. “I’m not very sorry, though I do wonder what you’re doing here and I’m a little sad you don’t recognize your uncle…” Indeed, he looked a little bummed out about it, even for the fact he hardly visited family anymore and only happened to know what Pilar looked like grown because his sister had sent him pictures in case of… Well, in case of this very reason. “If you’re worried I’ll let your mother know you’re here… I have no reason to,” he promised, hoping to gain her trust. “I should ask you the same thing,” Pilar retorted. Great. Her uncle Victor was here. She supposed if she took a step back and squinted, she could see it. She’d have laughed about this so-called family reunion if it weren’t for the fact that nobody was supposed to follow her up here. And since when was Victor a Tale? “And stop guilt tripping me. I’m going to assume you came here for the same reason I did, in which case, you could have told me you were a Tale. Otherwise, the only other reason is that you’re following me, and in which case, I rest my case that you’re creepy.” “Ah, Katerin, both of those assumptions are quite self-absorbed, don’t you think? I moved here because of a business venture, not because I’m following you,” he laughed lightly gestured grandly around the place as if to emphasize his point. “And we could chase the fact that neither of us had a reason to share about our tales all night. I’d rather catch up with you, not waste time dispelling your paranoia.” He repeated, though, “I hardly speak to your mother, I’m not going to tell her you’re here.” “Since when do you bake,” she retorted. Where Victor’s arms were in a grandiose gesture, Pilar’s were tightly folded across her chest. “Whatever. Look.” She briefly waved her arms up in mock surrender. “I just want my bread. And my card back. I didn’t ask for a family reunion, so I hope you’ll understand if I’m not interested in hugging this one out.” Victor looked… Hurt. Baffled? He frowned, glanced at her card and her still unpaid for bread and sighed his surrender. “Of course… Whatever you’d like, Katerin. Take the bread, it’s on me this time.” If only to save them both from a prolonged awkward moment that he hadn’t intended to create. “No!” she volleyed back, initially in protest of taking free stuff from somebody whose face looked like that of a kicked puppy. “Just -- just charge my card. I didn’t come here to steal your bread either,” she sighed. At that, Victor rolled his eyes, grumbling something about headstrong in a fond, if irritated tone. He did as she requested, though, and slid her back the card. “Thank you,” she managed, before sliding the card back into her wallet. She nearly spun on her heel to leave, before hesitating and turning back to Victor: “Look, we can talk sometime. Just --” she paused to observe her surroundings. “-- not in a public place where I’m holding up a line, alright?” And with that, she stuffed her wallet in her pocket, and made her way toward the door. Now that it was plainly obvious to Victor that his niece was in town, he’d be able to find her, should he know where to look. His gaze dipped toward the line that had formed and he smiled apologetically. One of his more patient workers, bless them, casually slipped in to apologize for him and gave him a Not So Subtle nod that they’d take it from here. Victor smiled, nodded and stepped away. “Katerin!” One last attempt. “What about coffee? We could go now.” By this time, Pilar had just finished unlocking her bike. Was he actually serious? “I gave up coffee for Lent,” she explained, which despite being true and completely documented on the network, sounded like the biggest excuse. “And --” she began, mentally grasping for another reason why she was better off leaving Victor in the middle of the street. Wait. “Did you just follow me out here? Don’t you have a bakery to run?” “I --” Victor’s eyes widened, like he’d only just remembered he owned a bakery. “Oh yes! Well… How about a different time?” “Sure,” Pilar’s sigh seemed to echo her shrug. He really was this serious. But for now, she needed to process and shake off the feeling that her past was catching up to her much more quickly than she’d anticipated. “I’m on the network. My name’s the one you saw on my credit card,” she offered. It was a step up from exchanging Instagram usernames. “We’ll talk later, yeah?” But she left that question unanswered, as she quickly mounted her bike in one fell swoop and furiously pedaled her way home. |