aaron is investigating your tomfoolery. (inplainclothing) wrote in neogenesisrpg, @ 2009-04-22 23:57:00 |
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Suchiana hadn't felt this horrible in ages. Luckily, the Seattle weather had somehow sensed her mood, and the day had dawned grey and dreary. By the time she left to get on the bus to go to the Wellspring Café, she'd stomped satisfyingly through several puddles and very nearly shouted at several people. She then realized this probably wasn't the best frame of mind to be in when meeting someone she might very well spend the rest of her life with, and made a conscious effort to improve her mood through the remainder of the bus ride. She arrived there a few minutes early, as usual, and ordered herself a raspberry mocha and... deciding to splurge a little, a large chocolate macaroon. She then found an isolated corner of the establishment to sip her drink and wait for the arrival of her fiancé, or whatever it was they could call it. Outside the cafe, Aaron was slipping past the evening sidewalk traffic. He had been completely taken off guard by the lottery announcement; logically, somewhere in his mind, he knew perfectly well that he was not immune to the government demands (in fact, if anyone wasn't immune, he was among that rule-enforcing number), but knowing and experiencing were often two entirely different things. He had been matched with a wife, and there was little to nothing that could be done about it, and that was awfully irritating. He was happy with his life the way it was. A roommate, pets, a decent apartment, a job he enjoyed -- and while marriage was an eventual possibility off on the horizon, he didn't like having things shoved or forced at him. What she would be like was still a mystery: Their brief email exchange had not oozed of enthusiasm, but he supposed he wasn't feeling terribly enthusiastic about the whole ordeal, either. Annoyed was somewhat more accurate -- though he reminded himself once again that it was not the fault of his future wife. It was not. Mostly likely. Unless she worked for the government, though he had the sneaking suspicion that such was not the case. Pulling open the door to the cafe, Aaron scanned the tables, looking for someone who appeared...to be waiting...and he realized he did not know what she looked like. There were a fair number of women, and he did not particularly wish to guess, or to ask each one individually. There were three possible choices, assuming she had already arrived: two brunettes and a red-head, all sitting in the same general area, though each at their respective tables. "Miss Suchiana Hirsch?" The words were directed in the general area of the three women, though not pointed at any one person. As the café started to fill up, Suchiana found her isolated corner invaded by two other women. She couldn't help but wonder if either of them were in the same situation she was in. She watched the passerby over the next ten minutes with interest. Who had the government decided to throw her with this time? Was it the man walking the dog, or the one that stopped to buy a newspaper from a vendor outside? Or possibly the vendor himself... She irritably took a sip of her mocha as a youngish Asian man walked in to the café. Yamazaki She thought to herself, thinking that the last name was probably Japanese. As if in response to her thoughts, the man turned to face her. She quickly returned her studies to the table, thinking that if this was the mysterious Mr. Yamazaki, she thought perhaps she could do worse. It seemed to confirm her suspicion when he turned in her general direction and asked her name. "Depends on who's asking." She said after a minute of the two other women staring around the café in confusion. Suddenly, she became aware and horribly self-conscious of her accent. It had been something she'd worked at for years, yet something that still shone through every time she opened her mouth. It had been something that Jerome made fun of. No matter, she'd cross that bridge when she got to it. That wasn't the friendliest response she could have given, she thought after a moment longer, and pushed the chair across the table from her out a few inches in what she hoped was a semi-inviting manner. "You've got to be Mr. Yamazaki then." She said, pronouncing his name carefully and trying to make her voice a bit more friendly. Looking to the source of the voice, Aaron connected the call with a pretty red-haired woman sitting at one of the three tables. He made eye contact for confirmation: That would be Suchiana, then. Pulling a cheerful smile on to his face, he started for the table -- after all, this was a grin-and-bear-it situation until further notice, and he was going to be polite and pleasant at the very least. There was no need to be hateful, as she hadn't chosen it any more than he had. Who knew...she might even be nice. "You would be correct. Aaron Yamazaki, and it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," he responded with a solid but pleasant nod, scooting out the chair the rest of the way to sit down. The stubbornly polite part of him was internally pushing for the formalities, but heightening the level of discomfort by adding a layer of primness didn't seem appropriate for a first meeting with the person that the government randomly selected to be his wife. Relaxed was always better. "Hopefully you haven't been waiting too long." Suchiana felt her heart thudding in her chest as the man smiled and started towards her table. She felt her palms beginning to sweat and she nervously wiped them on the legs of her jeans. The jittery part of her brain wanted her to jump up and head for the exit. But of course, with her luck, he was probably a long-distance runner or a professional wrestler or something that could not only keep up with her, but could hurt her if he so chose. She forced herself to return his grin as he sat. Well, someone was taking pains to be formal. Formal, but not too uptight. Maybe he was comfortable with this sort of thing. She certainly was not. She settled for awkwardly sticking out her hand. "I'd say pleased to meet you, but..." she trailed off. Okay, she needed to not be so openly hostile. "Sorry. I'm just a little nervous." She flashed him an embarrassed smile. "So, Mr.- Aaron. Where are you from?" She figured she had to make at least some sort of token effort at trying to make this work. After a firm, polite handshake, Aaron leaned against the back of the chair, letting her initial comment roll easily off his back. There were few things that sparked his nervousness -- and perhaps it was the surreal nature of having this choice made against his will, but the event was settling straightfowardly in his mind. He was going to take this head on -- keep his cool. It was going to be fine, and they would figure out the best way. "Don't worry about it," he said with a wave of the hand, dismissing the nervousness. "I don't bite. As for origins -- born and bred here in Seattle, as unexciting as that is. My family has had a restaurant here for several generations, and my father would have rather given up his legs than left it behind to go elsewhere. Then my friends, family, and job were all here, so might as well stay." Tipping his curiously, Aaron shifted so that he could situate his arm to comfortably rest on the table without too much readjusting. "So what about you? I imagine your story's probably more interesting than mine," he asked lightly. He was picking up on an accent, so chances were she wasn't a Seattle native. And traveling typically made for a more eventful life history, as far as he was concerned. My friends, family and job were all here... Those words hit rather close to home for her. Aaron had everything here in Seattle that she'd left behind in New York and El Salvador. She fought the urge to drop her gaze, to sigh, to give some sort of outward sign of this. Well, it's not like he'd chosen to have a successful life, she couldn't blame him for having friends and family.Instead, she continued to meet his gaze. "A restaurant?" She asked, instead. "What kind?" His question made her stop and think a little. "Well, I was born in New York, but my parents were Lutheran missionaries. I grew up in Central America." She skipped a decade or so, deciding they'd have plenty of time to talk about or ignore her more recent past. "I just moved to Seattle a few months ago." Once again, she omitted most of the explanation. She filled the guilty silence with a sip of her mocha. "I'm afraid I still don't have a job." She finished with an embarrassed smile. "There's not a lot of work for journalists who don't like big outfits." With another dismissive wave of his hand, Aaron responded to the admittance with an unconcerned smile. "Welcome to Seattle, then, and I imagine you'll find something soon enough. It's probably colder and rainier here than Central America, but you at least appear to be surviving well enough." His suspicions had been confirmed, though he hadn't expected the move to be so recent. Only a few months. That sort of an adjustment sounded difficult to him -- though he preferred the chilly weather of Seattle over the hotness he imagined was characteristic of Central American countries. Absently drumming his fingertips on the top of the table, he continued, "As for the restaurant -- it's traditional Japanese, though my father is bringing in a bit more of the modern feel with some American dishes added to the menu. It's expanded a lot since its beginnings, and and the new location being built right now is going to try the idea of separating a 'modern' section of the restaurant with booths from a 'traditional' section with matted rooms. He doesn't really know how to take no for an answer, so we'll see how it goes." "We have our rainy season in El Salvador as well." She said, trying to keep the edge out of her voice after his dismissal of her jobless state. What the hell did he know about her life? She fought to keep her emotions under control, she knew he wasn't doing this on purpose. She hoped. "But it is colder." She admitted after a moment.She wasn't going to admit how much she missed the country she'd come to consider her home, not when it was painfully obvious that he'd never had to deal with any sort of major cultural adjustment like that. She managed to keep her face a mask of polite interest as he began talking about his father and his restaurant. This, at least, was something she'd had practice with. Growing up without a father in a chauvinist society had taught her a lot. It almost didn't hurt anymore when other people talked about their own, complete families. Almost. "I'm not too familiar with Japanese food." She admitted, changing the subject. "I'll have to learn. I enjoy cooking." Aaron nodded, pressing his lips together with a slanted smile. He imagined most places had rainy seasons, and he certainly hadn't intended to suggest otherwise, but she seemed on edge -- it was understandable, really. The situation wasn't a normal one, and certainly not one to be classified as comfortable. Letting the defensiveness roll off his back, he brushed over onto the following topic once again. "I definitely recommend it. If you ever want to try, I'm sure we could find something that isn't too offensive. I missed out on the cooking gene in the family, but at least you enjoy it." "There is a lack of good Salvadoran and Nicaraguan food here." Suchi explained, trying to get herself to relax a little more. "If I get homesick for certain foods, I basically have to make them myself." Having exhausted the reasonable limits of talking about cooking (she was hardly about to launch into a detailed analysis of how difficult it was to find the appropriate flour necessary for the thicker tortillas Central American cuisine preferred) she scoured her brain for a suitably neutral topic. Dammit, she was a journalist, she shouldn't be having this much trouble with a simple interview. But of course this wasn't a simple interview, this was the man the government expected her to spend the rest of her life with. "So what do you do?" She asked after a moment longer of silence. That was a nice neutral subject. Suchi had interviewed all types over the years, she was pretty confident that nothing he could say would phase her. "That, there is -- and for that reason, I have to admit a lack of familiarity with those types of foods, but there's always room for new things," Aaron responded with a brisk nod, though he had no idea in the slightest what Salvadoran or Nicaraguan meals tasted like. Probably they were very good, he suspected -- he could appreciate food, even if he couldn't prepare it. At least he could feel confident there wouldn't be any starvation in the household? Either way, the conversation had shifted; taking the redirection in stride, he shifted in his seat and responded lightly, "I'm a police officer. And you're a journalist, you said?" Apparently she was wrong. a cop?!? Clearly, this was some sort of punishment. The tiny rational part of her brain tried to convince the rest of her that being a cop probably didn't have quite the same meaning in Seattle as it did in El Salvador, but the very word unlocked a torrent of images and emotions. She was once again the scared eight year old, learning that her father had been murdered, the politically active teenager whose friends and mentors had been silenced, and the terrified 22 year old, brought in for questioning just because she had dared to assume that immigrants had rights too. No, this couldn't be happening. The government expected her to marry a corrupt, power-hoarding murderer! She was fully aware that all the color had drained from her face, and she felt her fingernails digging into her arms where she'd crossed them in a sub-conscious gesture of self-protection. She shook slightly as she fought internally to keep from making a scene. When his companion suddenly looked as if he had kicked her in the stomach or something of the sort, Aaron's eyebrows slightly raised. Had he said something wrong? She had said she was a journalist, had she not? Or did she have something against police officers? He wondered somewhat if perhaps she was doing something shady, but suspecting his future wife right off the bat wasn't particularly polite... There was always the chance she had eaten something earlier that just happened to hit at that precise moment. There was always that possibility. "Everything alright?" he asked carefully, sitting up and leaning a few inches forward with an open expression. Shaking wasn't exactly what he would call normal... She didn't answer, staring straight ahead and vainly trying to blink back tears. She would not cry, she would not... Oh hell. And then she was crying, shaking with silent sobs. She was horrified, and she could imagine that Aaron was probably quite worried about her mental state. "I'm sorry." She managed in a hiccuping voice. "It's just..." But she couldn't explain, not when he was sitting there looking so damn worried about her. She dissolved into a fresh bout of tears and wiped viciously at her face with her sleeve. Aaron's eyes widened a bit more when she broke into sobs -- there was definitely something wrong (probably not a sick stomach, he was beginning to think), and he tried to resist the urge to overwhelm with questions. Physical contact wasn't an uncomfortable thing for him, but it was with a touch of awkwardness that he lifted a hand and patted her shoulder, not wanting to set her even more if she had some sort of complex about that. He really didn't know yet...but he hated seeing people crying, especially females, and especially because of himself -- so he couldn't just sit there. He would just...let her calm down a bit. She jerked away at his touch, sending her chair several inches back on the tile with an angry screeching sound. She was quite aware that everyone else in the café was staring at her, and the woman at the next table over got up and moved to a table on the other side of the small space. Huddling in misery, she fought to get herself back under control. It took several minutes, but eventually she was able to move her chair back to its original position and give Aaron a weak sort of smile. "Would you believe me if I promised I wasn't really a nutcase?" She said, trying to grin. The sharp, jerking movements had startled Aaron backwards again, and he made a mental note to be mindful of the touching. He didn't know what the problem was, so he didn't know how to fix it -- if he could somehow avoid making it worse...again...then that would be progress. When it seemed that the crying was subsiding, his posture relaxed slightly. "I would believe you, yes. Feeling better?" he asked with a small, carefully light smile. Just try to keep the atmosphere up. Non-hostile. Non-weepy. "I owe you an explanation." She said, dabbing at her eyes with a soggy napkin and thanking God she didn't wear mascara. "Where I grew up, police weren't, um, good people." She told him. "In fact, it was usually policemen who carried out assassinations and disappearances." She paused and swallowed a little. "Of course I have no proof, but we all know that it was policemen who murdered my father." She sighed. "I know that this is not what police do in The States, but my experience with cops here don't give me a lot to be confident about. It's unfair to pass that judgment along to you." she finished, and became very engrossed in staring at her coffee cup. Well -- that certainly explained it. Aaron allowed the information to sink in as she explained herself, and he felt a pang of disgust that there were police officers out there (El Salvador or not) who would carry out assassinations in the name of the law. There were times when force was necessary, but it didn't sound like that was the case in this situation. Pressing his lips into a line, he nodded a confirmation of understanding. "Then I'm sorry you had to go through that. Sounds like a corrupt and incredibly counter-productive force to me..." He crinkled his nose. "And I'm sorry to hear about your father, for that matter..." Not wanting to set her off again by prying too much -- though the nagging temptation was there -- he nodded. Okay, maybe he would pry a little bit. "When did it happen?" he continued with a friendly but somewhat cautious tone. "I was eight years old." Suchi said quietly. That was hardly recent, and all the memories she had left of Jared Hirsch were faded with time, but it was a trauma that effected her deeply and shaped much of her life. "He worked with a land-rights group and....one night, he just didn't come home. I wish I could say ours was the only family this happened to, but..." She trailed off. "It's going to take me a while." She said, even more quietly. She took a deep breath. "I suppose there are logistics to discuss." She said after a moment. "Who's moving where, that sort of thing." She tried to keep her voice light, but she was sure Aaron could hear the dread in her voice. Eight years old -- he had never had to go without his parents (though he, guiltily enough, had more than once wished his own father would back off and leave him be), but imagining having his father murdered at eight years old was a pretty horrifying thought. That was the sort of things the police were supposed to protect people from -- they weren't supposed to be the offenders. "I can assure that I won't be doing anything of the sort, but...you know, no rush." Nodding and summoning up self-assurance into his voice again -- thinking about the anti-safety of the El Salvador police was a bit jarring -- he drummed his fingers on his knees. "I'm living with my best friend Jayden at the moment; what about you?" "I've got a single bedroom in the Alaska Apartments." She said with a wince as she realized that meant she'd probably be the one moving. "At least most of my stuff is still in boxes from the last move." She'd never intended that her time in the Alaska be permanent, but she still felt a stab of anger at being required to move on someone else's terms. She didn't add the comment swirling around her head, wondering exactly what kind of relationship he had with his best friend, but it was definitely something she'd file away for later consideration. "I don't know when the government starts checking for cohabitation or whatever." She illustrated her derision for that policy with a flick of her hand. "But I'd suspect we'd have time to find something larger before they throw the book at us. I'd just like to not have to pay rent on two apartments." She blushed a little. "Money's a little tight. Until then, I'd be fine sleeping on a couch or something." She finished, lamely. She could always flee to Robin's if the need arose, her friend had been kind enough to offer that. Aaron nodded. "They don't tend to give much time to take care of this business. Rush, rush, rush. But I agree -- might as well save the money on the extra rent, yeah, so you can crash with us until we can get somewhere more permanent, if you want. That probably counts as cohabitation, if the whip gets cracked." Folding his hands behind his head, he rested his back against the chair with a little huff. Thinking about logistics and the sterile feeling of these forced cohabitations reminded him of how frustrating the matter was, but he wasn't exactly free to complain. "I can store some of my stuff at my parents' house if we end up needing more room for your boxes. I'm not sure how that spacing will go, but I think it's workable." "I don't have a lot of stuff." She said, running through a list of her possessions in her head. "Just some clothes, books, games. I can probably sell most of the kitchen stuff, or combine it with yours." There were of course, certain things that she wasn't giving up. It had taken her two months to find a tortilla toaster, she wasn't about to drop that off at a Goodwill. "I can probably get by for a few weeks on a suitcase and an overnight bag, I'm used to traveling light." She was already thinking about how many more boxes she'd need. Probably only two or three, she'd been lazy and just folded up most of them from her last move in a corner of her tiny living room. "Let's see, then there's the ceremony." Joy. "If there isn't much to transport and store, I wouldn't worry too much about selling things right off; I won't be taking all of the dishes with me when we leave, as that would leave Jayden dishless...and strangely enough, I suspect he wouldn't be in favor of that," Aaron said, keeping his tone light and friendly. He hadn't exactly asked Jayden yet about bringing in the assigned future wife, but probably it would be okay, and Aaron tended to win those sort of arguments anyway, when they became 'arguments'... But for the ceremony -- that was something he was notably less familiar with. "I'm not very knowledgeable about the intricacies of the ceremony, or if there even are intricacies, but I guess we'll be figuring it out soon enough." "Right, dishes." She said, longing to bring out her notepad and start making notes on what to pack and how to organize it, but she trusted her reporter's memory to keep the most important details more or less intact. "From what I remember," She said, thinking back to the hurried ceremony with Jerome "There's some customization available in the ceremony to allow for religious beliefs." She thought about pushing for a Lutheran service, but she hadn't been to a service since her mother died. "And I think there's the possibility of reserving a larger room if you're going to have a lot of family in attendance." She continued, once again not quite sure of the accuracy, because neither she or Jerome had needed the extra room. Aaron nodded -- there weren't any real religious customs to speak of, for his family in particular, so at least that wouldn't be a clashing problem. "Customization is good. Will we need any of that on your end? "As for guests and room needed -- do we know how many people one would technically hold, or is that something to look into?" "No customization on my end," She said, banishing the thought of asking for a religious service once and for all. "I'm not looking for anything fancy." She caved and dug out her notebook after all. She jotted down some quick notes about what they'd discussed so far, then looked up at him again. "No additional guests either, so just get a tally from your family members, and I can contact the SPO about how big a room we'll need." "I'm also pretty flexible on dates." She told him after a moment, fighting down another wave of bitterness. "So whatever works for you and yours." "Alright, then. Sounds like there shouldn't be too much issue, then." Aaron supposed it would be awkward to have most of the decisions coming from him, but if her family was in another country -- he supposed a government arranged marriage wasn't something to cross borders for, even if it was encouraged. They would just have to make the best of it. "Nice and straightforward, so I can get back to you with those details pretty quickly." "Should be simple enough," She allowed, flipping her notebook shut with determination. "Okay, I think that's about it, as far as things we can do ahead of time. I'll contact you about getting my stuff into storage." She shoved the notebook into her messenger bag, and tidied the cups on her side of the table, tossing the tear-stained napkins into the coffee cup for ease of disposal. "And unless you have any other questions, I'd like to be getting hom- back to my apartment." She smiled, and hoped too much of her bitterness didn't show through. "After all, I've got a lot of packing to do." Aaron nodded, keeping a pleasant smile on his face and opting to ignore the awkward air to the meeting. It could be worse. It could be worse. At least it didn't seem like he would have to part from Jayden just yet, and she didn't seem to be a raving nutcase. Not too demanding...though he supposed he had something to prove if she had a(n understandable) law enforcement complex. "I will be seeing and or speaking with you again soon, then. Good luck with tying up loose ends," he said, standing up from his seat and rocking once on his heels. "It was good to meet you, despite the circumstances -- not voluntary and everything. I'll take my leave." With a determined smile and a wave, Aaron turned on his heels and strolled back out of the cafe. In the clear for now, at least. |