ʙᴇᴇᴘ ʙᴇᴇᴘ, ʀɪᴄʜɪᴇ (trashing) wrote in valloic, @ 2022-07-22 20:29:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !: action/thread/log, she-ra: catra, ₴ inactive: richie tozier (2) |
“I can’t believe I forgot you guys had an elephant here,” Catra sighed, shaking her head at the thought of it. Vallo had slapped them with some changes lately, a lot of it having to do with the absence of people that have been in their lives in the long-term sense. It further proved to her that having a sense of comfort here was a total fucking lie, expect the worst and to also - make sure to see your people? Give them fucking hugs? Remind them that you actually like them? She hoped most of her friends knew that. Adora was right; most of them were aware of her personal brand of, uh, caring. Which involved some snark, actions or gifts that thinly veiled her affections - that kind of stuff. She knew Richie did. He was also one of her Vallo firsts - Dan had been the first one to reach out to her on the network, and Richie had been the first person she met face to face (and offered her a space-inspired drink for her troubles and aches). Lots of sentimental value there, and if she lost him to Vallo’s roulette of ‘who to send home this month’ she would be devastated. So she was up in his business in Skyhold’s kitchen, their choice of hangout. It was hella spacious here - and would be smelling good soon too since they were breading raw chicken with fruity pebbles. It was their literal specialty. They had dabbled in other recipes too with that damn cereal being a vital ingredient but the chicken had been mastered to such perfection that why not just make it again? They probably had ingredients for a no-bake fruity pebbles cheesecake if they had leftovers, too. Catra knew how to whip that up pretty quickly. “But then again the grounds here are massive, so - I forgive myself for that.” It was true, they did have a glorious elephant once upon a time here at Skyhold - but Hannibal and his special beauty had disappeared when Hazel did, presumably returning to be with her in her own world. Along with Arion the gold nugget-eating horse (of course) - and Richie was quietly sad about it; Hannibal was amazing and so loving in his elefant kind of way. They showed affection with their trunks, and he’d snack on trees and shrubs when he could, but Richie was also fond of giving him melons and pineapples as a treat sometimes too. He spoiled the hell out of that war pachyderm and he made no apologies for it. Yeah, he was depressed about Hazel and Ras disappearing - but Hannibal? Oh fuck. The end of an epic love affair. “I know, it was crazy,” he chuckled, making sure the oil was heating up nicely to deep fry these rainbow suckers - on the counter they had the flour (it went poof, a whole cloud of it and he always got some on his cheeks and nose) and fruity pebbles spice mix lined up for dipping, and in a minute he’d switch to beating some eggs. Maybe he could take his frustrations out on that. “Hannibal was the best though. And Hazel had worked with the horses in the stables for a really long time - like about as long as I’ve been here? So a couple years.” To think he had been here for that long too. Don’t get any bright ideas, Vallo. God. A couple years. Time was weird. Catra herself was headed towards that milestone too. Hell, Dan had reached that milestone and this stupid fucking place still - ugh, you know what? Don’t be a downer. Dan would tell her something chock-full of wisdom about enjoying time here with the people she cared about because you never know. Vallo’s permanence wasn’t concrete and nothing was guaranteed. “I’d say you could have Swift Wind as a substitute for the elephant but he talks too much shit and likes Bright Moon,” she snorted, grabbing an apron to tie around her because of that fluor, ugh. The less that got on her the better. She wasn’t a stranger to kitchen messes but she also hated them. Always either too powdery or too sticky. Alas, part of the whole process. As a safety precaution she tied her whole mess of hair up too into this tightly wound but messy sort of bun to avoid a mess there. “Anyway, I’m glad we got to do this. I’m trying to bitch and woe less and just…” Her shoulders went up into a shrug. “See people more and remind them that I like them.” “Bitching and woe-ing - “ Was that a word? Richie didn’t think so, but it was now. “...is totally acceptable. But yeah, I guess there comes a point where you have to move on to something else rather than sitting and stewing in it.” Because it wasn’t healthy - he knew that. And he also knew that their loved ones who disappeared (Dan especially, for Catra) wouldn’t want them to sit around moping either. They’d just blink all confused-like and ask why the hell they were continuing to make ass imprints on the couch when they could be out living their lives. Or making fruity pebbles fried chicken, as it were. Everything was set so now maybe they’d go with their usual assembly line process - Catra would dip and coat the chicken, and Richie would man the fryer. Then when it came out it’d be so very chef’s kiss. Would they eat a salad with this deliciousness? Fuck no, but maybe they’d crack open some beer which maybe counted as healthy because there was barley in it. Barley was good for you. “I like you too though,” he tossed Catra a grin. He loooooved her, in that familial big brother kind of way. He’d felt some type of way about her from the beginning when her grumpy ass showed up in Vallo and it had only grown stronger. “I can’t imagine going through everything and marrying Max and not having you there. Now that Nyx is gone and I’m looking after Galahd - I mean, I just think back to the first time you stomped in. Wild.” Making friends was, like, the worst. Catra had told Adora that jokingly but there was a kernel of truth there too. She had always been very guarded, trusted very little (or not at all), pushed others away until she had no one left by herself and boy that had been fun (in the most miserable way). Then she vowed to do the opposite here because, well, what the fuck did she have to lose? Turns out when you made friends and actually loved them - you had a lot to potentially lose. Really, she should have learned that lesson by now when Adora defected and she spiraled but that was neither here nor there. Regardless, she was supremely happy with the connections she’s made; whether they’ve stayed here by this world’s good graces or got torn away by this same world’s Big Dick energy. “Some boring shmuck would have probably officiated our wedding and it wouldn’t have been the same,” Catra smirked, bumping her hip into his before diving into the whole breading thing. Time for her fingers to get super gross in the name of a sweet and savory heart attack. “Congrats on being a barkeep, though?? I didn’t even think about it being affected by Nyx being gone but I’m glad it stuck around. That’s always been, like… a landmark, I guess? Since I’ve been here.” Because, yeah, she had stomped into that bar for a singular drink right when she arrived here. Then she met Richie and the rest was history. “It has,” Richie agreed. “First drink for newcomers is free. Always.” He would have shit a brick if Galahd disappeared too - it was one of his places of employment, in addition to his standup routine and doing some psychic crap on the side too and maybe he technically didn’t need the money. But it was more about the rapport with people - talking to them, listening to their woes, dealing with their want to flip tables after they appeared in Vallo all disoriented and wanting to go home (at least for those first few days or weeks). Trashmouth Tozier was definitely what one might describe as a people person and he loved running his mouth and just chatting folks up. Besides, it was how he met a number of friends here so he couldn’t complain. “I figure he’ll come back someday too,” the stubborn mule added - because he didn’t want to believe that Nyx was gone forever; that guy had been one of the first people Richie himself befriended, and he was also someone who didn’t put weird pressure on him because another version of his younger self had apparently been a Vallo resident beforehand too. Talk about an existential crisis, man. To know that not only were you here but you were dating your childhood crush - completely weird. “I remember when I was first trying to flirt with Max and Nyx was like - wow, you really suck at this,” he chuckled fondly. “Still don’t know how I managed to land that one.” Maybe it was his cooking prowess - plop, there went a chicken tender into the hot oil. Sizzle, sizzle, pop. Catra didn’t think much of people returning. It wasn’t anything she saw often, and she knew sometimes people came back without any memories of this place and it was - just a lot. But there was hope in those kinds of possibilities too. “I’m hoping when all these families disappear they end up somewhere together and not… separated,” she mumbled thoughtfully, working onto the next piece with creased brows. There was a chance that, maybe, somewhere, Dan and Allison and Claire were thrown into a new weird pocket dimension like this one. Nyx and Bucky and their baby, too. It was a nice thought. The best case scenario involved for everyone. They’d never really know unless they came back and told them otherwise. “And - honestly, you’re charming for a dude and I bet your awkward flirting attempts probably made you more endearing to him,” she continued on and handed him over a piece of fruity pebbled chicken, pinched between her claws because oh god these felt gross. The texture was yikes. “Max has what you people call good taste.” The piece of chicken was taken from a very reluctant cat, and Richie added it to the fryer for babysitting. He was slowly turning the pieces in the oil and letting them cook when they were handed to him - some of the pieces were taken out too, and put on paper towels to dry and look delicious. He honestly couldn’t wait to devour these. And probably burn his mouth because that was a thing that would happen with his impatience. “I hope so too - and I don’t care if it’s dumb, I’ll believe in good shit for good people who deserve it,” he said. “Now I’m definitely starting to sound like Max. He’s such a fucking optimist sometimes.” But Richie supposed he had to be, since so many people followed him and looked to him for guidance and inspiration during times of despair - had to also be fucking exhausting, really, and no wonder Max had just gone for a relatively simple career as a DOA magic guru, managing coven affairs, and nothing too complicated. He could sit at his desk and keep practicing at Excel spreadsheets, happy as a clam. Was Richie charming though? Yeah, well. Maybe. He grinned crookedly at the compliment. “Here I thought I’d die alone - glad to be wrong,” he stated cheerfully. “We’re definitely gonna have a bonfire on one of the neighbor islands for our anniversary. You gotta come. Tell Adora to bring some of her edible stash, no one will care. Though she hasn’t been too stoned lately, has she?” There was a limit, loath as he was to admit it. “No shit I’m coming,” Catra huffed in this mock-offended sort of way, like - of course she wouldn’t miss it. She had been there for the proposal and some of the actual reception cooking (hence this beautiful, nostalgic frying session in his kitchen) so she was very much there. “I’m content to chill out and watch you guys engage in gross amounts of PDA while I do the same. But she’s been… okay.” Her anxiety was at a more manageable level. Adora would always worry about things (to the point that it would make her need to be in control of everything and butt into things excessively) but if they could keep it to a minimum then it was a success. People disappearing didn't help with that, though - first Dan, then Bow all in the same month. There wasn’t anything to control or stop in that regard. It just was what it was. She paused in the breading to wash her hands. The gunk was getting too much. “Trying to help her with other coping mechanisms, y’know? That’s not always about punching things or eating a special brownie. She and Adam have gotten into photography so trying out a new hobby keeps her focused. If she’s not actively protecting something or someone and throwing hands she feels aimless, though it’s not as bad as it used to be.” Catra wasn’t going to rush the process. Their childhoods were fucked, spending three years fighting each other was fucked, realizing that you were meant to be a weapon and a martyr with no thought to your own life or what you wanted was fucked. They were always gonna be a little fucked but the strides they’ve made to be better were big ones. And she was really proud of Adora for doing therapy with James and keeping up with it, too. Richie sure knew what it was like to have shit coping mechanisms so he understood in that regard - he also knew what it was like to recognize that you were always going to be a bit fucked up, due to your experiences and a little thing we like to called Trauma. With a Capital T, too. There was no erasing Derry - its darkness, its evil, what it had done to him and how he’d been forced to return to the site of his childhood abuse. It wasn’t just IT either - it was growing up being surrounded by barely anyone to turn to for support as he struggled with who he was; he slapped humor and joke bandaids over the scars of that trauma, and when Mike had called him to tell him that IT was back his first fear wasn’t even the damn clown at all. It was Henry Bowers and his ilk. It was having gay slurs thrown at him and being run out of the arcade. Bullying and all of its own insidious kind of effects, effects and similarities and ties to child abuse - he hated it. He was sensitive about El being bullied too, because the last thing he wanted was for her to feel what he felt. The remnants of those scars that rattled like bones that refused to stay buried in the graveyard of his mind - they would never go away. Of course, a demon clown hadn’t helped either. The fact that he’d found someone who was also a little fucked up helped too, though Max had his own old bones. “The photography’s way cool,” he said, adding more fried chicken to the paper towels. In a minute, he’d wash his hands too. “But I get that you always think you have to throw hands, if that’s what’s been pounded into your skull for so long - she deserves more than that though. Like, her worth’s not dependent on how many people she can save or what she can do for them.” He knew that, and of course Catra knew that. But Adora just had to believe it for herself which was the tricky part. “Gonna spend the rest of my life telling her that,” Catra snorted, but the words were said fondly too - she knew her wife, all the baggage and scars (physical ones too, she was responsible for a few). Part of the whole ‘I want to spend the rest of my life with you’ involved embracing the good and bad while trying to help each other be a little better than they were the day before. She was getting a bit thirsty, though. And by thirsty - well, that just meant she wanted a damn beer, so she went to the fridge and helped herself to one. Grabbed a second one too, in case Richie wanted one. “Buuut, speaking of photography - you should make Adora take all the pictures for your anniversary,” she suggested with a hopeful tone. “Would definitely keep her from eating a whole brownie to herself and have her all focused trying to make sure she got the perfect shots for the two of you.” Hell, she could even scrapbook something for them as a token. Albums on your phone were nice and convenient but there was something neat in having the physical pictures and making something special out of them? That was her line of thinking, anyway. “Ohhhhhh - “ Richie let that drag out, a thoughtful response. Although, really, he didn’t have to think about it much at all. It sounded like a great idea, so, sign him up. “Yeah, that’d be awesome,” he grinned big, a whole injection of starshine right there in the kitchen - something that broke through any gloom and doom they may have been feeling, residually, after those disappearances and the lingering sadness. That shit didn’t go away overnight but he’d try to remain positive and keep on keeping on. It was what their loved ones would want, anyway. He could just picture Ras with her deadpan facial expressions asking why the hell he was moping around for her when there was so much shit to do - she taught him how to make the vision-boosting potions, so he could do what she did and make them for Prigany too. He wasn’t about to give up on that. The beer Catra snagged was cracked open and he took a long swig. “I’ll poke her about it,” he nodded. “I think it’s badass she’s so into something so like, normal? I guess is the word? Mundane? It’s easy to relate to people - not always when you can throw a building, but photography’s a lot more chill.” Plus throwing buildings came naturally to Adora, when she was in She-Ra form - photography, not so much. He liked that she was working on learning something new. It was inspiring. “Okay, you wanna eat the shit out of this fried chicken and drink and maybe save some for Max?” If there was one thing Richie loved, it was gifting his previously-deprived husband with junk food. “I’m ready to poop rainbows,” Catra concurred, and she supposed Max could take part in their hard work - frying food was a pain, and frying them in sugary cereal was a step up. Her own beer popped open but before she even took the first sip, she bumped her hips into his in what was a playful little shove. Then she brought it to her lips, hesitant, but before anything else: “Hey,” she began. “Love you, nerd. In a non-gay way. In that - whatever sibling-way.” Excuse her as she rolled her eyes at herself. “You know what I mean.” Oh my god, they were having a moment. It was downright beautiful and Richie may even have a cry about it. Not an ugly cry but his sky blue eyes definitely misted a little behind the thick lenses. “I love you too,” he snorted, returning the hip bump. A gentle one. But he also took it a step up and threw his muppet arms around Catra to give her a squeeze. She was very huggable despite being somewhat prickly - and he was proud to, once in a blue moon, get those hugs in. He always had many hugs to give. Being touch-starved into adulthood after forgetting a childhood full of affectionate gestures (and hugs, and sharing hammocks, and other playful shoves) really wore on a person. “Definitely in that whatever sibling way. Who else would I share my fruity fried chicken with?” Rhetorical question. There wasn’t anyone else (besides Max, he guessed) and never would be. Gay chicken forever. Catra didn’t reject hugs nowadays. Not from friends, anyway - turns out that she actually liked them in moderation. Everyone hugged differently too, it was like a weird signature thing. Scorpia’s was always bone-crushing and stole the air from her lungs with love. Adora’s was strong, and she always held her with the slightest fear that she would disappear at any moment. Alex had these tight but brief squeezes that made her feel like she was ten years old. Dan's had felt like a warm, weighted blanket. Never smothering but present. She hoped she wouldn’t forget that. Richie’s was secure. Warm, too, but he had the kind of hug that always radiated the whole it’s gonna be okay vibe - protective in his own way with a chance to breathe. Her arms went around him to reciprocate. “Your husband,” she snorted. “Or my wife - but I guess those are pretty acceptable options. Let’s eat and then I’m gonna see if I can make that cheesecake with what we’ve got leftover.” Assuming this wouldn’t send them into a food coma that ended up with them napping in the corner, but. Catra was determined for some kind of dessert, anyway. |