Breaking Tortillas (Day 3- Evening)

Marisol wasn’t certain if the bearing change she’d remained to complete was urgent enough to miss supper, but the notion of another bowl of gruel and bread wasn’t winning any awards in the motivation department. The ceviche she’d set to chill was, however, a tantalizing excuse to draw the mechanic out. Fortunately, Beaumonde had been a decent place to find fresh fish, the appropriate seasonings, and, even more thankfully, corn tortillas and fat poblano peppers. She’d set hert sights on preparing a special meal to share with Lyen, and looked forward to the chance with almost giddy anticipation.

However, discovering a near frantic Serena in the galley at this hour prompted a decisive change in plans. She’d heard that the crew chief was CTQ, and the reasoning behind it. Then again, she’d also heard what Elle had to say the night before.

The teen was hastily constructing a sandwich, and had pulled out the makings for tea. In her roundabout way, she explained that Vas hadn’t been taken supper,there were no leftovers, and now she had to get him something but also she had turndowns to complete and there was something about a woman who had a cat for a teapot and why she’d own something she couldn’t use was just the darndest thing but she couldn’t let the crew chief go hungry ‘cuz crew looked after crew an’.....

“I’ve got this,” the mechanic gestured toward the galley. “I’ll cook a hot meal for the crew chief...not too hot, I promise. With tea. Go take care of your turndowns.”

Serena balked for a moment. There was still so much to get done and yet all the crew chief only had that stupid biscuit she’d left him earlier, and -- even though Marisol’s cooking sometimes made the teen’s tongue feel like it licked one of the suns, Vas did like to eat hot food. “Okay-- “ she said tentatively, scratching at the itchy tape on her hip. “But please don’t… I mean, he’s a little… this ain’t his doing, and this ain’t his fault, and no one likes bein’ accused of somethin’ they didn’t do. Be nice to ‘em?”

“It’s not his doing,” the mechanic answered. “I’ll be nice.”

“He didn’t --” Serena started hotly, ready to defend him, but she softened immediately at Marisol believing in him too, a smile washing over her face. “Thank you, I appreciate it, honest and swear. It ain’t right he got in trouble for something ain’t even his fault, And if Elle wasn’t shirking, wouldn’t a happened at all. I can say that now on account of I already said it, and stitches are gonna happen anyway. There’s a lot of glass on the ship right now. I’d bring it to him only I promised Mr. Wargrave I’d help him clean up on account of coffee went and spilled on his old stamps, which is not a really smart thing to collect in the first place, it’d be like collecting empty sugar packs or something, you can’t really do nothing with him, he said it was okay but you shoulda seen the size of that vein popped outta his forehead! And I still gotta bring Ms. Meadow her tea which she won’t drink out of her cat tea pot, and then I promised Esteban that I’d make him tea also only he likes a special KIND of tea so I can’t brew it with everyone elses, and Mr. Lombard said he was having a problem with the sheets not stayin’ on the corners of his bed so I promised him I’d change them out and I don’t understand it on account of I folded his corners like everyone else’s.“

That had been thirty minutes ago, as Marisol waved the ad hoc crew chief off to her business while she set to work at the stove. Now, a pack slung over her shoulder, the mechanic delivered three quick raps to the hatch over Vas Jat’s quarters. “Got your supper!” she called out.

"Well your early Sere- oh." It was like getting coal on Christmas. "Chavez." Vas said stiffly. He worked his way halfway up the ladder to receive the goods. Head down mouth shut. He was in enough trouble so he really wasn't looking for more.

“I’m coming down,” Marisol said, pretending not to notice the expression that washed over his face. “Takes some setup,” she explained as she scampered down the ladder into the austere quarters of the crew chief. “Serena’s got her hands full,” the mechanic offered as she opened the shoulder pack, “I was about to cook my own supper, so I made enough for two.”

She set out two plates, a thermal jug, a pair of cups, and silverware, before pulling out the containers that held the repast. Steaming corn tortillas were soon stacked with pan seared fish and pico de gallo. Alongside the three tacos on his plate, Marisol spooned up the chilled ceviche. She still didn’t have the correct beans, so black beans sufficed as frijoles, their pasty consistency ladled onto his plate, along with some steaming rice. “I made your tea,” she volunteered as the plate changed hands. “Probably not up to Serena’s standards, but I gave it a good try.” After filling his cup, she removed the last item from her pack. “Salsa,” she placed the container before him. “I cooked it all a little bit mild. Serena says I burn her mouth.”

By now the poor small rickety thing that passed for a table in Vas's room was filled to the brim with food. He was honestly surprised the poor thing didn't outright collapse under the weight of it all. Still rather wary Vas looked at wondering how much did she really expect him to eat? To be fair Vas didn't really see himself as the Teen in which his age implied. Nor did he really pay attention to the appetite the accompanied it. "Serena’s being nice because she said that ain't the only thing that burns." Vas said but almost instantly regretted it. It was like a dog in a pound. He wasn't sure what was coming a slap or a pet but was wary of both.

Marisol set her own plate, not skipping a beat as his comment fell harshly between them. “Serena’s being nice,” she answered as she sprinkled the pico, “because that’s who she is. That’s why everybody loves her...passengers and crew alike.” After laying out her own portions, she noticed he hadn’t yet touched the plate before him. “I know why you’re here,” the diminutive woman raised her eyes to meet his. “And I don’t believe you had anything to do with it.”

“I blame the mohawk.” Vas said agreeing, it sounded vaguely like a joke. While a normal person might have been touched and then a hallmark moment might occur. Vas, oddly, was not. The notion he needed reassurance of his innocence was kind of stilly. Maybe something he expected from Serena. Even then he knew most likely it would have gone unspoken. It’s why they got along so well … cut from a similar cloth.

Vas picked up his plate trying to decide where to start. He hasn’t seen a color spread of this brand of ethnic food since he was a kid.

“It won’t bite you,” she observed as she poured tea. “But it will get cold if you keep looking at it like that.”

Feeling like that was pretty much permission to start he started putting the traping for a burrito. Though he looked like a kid putting a little bit of this and a little bit of that to the point one might wonder how he planned on rolling the damn thing!.

Marisol pretended not to watch as Vas tried to rearrange his tacos into....something. Pinching her own between her fingers, she took a bite, careful to do so over her plate. As she chewed, she placed a few drops of the hot salsa onto her food. “Had to change out an ionizer bearing today,” she muttered. “The others look pretty good, but I’m gonna watch ‘em all the way to Silverhold.”

“You should let the Lieutenant know.” Vas said, attempting to roll it into some semblance of a burrito. The effect was … best described as someone who stepped on a landmine with their guts pouring out all over the plate. The landmine being Vas and the soldier being the burrito. Clearly his fighting skills were not very transferable into burrito making.

She thought to suggest that the disaster that once was three neatly made tacos might best be eaten now by just stirring the whole thing up with his rice and beans, but Marisol demurred. “The Lieutenant’s aware,” she answered simply as she took a bite of the ceviche. *Lyen will love this,* she thought of the tangy freshness. “I may pull it offline when we go to shore power on Silverhold...run a full on inspection.”

Vas was unsure why she was telling him this. She was talking shop but it wasn’t his shop no more. Was that all she was comfortable talking about? Because Vas knew little to nothing about the heartbeat of the ship other than when it was on or off. Either way, Vas finally achieved a messy bite, muttering ‘Itadakimasu’. Which meant thankfully he didn’t have to say much of anything at the moment.

She chewed for a moment, sizing up the word he’d used. It sounded Japanese….but she couldn’t truly be certain. Had Tojiro said that? Finally, she chose to focus upon the tone of voice instead of attempting a translation of the alien language. “My pleasure,” Marisol replied as she refilled his cup.

“Hm?” Vas blinked with a mouthful of Santos.

The mechanic lifted a hand to cover her mouth. “I assumed,” she said, “that you were saying something like “this is good” or some other compliment. I was just responding.” The conversation was stilted and awkward, but it was civil. She could live with that.

Vas blinked moment catching up. “Oh.” He said swallowing. “No, I mean yes the food is good but not what I said. It ah …” Vas said trying to think of the best translations. “... translates poorly but its sorta like saying Grace? Or … I humbly accept? Something along that line.” He explained.

“Oh,” Marisol nodded her understanding. “It’s a blessing. “I-tad…..I-tad-ahh…”

“Ita-daki-masu.” Vas said slowly and clapped his hands together.

She placed her fork down. “Ita….daki….masu..” Marisol repeated. “Itadakimasu,” she voiced more quickly this time, followed by a clap of her hands. “Like that?”

Vas nodded. “Yea pretty much.”

“My people say *provecho,*” she offered. “It’s kind of universal for “enjoy your meal” or “this is good.”

“Yea … use to hear it a lot at the Spanish restaurants. On Persephone they use Sláinte.” Vas said awkwardly. He was not very good at this small talk stuff but at least there was food he could use to shut himself up when things got awkward. It didn’t the food was making him feel like a kid again.

She nodded. “Right...the Eire folk….they use that for toasts as well.” She finished the plate, wiped at it with her napkin, and tucked it into her shoulder bag. “Spanics are sort of all over the place. Mine are Mex...we all speak the same language, but how we pronounce things and even the terms we use can be completely different.”

“There was this nice hole in the wall place on Santo … kinda reminds me of it.” Vas said referring to the food. Was a mutt and was really too young to have really ask who was what in his family so it never really was something he thought about till now.

Marisol listened to Vas’ account, a distant look in her eye. “My family’s restaurant was on Santo,” she replied. “The holes in the wall are the best places...especially for Mex-Spanic cooking.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” He admitted. “None of the old places were there though. They did build a lot of it back up.” Home on Santos was just a beautiful ghost to him now. Home was now this ship and hopefully, Riley would prove it wasn’t him and he would get to stay.

Noticing the empty plate before him, Marisol offered, “there’s a little bit more. You want it?”

“Hm … oh … yea sure…” Vas would never admit it but he has still had a black hole where his stomach should be. Turn down food? Gasp! Never. She DID offer after all.

Marisol spooned out the last of the meal onto Vas’ plate. This time, she laid the remaining tortillas to one side, permitting him to assemble either a taco or a burrito, if he chose. “I’m glad you like it,” she said. And deep down, she was. *”Provecho….itadakimasu.”* She concluded with the ceremonial clap of hands.

Vas chuckled. “You only need to say it at the beginning of the meal.” He explained.

“But you still liked hearing it,” she delivered a wry smile. “That makes it worth it.”