ιѕαвєℓα (rivaini) wrote in valloic, @ 2020-09-14 14:32:00 |
|
|||
Alright, so there was a girl coming over for dinner - not just any girl, but a small girl (who apparently could lift a bus? Wasn’t that a delight), and Isabela just found the whole thing bloody amusing. She’d talked to Molly on the network when she first arrived but now apparently the wee thing had her cat here and was living not under a bridge, but in an abandoned house - though as someone who also had to grow up quickly in a world where war and hardship constantly raged on, Isabela knew that when you were let down too many times by adults, that left scars. And made it difficult to trust. It was still difficult for her - any of them, really, Diego especially - to trust other people. Isabela had come far, however - before taking to the waves to be absolved of her old life (Naishe of Rivain, a wife) entirely, she’d been a prisoner. Shackled, if not literally - but forced into a marriage with a man she loathed, and she’d never known sexual liberation before she’d met Zevran either. Now, many years later, she’d settled into her skin - a woman who craved freedom from oppression and slavery, and a woman who also desired companionship with an equal. Add a kid into the mix and she’d do her best - she thought it might be good for Diego too, and whomever recommended that Molly contact him (“”””””Dan”) must have known they’d get on well enough. Now it was just a matter of figuring out what to make for dinner - kids were picky eaters though, weren’t they? And not like Isabela knew a ton of recipes from her birthplace, Rivain (above all else though, the ones she did know were spicy - that was what Rivain was famous for importing and exporting, along with tropical fruits and the like) but she knew spaghetti and meatballs, and garlic bread. Kids liked that sort of thing, right? And she could handle breaking up a block of spaghetti to add to salted water (it needed to be salted, didn’t it? Basically the ocean?), and the sizzle of cow in the pan. It wouldn’t be some bland shite though, trust her, because again - spice. The kitchen smelled homey, she thought, and she was currently stirring the sauce when one of the timers she’d set on her talky box went off as a reminder. “Diego!” she called. “Can you put the bread in the oven?” It was already buttered, it just had to cook. And Maker’s balls, she loved garlic. “Fuck you, Dan,” Diego muttered, certainly not for the first time and certainly not for the last time. He wasn’t like his future brother-in-law, who seemed to connect with literally everyone. Diego kept his circle tight, but for those select people who didn’t get scared off by his demeanor, he’d do anything. Run into a cultist cathedral for one idiot friend, ahead of the other idiot friend so that Diego would take whatever popped out at them first? Absolutely. Chase drunken idiot family members around in the middle of his own mental turmoil? For sure. And, apparently, agree to keep an eye on a teenager. “Fuck you, Dan,” Diego muttered again, just because it made him feel better. But honestly, what was he supposed to say to a homeless kid who it sounded had been dicked over by adults? It didn’t sit right with him. Neither did just throwing cash at the kid and walking away, or extending some wide open invitation--they were still strangers, after all, and Diego himself didn’t exactly love the idea of a stranger in their place. When he’d pitched the idea to Isabela, she had agreed a little too quickly and between that and his own nagging need to do something, well, it wasn’t much of a choice. That wasn’t going to prevent him from cursing “””DaN,”” of course. He was already coming around the corner when Isabela called out, and groaned as if opening the oven door was absolutely the worst thing he’d ever had to do in his entire life. Dramatics, of course, they pretty evenly split household duties depending on who was doing what that week. “Looks good,” he told Isabela, hopping up on the counter. “You need anything else?” Sure, spaghetti seemed like a simple enough meal, but to Diego, it was the actual act of cooking itself that meant something. The whole thing reminded him of Grace, and how she tried to show she cared for them in happy faced pancakes. He missed her. Seeing Grace again--not as his mom, but as a strong, intelligent, charming woman, had been all kinds of hurt all over again, but it had been a relief too to know that there had once been a Grace that had autonomy and individualism. He wondered what became of that Grace. Molly’d looked around the house she’d taken as her own, making sure that no one was around when she slipped out of it. She didn’t want people to know where she was or how to find her. Not even the people she’d talked to. She had Rufus with her now, which was nice. He could usually tell if anyone was close around, too. He’d meow if he noticed anything and she’d wait till he started to go out. Molly’s experiences with adults was mostly bad, so she couldn’t say she wasn’t concerned. She was. Which was why she’d insisted on Rufus coming with her. She wanted to have someone very much on her side with her when she was with two strangers for a dinner she hoped didn’t end with her needing to fight everyone. She had shorts and a t-shirt on, but felt kind of naked without her hats. She didn’t really need one, so it felt weird to cry people into buying it for her. Food and regular clothes were different. Registering herself was off the table because she didn’t want a ton of people to just know things about her and try to use it against her later. She didn’t trust people like that. Iron Man had made that into the mess it was. She didn’t even want to lie to make sure they didn’t know everything just to get money. She just wanted to be safe and not have to worry about people and registration. But she also wanted to go to school and didn’t feel comfortable asking anyone about it. It was stupid. When she got to the front of the apartments, she stared up at the building. It was huuuuge. She looked at Rufus, leaning over to pick him up before she went upstairs. Dan had given her the apartment number, so she found it pretty easily. There was a spike of nerves as she knocked on the door, holding Rufus a little tighter than necessary. “Let me know if they’re gonna fight me,” she whispered. Rufus meowed and licked her face for good measure. Once Diego put the bread into the oven and made himself temporarily cozy on the counter, Isabela rested a hand on his knee and leaned in to give him a hearty kiss that also doubled as a shot of stars in the line of vision and a shot of adrenaline. Or courage, to find a way to figure out what to say to a literal, actual child - he’d be just fine though, she was sure of it. “I’m alright, just about got everything covered,” she promised. Then she heard the knock, and that was simply fantastic timing. “You ought to get that?” Her grin was devious but of course she was supportive - she wanted to do something to help a kid on her own in a whole new world too. It was just a meal, and maybe letting Molly use their shower another time, but that would all stack up and hopefully they would show her that she could count on at least two people in Vallo. But, you know - baby steps. Or something. Ugh, Bela was getting so soft, wasn’t she? She could just hear Hawke telling her there was a heart of gold buried within her, they just needed to pry it out, give it a polish, and sell it. Gross. “Or,” Diego held up a finger. “Other idea, we makeout here and now.” He was already sliding off the counter, don’t worry, don’t worry, he wasn’t going to let the kid wait. Well. maybe just for a few more seconds so he could kiss Isabela’s forehead and slap her ass. In a mutually supportive and respectful way, of course. He opened the door, taking in Molly and the cat. Right. Great. This was probably ‘“”DaN’s” sense of humor getting him back for all of the times Diego teased about the fifty billion people and animals who called the mortuary home. “Diego,” he said, by way of greeting, and belatedly realized, fucking duh, Diego. At least he didn’t look like he was dressed to go out and patrol the streets for criminals. He still had knives on him, of course, Diego would always have knives on him, but in their home he carried fewer. Mostly because Isabela had her own. “Come on in, if you want. Or stay there for awhile, that works too.” Diego shrugged, stepping back and away from the door. Not that he necessarily thought it was comfortable to stay in the doorway, but again, they were strangers to Molly. Better to leave an easy escape, he thought. Not that Diego ever really planned out an escape route himself, as his way was more to improvise in the moment, but whatever. Molly looked up when Diego opened the door, letting herself take a moment to look him over. She at least didn’t ask about the scar. It was probably good manners. He didn’t really look like how she pictured him. “I thought you were the girlfriend, honestly.” Was her way of saying duh without the duh. She glanced down at Rufus, who meowed before wriggling free and going inside. She almost sighed, but that was probably a good sign anyway. She still waited for a moment, peeking inside the door to look and see if anyone was around. She knew there was a girlfriend, but who knew if some extra people might not pop out of nowhere to do something. Still… After a moment she came in through the door, taking another to remind herself not to slam the door before shutting it. It would be nice if she had the other Runaways because they could make anywhere feel more like home. So far, she’d just put up stickers from a pack of stickers some old woman gave her. She guessed they were okay. But enough about her. It smelled like spaghetti, which was mostly because of the sauce, but she perked up a bit. They usually didn’t have meatballs or meatsauce because Karolina was a vegan, which was fine. She didn’t mind some of the vegan foods. She was not going to be a vegan, though. Even if she felt like she might after she smelled Old Lace’s breath sometimes. Gross. “Spaghetti?” She peeked around the living room before making her way toward the kitchen and peeking her head in. “Hi. I’m Molly.” Because the person in the kitchen might not know her name. “I’m not fifty-five. Or am I?” She glanced at Diego briefly. “I had a best friend once that ate a cupcake that made her 13 forever, though. She probably WAS fifty-five.” She shrugged slightly before finding Rufus. “This is Rufus. He’s a telepathic cat.” A pause. “My grandma,” was her explanation for that with another shrug. “Hello, Molly!” Isabela greeted, coming around while the sauce simmered and the noodles boiled - it was like a science experiment in the kitchen, how fun. Cooking wasn’t something that Bela did often but she didn’t mind doing it - she at least knew how, or she did back home, anyway. It simply took her a minute to adjust to the modern appliances here in the apartment building and all that. “I’m Isabela - I think we’ve talked before. I haven’t met Rufus though, but isn’t he a handsome fellow.” She even gave him a scratch under his chin, aw. Cats were alright - she recalled Hawke having a Mabari hound he named Dog (names weren’t his strong suit) and that thing was somewhat cute too, but a lot more slobbery. “That’s spaghetti and balls of meat cooking too - I think we’re about ready to eat? Just tell me what you’d like to drink and Diego can set the table,” she flashed a sweet smile at her other half. Rufus would probably even get a meatball. Cats were carnivores, he would probably like it, Bela assumed. If there was one thing to be said about Diego, it was that he took strange things as if they were completely natural, or at least, believed all of the weirdness. Of course there was some cupcake magic thing. What, Pogo was a talking, fully self-actualized monkey, things like a telepathic cat just didn’t cause him anymore alarm short of his usual grumble about ‘fucking weird.’ He was never much of an animal person, but anyone or anything claiming to know his thoughts instinctively curling inwards to protect himself. He was getting better about opening up to Bela, the Fryes, Serefin, all of whom refused to be scared off by Diego’s snarls and sarcasm, but they’d also earned Diego’s trust. He looked at the cat and arched an eyebrow as if daring it to read his thoughts (but really, don’t). “God, so demanding,” Diego drawled, saluting Isabela with a smile that was more a soft crinkle of his eyes. “Honestly, it’s such a damn effort, why can’t we just eat it straight out of the pot, huh?” Yes, of course, he was already retrieving dishes and the like while grumbling. His actions always spoke and gave away his true intentions, even when conflicting with his words. Rufus happily accepted the attention from Bela. He didn’t seem overly bothered by anyone in the house, but after a few minutes, he made his way back to sit by Molly. She stared at Diego for a moment before looking back at Isabela. “Hi. You’re the pirate lady.” She remembered her because there wasn’t a lot of people with that name. “And Rufus is very handsome. He was the only cat not spying on me at my grandma’s house.” She shrugged before looking down at him. “I found ways of keeping them from hearing my thoughts for the most part.” But she would just keep it to herself for now. If only cause she wanted to make sure. “ANYWAYS. I want coffee? Or soda. Whatever. Nico doesn’t let me drink coffee cause she says it’ll stunt my growth. But I’m already taller than she is.” And it would also make sure that she could stay awake in case she did need to throw something heavy and run. No one wanted to pass out in a strange place they didn’t know. Not even in a not so strange place they did know. Chase wasn’t here to carry her home. She peeked into the sauce pot carefully. “Definitely not enough spaghetti to eat it directly out of the pot. Could have been like spaghetti fondu...but messier.” “Pirate lady is me,” Isabela stated, finding that nickname to be entertaining - well, she supposed it wasn’t wrong. She’d mentioned it to Molly, anyway - how she had to claw up the ranks and be ten times as ruthless as the men in order to even earn an ounce of respect that a man would earn simply by having a dick. Or perhaps she hadn’t gone into that much detail, but anyway - she would, if asked. “And I think we’ve got some soda in the fridge.” The bubbly, carbonated stuff - Bela liked it as well, and since she was trying to cut back on the booze to support Hawke she couldn’t just let champagne tickle her nose or something. So she went with soda - one of her favourite new things about the modern world. Two bottles of Coca-Cola were pulled from the fridge, because Diego didn’t usually defile the temple with sugary things. “Alright, no eating out of the pot, you two - but fill up your plates and then come sit.” The garlic bread was done too, fresh from the oven, and it smelled lovely. “She’s a pirate admiral,” Diego corrected, although his tone wasn’t confrontational so much as just straightforward because he knew Molly meant no offense. The title was important and it wasn’t like Isabela had just been sitting on a ship waiting around. She worked her ass off in a world that didn’t believe she could and even though she didn’t have a ship here, she was a pirate at heart. He fixed a plate and snagged a glass of water (his body was a temple, after all, and the temple needed to stay hydrated to function as perfectly as it did, thanks a lot) before sitting down at the table. For as much as Diego believed in his protein shakes with supplements galore, it was nice having an excuse to sit down with someone and have an actual meal. He didn’t mind cooking ever, but doing it for one person had always seemed...not worth it. Especially, again, when the whole thing reminded him too much of Grace, even when she was ‘alive’ and living at the Academy and Diego had to break in in order to see her. “Probably does stunt your growth,” he offered. “My brother is an old man trapped in a teenager’s body and he chugs the stuff. Going to stay short the rest of his life, probably.” Sorry, Five, Diego would never let that go. They were brothers, after all. Pirate Admiral. Molly wasn’t gonna pretend she knew the difference. All she knew was Captain and First Mate. She still made a mental note of it in case she needed to. She hesitated briefly before grabbing a plate and going to put some food on her plate. “I just like to be awake sometimes,” she commented. She didn’t want them to know that big strength brought big sleeps yet. Just in case. She’d tell them more if she got more comfortable with them. She sat at the table once she had the plate of food. “Like cause he’s moody like an old person or like my friend with the cupcake?” She ate some of her spaghetti, studying them both for a moment. “Do you have to be registered to go to school? I didn’t ask cause I didn’t want to register, but I don’t know who to ask about it now.” The idea of Five staying short forever was sort of hilarious to Isabela. Diego was probably right though - given the way he fueled himself with the dark brew, and given the way he drank, it was shutdown city for those organs in a shorter (ha, a pun?) amount of time than it took for an adult to destroy themselves, that was for certain. “Well, he’s definitely moody like an old person so that’s probably part of it,” she chuckled, twirling some spaghetti around her fork. This was delicious - good job, self. Not that it was particularly complicated, but who cared. Sometimes the little things mattered. She took a swig from her soda and glanced at Diego, honeycomb gaze shifting toward her beloved. “Hm, I don’t know - do you know, love? I think, though, that even if you do register you don’t need to be...how should we say? Entirely truthful?” she mused. “As long as you get what you want out of it.” So basically Molly could lie her arse off - the DOA wasn’t going to care, most likely. Diego shucked his teeth in thought, considering the question. Honestly, he hadn’t really paid much interest in the details when he first arrived, more concerned about his siblings and the exploding moon. When Claire had shown up, his primary concern was getting her things--Diego showed his love through actions, always. “Probably since you’re a kid, you might not need to register at all?” He shrugged. “I mean, kids can’t sign contracts or anything. I can ask Allison--one of my sisters, she’s actually an adult this one,” he clarified, because he was a Hargreeves and you had to clarify those things. “What she did with my niece. But there’s a school for Outsiders or whatever they call us, so that’ll be the way to go I think.” He resisted the urge to be like ‘go to school, kid,’ because it wasn’t any of his business what Molly did. But school gave structure, and Diego knew kids needed that. Not the kind of rigid, abusive, militarized structure Reginald Hargreeves imposed on Diego and his siblings, but a structure that let kids do things like complain about cafeteria food and whatever else it was that normal kids did. “But yeah, not like they’re going to know. Sort of on the honor system, which is weird as fuck but I guess that’s how you have to do it and it works,” Diego continued, grabbing a piece of garlic bread because he too liked food that had double or triple the amount of garlic that the recipe called for. “My other sister, Vanya, teaches at the school. She’s a damn good musician, so that part I can at least vouch for.” She didn’t even want to fake register. The idea made her want to leave abruptly, but she figured that would be bad manners. Instead, she just poked at her food and hoped no one would notice it. The reason she’d asked was because she wanted to go to school. She actually liked school. She’d had almost perfect attendance except for the couple of days that she’d missed because she was depressed about losing people. She hoped it had a soccer team, but it seemed like a long reach. Maybe she could get the other kids to form a soccer team or something. Maybe they had a rec league. She was at least interested in looking into it. This being the case, she vastly preferred Diego’s way of coming at it. “Okay,” she said after a moment, body slowly relaxing to the point where she could eat again. She perked up at the mention of a music teacher. “How many siblings do you have?” At least two sisters and a brother who was an old man trapped in a kid’s body? She didn’t know how that happened, but maybe she’d meet them all and she could ask all the questions. Once she got used to Diego. “Do they have instruments? I left my tuba at home.” With everything else she owned. She missed her clothes and her hats most, but then all her stuffed animals second. At least the things that weren’t people. She missed the people a lot. Isabela also preferred dishes with six cloves of garlic when the recipe called for two - she and Diego had that in common. “I’m quite sure they’ve got instruments,” she assured. There probably had to be some registering going on, if she was to enroll in school, but Bela was pretty certain she wasn’t the first person who didn’t want to give her information to an otherworldly government. And the DOA people were aware of that. But she wasn’t about to push for anything - it was entirely Molly’s decision. “That’s good though, that you want to go to school,” more spaghetti twined about her fork, mmm. “I never really went to formal school at all. I didn’t even learn to read or write until my then-husband got me a tutor. Anyway!” Luis had been rich and viewed her as more of a plaything, but she wasn’t about to talk about that. “Plenty of opportunities to do what feels right, is my point.” “Too fucking many,” came Diego’s grumbled response to the question of the number of his siblings. “Three brothers and two sisters here. One brother not here.” One sister, too, even though it was still weird to think of Lila as a sister--she wasn’t genetically related, and she didn’t grow up with the Hargreeves to unite them in whatever it was that united them. What would have been different, if she had been with them? Growing up with the Handler seemed as its own sort of trauma, and at least with Reginald Hargreeves as a father, Diego and his siblings had each other, even as they fought for scraps of attention and whatever posed as affection. So, one brother not here, one sister not here, and 35 other siblings somewhere in the universe. But try to explain that to a 13 year old. “I didn’t go to school either,” Diego offered. “We were all homeschooled.” The seven languages Diego spoke were a little rusty (because who the fuck used Ancient Greek anymore except Five?) and he was convinced that the hours and hours of physics instruction he underwent for things like trajectory and friction and whatever else could potentially relate to his powers had been for nought. But Diego, probably unsurprisingly, had enjoyed learning about seemingly impossible feats and daring rescues (“Acts of valor far exceeding your capabilities and talent,, Number Two,”) and a few times now he’d found himself picking up a book, something he hadn’t done in years. “But you should still go--and none of this teenage rebellion bullshit either,” he pointed at Molly with a fork. “Because you don’t want people to take advantage of you because you don’t know something.” Okay Bela’s way was probably the right way to go, but Diego knew what he had been like as a kid and even now--tell him to do something and he was going to do the exact opposite just to be contrary. Unless he had good reason. She was happy to hear that there might be an instrument. Maybe she could just play the triangle till her tuba came through. But definitely there were a lot of siblings which probably meant a lot of adults to get used to if she decided that Diego was okay. “I don’t have any siblings. Just me.” She shrugged slightly. “But that’s a lot of siblings. Do you all get along?” She wasn’t sure based on the “too many” comment. Molly snorted softly. “I want to go to school. That’s why I asked. I had almost perfect attendance at home. I just got…” She shrugged. “Sick.” Yes, not very sad at the fact that she’d lost so many people and didn’t want to lose more people. Definitely not that. “I just don’t want to have to register with the government. Iron Man already tried to force us all to do that once and I’m pretty sure everyone’s lying when they say they like him. He sucks a big, stinky toe. And probably eats like...toe fungus.” She stuck her tongue out as if it was necessary to show how much she didn’t like him and how gross it was to eat toe fungus. “Then if you didn’t, they’d just break into your house and attack you and then take your home and you’d have to move...or go to prison.” “If anyone makes fun of me, I can just…” She sighed, slowly sinking in her seat. “I can’t punch them cause then I’ll hurt them like that time with Punisher when I didn’t realize he was just a person and didn’t have super powers.” There was a small pout on her face. “Also making fun of people for not doing something is dumb. Maybe I should punch them.” Instead she righted herself on the chair and ate more of her food. Ooh, bullies. Isabela hated those. But now it made more sense as to why Molly was #triggered over registering (using the hashtag, that was what the modern youth did, right?). “We’ve both been here some time - “ She motioned between her and Diego, “...and it’s not been that intense in terms of people making others do things. It’s quite the ‘live and let live’ sort of place though I’m sure it will take some time to convince you of that, which is alright.” You couldn’t erase trauma overnight, or whatever. Plus, sometimes Vallo piled on more but that wasn’t the point. And whomever this Iron Man person was, he could go eat a dick. “If anyone makes fun of you, tell us - we’ll do the dirty work for you so it’s not on your hands!” she said delightedly. Was she kidding? Probably not. Isabela wasn’t so cruel as to fuck up a kid, but she’d make it clear that no one was to make fun of their little transient wayward youth. Though if it was an adult making fun of a kid, sure, she’d fuck them up something good and have no qualms about it. See? It was all going to be alright. Molly had spaghetti, and Isabela gave Rufus a meatball to attack and slice into. Things were already looking up. Diego agreed with Isabela’s assessment, jerking a thumb at her. “Pirate,” and then himself. “Don’t give a shit.” Again, not like he was that much of an asshole to threaten a kid, and Bela had morals that superseded her pirate methods, but the point remained. “I mean, maybe some kid’s a shithead, but really, we’re in a goddamn reality with unicorns and shit, I feel like this is as accepting of a place as there ever will be.” Dan had some talking cat living in the mortuary and there was some giant yellow rodent running around, so what was a teenager? Sure, teenagers could be cruel, but again. Giant yellow rodent. Talking cat. He stood up, taking his plate and silverware with him. “I’ll clean up, babe, if you show the kid where everything is?” Which seemed to settle any remaining question over whether or not they were going to help her. At the very least, a meal and a shower ensured that two people knew how Molly was doing. Between that, going to school, and the general community, she wasn’t going to fall through the cracks. Molly smiled a little at both of them, looking down at Rufus who was chewing on part of a meatball. He didn’t seem super bothered by either of them and wasn’t showing any signs of needing to leave, but it was possible he was distracted by the meatball and not focusing on anyone’s thoughts. She stood up while she let Rufus continue to eat his meatball in peace. “Show me around your very large apartment.” It was somewhat of a joke. She’d never seen a large apartment before or really any apartment. Mostly just homes. But either way, she’d look around and at least she felt a little less anxious about them, which was probably a good sign. They weren’t Chase or Nico, but they were all right. |