what's left to protect [personal prompts + OTA]

[candor1]

WHO: Cassian, Veronica, Kay, Jyn, and YOU!
WHERE: De Chima [closed] + Maurtia Falls [OTA]
WHEN: Over a week, in this order for Cassian, but whenever's best for you!
WHAT: Catch-all log, and 'cause I'm me and have to have a theme, this one is: transitioning from HOPE to Haven.
WARNINGS:

1. exposition: Maurtia Falls [images + full descriptions for setting of #5]

2. De Chima 003 [closed to Veronica Sawyer]

3. De Chima 003 backyard [closed to K-2SO]

4. De Chima woods [closed to Jyn Erso]

5. Maurtia Falls, sidewalk [multithread OTA!]

Comments

[pop_of_color]

Adjusting to life in Maurtia Falls has been .. an ordeal. There are times where Rosa can barely drag herself out of bed (save for the thankfully insistent barking, nudging, whining, nipping of her dog, Arlo) because she knows that it's just going to suck.

She misses the rank odor of sewage and bodily fluids the first thing in the morning. The random patches of what Jake had called "city blood" on the sidewalks and in the subways. The general anonymity that Brooklyn provided.

She wouldn't ever admit it (at least not to any of the idiots she's encountered here so far or on the network), but she misses her fellow detectives, too. She misses Jake, who's one of the few people she'd ever openly called a 'friend.' She misses Amy's stupid neurotic tendencies, Gina's stupid self-centered preening, Charles' stupid overtly sexual description of food, Sarge's stupidly big muscles. She doesn't think she'd go so far as to say she misses Hitchcock or Scully because - gross - but she also wouldn't immediately want to stab them with a knife if they were to randomly show up.

So, that has to count for something.

She's taking Arlo on one of his many walks when she nears a man, half-covered in paint, continually approaching and stepping away from what appears to be the window of some dingy, once-used martial arts studio. She thinks to keep walking past without commenting when Arlo tugs just hard enough to rip the lead out of her hand to race towards the man. And, to make matters worse, Arlo steps in the tray of paint by the stranger's feet and leaves painted paw prints up the man's side as he jumps.

"'Ey!" she shouts as she runs to catch up. Her mother tongue immediately comes out, and she says in Spanish, "ARLO! Come back here, NOW!" She finally gets close enough to grab the end of the lead and tug the dog away from the man. She subconsciously pegs him as a Spanish speaker, and, after muttering some choice words at the dog she's now corralled at her side, she continues, this time addressing the man himself in the same mother tongue as the one she'd used on the dog.

"I'm sorry, my dog's an idiot." She reaches into her pocket and pulls out 2 $20 bills, extending them out towards the guy. "Should cover the cost of new clothes."

[candor1]

Cassian had caught the approach in his peripheral vision and so was prepared for it. Didn't try to fight the animal off when it jumped—though that wouldn't necessarily be his first instinct anyway. He found a lot of the damage one could sustain from animals came from struggling; playing dead could be surprisingly effective. But he also liked animals. And this one was radiating enthused friendliness.

As such, he'd caught the dog's scull between his hands and was ruffling the soft ears by the time the dog's human caught up to pull him away.

Cassian figured he'd wait until she was less distracted to try and assure her it was okay. The language she addressed him in… was the one he'd heard more frequently spoken in Heropa. The one so infuriatingly like Yaval that hearing it didn't first make him think that's another language, but rather oh hell I've forgotten how to speak Yaval…! He'd started learning it just to resolve that cognitive dissonance.

Language acquisition was one of the aspects of spycraft Cassian had been able to enjoy and be good at without emotional complication, so he's able to respond in kind. …Though, for all his accent in Basic sounded Mexican to local ears, his accent speaking Español suddenly sounded… less so. Just slightly something else.

"Don't worry about it," he answered, holding up a palm to protest the money. "They were full of paint already. And I like idiot dogs. It's fine."

[pop_of_color]

Huh.

Guy's Latino, as far as Rosa can tell, and yet .. she can't peg his accent. She recognizes it as not being Argentinian the way hers is, but it also isn't Cuban (like Amy's father) or Puerto Rican or Guatemalan or ..

Any of them.

She holds the money out for a second or two longer but, when the guy's made it clear he isn't interested and won't be taking it, she shrugs a shoulder and shoves the bills back into the pocket of her black jeans. She's, as usual, wearing black from head to toe - black t-shirt, black leather jacket, black jeans, black leather boots. The only hint of color is her face and neck, sprouting out of her dark shoulders like a strange flower, underneath a canopy of bouncy, black curls.

Arlo's realized his mistake and sits, remorseful, by her feet. And he shoots a couple of pleading glances at the stranger to diffuse the situation. Rosa isn't mean to the dog - if anything, he draws out the softer side she's so often pretending doesn't exist or trying to kill with fire and blades - but .. it's Rosa.

The fuzziest thing about her is her hair.

"Your accent isn't one I recognize. Mexican? Spanish? Peruvian?"

[candor1]

…One of those moments, again… How to give personal information without lying, when being accurate stopped being the instinct long ago. (If it ever was because he never knew.)

When deciding to learn this language, it had come with some geographic research, as matter of course. He'd discovered that many of its local speakers were (as this woman first guessed) Mexican; and in various markers, including speech, that would be how he'd most easily be seen, and how he'd best identify if he needed a Terrestrial cover (because no matter that he's not planning any such thing, of course his mind won't stop automatically logging such detail).

But he's trying not to lie. And the longer, beyond all expectation, he keeps succeeding, the more fervently he wants to see how much longer it can last.

"You won't have heard of it," he said. "I wasn't raised there anyway; I mimicked my father's accent as a kid. (Pero entonces…) What about you?"

[pop_of_color]

He's overthinking something. Rosa can practically smell the smoke coming out of his ears. She didn't think that asking for particulars on an accent would cause anyone an identity crisis, but who knows? Maybe the guy's got amnesia. Maybe he's just gotten out from being undercover (somewhere in her head, she hears Jake going: I was undercover for 63 days!!) and is readjusting to his new/old identity the way Adrian had done when he'd gotten out after 12 years.

Maybe he's just .. strange.

Which isn't that much of a bother to Rosa. She's seen it all, including a guy humping a laptop. But her posture might stiffen a bit, her fingers might twitch with the instinct to reach for the weapon that's no longer in a holster at her waist, but rather for the strange portal she can't understand to an endless stash of blades just inside the lining of her leather jacket.

But his answer makes her quirk a brow, steady her hands, loosen the grip on Arlo's lead. Even he seems to be a tad confused by that, tilting his head to the side.

"So, was your father from some tiny village in the middle of nowhere or something? I know a lot of people in the US haven't heard of all the countries of South America, but, uh. I mean, I'm Argentinian. .. I know South America."

What? Just .. what?

[candor1]

Almost subliminally, he catches that tic of her hand that he recognizes too well. His own hands keep doing it here, no matter that it was his own decision not to seek a replacement for his blaster.

Deliberately, he crouches, switching his gaze from her eyes to her dog's. A flicker back up at hers to say, "May I?" before extending his hand for the dog to sniff.

And in so doing… decides to go for full honesty and answer her question. The hand's an offering to the dog; the bared forearm he rotates, where the sleeve was rolled up, is an offering to her. Show her the imPort mark.

"Further away," he said, glancing up at her again. "Seemed simpler not getting into it. …But you're relatively local, then? What brought you here from the next continent?"

(A bit stilted, perhaps, but checking to confirm he's got that geography right. Know your territory is rule one, and after memorizing details of the imPort cities, he's been moving outward from there. Argentina - the tapered south one - capital Buenos Aires - 'good winds' )

[pop_of_color]

She's skeptical, but .. she also doesn't get any of that creep factor that she's normally pretty good at picking up on (and is un/fortunately also attracted to). Not that the guy's bad looking, obviously; but he's no Sham Wow guy.

She gives a flicking nod of her head, though Arlo's barely waiting for her 'permission' before completely overtaking every bit of exposed skin Cassian is and isn't offering with lapping kisses and interested sniffing. She snorts, amusedly, though there's no real indication of the joy in her face; there might be a slight lightness to her eyes, but Jake or Gina would probably be the only ones to notice.

imPort tattoo. She subtly taps the same place on her wrist from over the sleeve of her leather jacket, to communicate she's the same without baring anything.

"I was born here. Parents came from Argentina between me and my older sister. Born and bred in Brooklyn," she explains, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, watching Arlo shove his nose in all sorts of inappropriate places with a one-syllable chuckle. "He and I are opposite of each other. He loves people, I don't."

[candor1]

Getting leapt all over and nasally bombarded doesn't appear to bother Cassian even slightly. He ruffles and tussles the dog's fur with matching energy, until he finally breaks the frenzy threshold and has Arlo flopping over to receive a less frenetic belly rub.

Apparently, Cassian had successfully paid attention and caught Rosa's subtleties (if he hadn't been able to demonstrate it well through Arlo's lack thereof).

But he smiles and responds seamlessly now: "As long as you love him. The rest I think is negotiable."

[pop_of_color]

The guy's ease in getting Arlo to submit himself and show his belly isn't lost on Rosa. She'd been caught between wanting to teach him to be an alpha dog (because why settle for anything less?) but ultimately came to the decision (partially because of Jake) to simply let the dog be who or whatever it was, personality-wise. She's trained him to respond to some basic commands like sit, stay, lay down, and come - but that's more for practicality than for demand of obedience.

Something about being completely in charge of another living thing, something as trusting and loving as a dog is .. weird.

But she doesn't talk about that, with anyone.

Her dark eyes sweep the scene with neutrality, slow-building respect starting to bubble below the surface.

"Love is a strong word," she replies quickly, but it's fairly obvious it's a cover. She does love the damn thing, whether she's willing to admit it or not. It had only been a day when she'd announced to the squad that if anything happened to Arlo, she'd kill everyone in the room and then herself.

And she'd meant it.

She flicks her head towards the window.

"We interrupted something."

[candor1]

Cassian didn't pause scratching Arlo's chin to crane back to look at the window. "This used to be a… I don't know what the word would be in this language. 'Dojo'. ¿Conoces?"

[pop_of_color]

"Sí. Yo sé," Rosa replies with a nod, eyes shifting between the guy and Arlo, basking up all the attention he can get. Like he doesn't get enough already.

"Japanese word, pretty sure. Temples, martial arts studios, that sorta thing. She glances back up at the window. "Looks pretty beat up. You taking over?" Rosa considers him with a skeptical look. "You know martial arts?"