“Just… keep a fire extinguisher nearby?” He offered, not at all trying to sound insulting, but also being somewhat serious. Dante was by no means an extremely talented culinary individual, but he could manage to make sure that he didn’t starve himself without needing to resort to driving back home. “As for the bribe… semantics at this point, right?” Just a little bit. And he knew a thing or two about semantics. They helped him in many an argument growing up.
He was starting to get an idea of what Marcus did for a living without actually asking about it, but there wasn’t quite enough there for him to fully form the idea. “I get that, too. I usually take the bus to work. This place might be home, and I might know my way around most of the city at this point, but I find it a little bit easier to rely on someone who gets paid to know the best routes. It might mean I have to wake up at least an hour earlier than I would if I just drove myself, but…” he just shrugged. Some mornings were tougher than others, sure… and on those extremely tough mornings, Dante would likely just set that second alarm on and sleep in a bit. But that was rare.
Marcus’s comment about the overbearing role not solely being monopolized by mothers was either just an offhanded comment that worked quite well, or the man actually picking up on that reserved part of Dante that he tended to keep shrouded from… just about anyone. He wasn’t sure which it was, nor was he sure If he was supposed to be impressed or exposed, if it ended up being that Marcus was just that insightful. “I think maybe my family’s just a little bit too ingrained in the double whammy of Mexican and Catholic guilt that the speeches just come naturally.” Which he was just as guilty of, too. “On the plus side, you’ve got your grandpa leaving a voicemail, even if it is at six in the morning. Mine can literally drive over here and ask why.” The family house had a copy of the key to every home that housed a Ruiz that was not under the main roof, and Dante’s apartment was no exception. “I love that man more than I can explain, but that doesn’t mean I want to see him sitting at the table in my kitchen when I’m walking around in a towel still waking up.” It had happened before. And the sound that came out of Dante’s mouth may or may not have been a few octaves higher than he would ever admit to making. Thankfully, Papi hadn’t decided to use that particular event against his oldest grandson… yet…
“Kind of weird, isn’t it? The sounds that we find comforting compared to what we don’t. I bet I could ask someone from some little town a few hundred miles away, and they’d give an entirely different answer.” The environment that a person grew up in had no small part in shaping most individuals. Some rallied against it, others embraced it. Dante liked to think that he was more of the embracing type, even if there was plenty of evidence that he could be on the other end of the spectrum, too.
Intimidating? That was a good way of summing up what he did. “It can be very intimidating, sure. A lot of what I do involves trying to make sure that equipment that we have stays in working order, or fixing stuff that breaks, or programming new stuff that comes in before it starts helping the production staff. And some of those machines cost more money than I’m probably ever going to have in my bank account at any point in my life.” Which, yeah, mildly terrifying, for sure. “But I’ve caught a few things that even my boss didn’t think of, which is reassuring. As for the why… I mean, I’ve always liked tinkering with things… maybe things I shouldn’t have been messing with. Tried to fix my uncle’s stereo when I was like 11. Wasn’t really broken, just starting to go on the fritz a little, until I started taking it apart. Spent all summer working to buy him a new one.” Now? Now Dante would probably be able to know for sure what was wrong. Should have kept the stereo and fixed it later.
“Precinct.” The word lingered, and was one of those buzzwords that helped cement those theories in his mind that had been forming during their conversations. “I take it you’re a cop? Or maybe a fireman?” There was no shift in his tone. It was still friendly, personable, all of that.