Lake Zurich

[LYourLocalAutist]

Through the minute amount of halls in a lovely little home in idyllic Meadowbrook, or as far as that definition could be stretched, a basement door was cracked open. Down there, in that sanctuary, where just a bit of light from the world above shone, a woman expecting warmth in her arms was sleeping all alone. Truth was, that warmth had left a bit ago. Well, a bit longer than that—though he had not gone far—just enough that, when the woman stirred from her restful slumber, a distinct whistling which could only belong to him in tone would reach her ears from that world above. Sounds and a smell accompanying them, a particular smell that warmth up there was feeling quite proud of.

In the region of the above-world known as the "kitchen", the warmth, Manuel, whistled to himself as he pulled the roast potatoes out of the oven and felt once more thankful that Heather's mom both wasn't weird about him (if a bit disillusioned) and kindly informed him about the veganism before he started cracking some eggs.

[Manuel "Mañana" Hernández continued from A Place for us to Dream]

Manuel was an experienced knower of the meat. Briskets and carnes all fried or asada'd, oh my. It came with the territory, with the training. Basically everyone in la familia was a massive carnivore, and gatherings saw the air filled with the sweet and savoury smells of all manner of animals. For the few vegetarians, it was simple enough to whip up some collard greens or some manner of tostada or to learn some simple thing with tofu or whatever they wanted. This is all to say, Manuel had never actually cooked for a vegan before. Judging by the kitchen's stocks after a simple exploration, he initially thought, it would've been a simple enough venture. Cereals. Pancake mixes. Fruits. All manner of easy and straightforward dishes, things that were less prepared and more cobbled together. He could just pick one of those and achieve just as well and neat a result for his obligatory breakfasting instinct without having to go through any trouble just for the sake of someone he'd only really properly started to connect with last night.

But that's how losers think.

So at the moment he was sprinkling sea salt over diced potatoes he'd roasted, flipped and roasted again till golden brown while keeping an eye on his in-the-process-of marrying pico de Gallo and minding that the tofu scramble (and sauce (man he couldn't believe she had oat milk)) he had simmering didn't dry out and ignoring the other sauce (Jalapenos yogurt cashews chili paprika cumin etc) because that sauce was perfect and he was the fuckin' best at sauce. Avocado was up next. That was a breakfast burrito component by default. He had a lime on standby because when you're like him you can do that.

He popped one of the wedges into his mouth and smiled alongside the satisfying crunch and the exterior-interior ratio balance confirmation, wondering when Heather typically got up in the morning.

[Dr Adjective]

[Heather, arise.]

Her first thought on rousing was not of Manuel. It was to question the... silence? No, it wasn't silent. The soundscape was not the one she expected, but it wasn't barren. Typically, Heather would listen to the sound of waves to sleep, white noise to still her overactive mind and evoke pleasant memories of home. Evidently, she hadn't needed it last night, something else had brought her calm, or been pleasant enough in and of itself. Something... whistling, upstairs? But she'd gone to such great lengths to keep her subterranean bedroom soundproofed.

The blonde woman sat up, pushed aside her disheveled sheets, pushed the vestiges of sleep from her eyes, and looked towards the door. Open. Manuel must've left at some point in the night, or first thing in the morning, and not had the decency to close the door behind him. Or been worried about waking her with it. And for some reason, her mother was... no, no that wasn't right, she'd heard Cassandra whistle before. It didn't sound like that. Heather rose, quickly pulled on the nearest clothing - the ones she'd discarded haphazardly last night - and stepped out into the pleasant-smelling upstairs realm. A few steps, fewer still for her lengthy stride, brought the young anarchist into the kitchen, and despite all assumptions there stood her latest notch. Hair down and scruffy, eyes still a tad bleary and unfocused, she regarded the boy.

"Damn, really?"

Heather approached, brushing errant locks behind her ears and studying Manuel's progress.

"Dick so good I turned you into a tradwife?"

[LYourLocalAutist]

Manuel's answer promptly fell onto his lap as he heard a pitter-patter of feet making their way up the same stairs he had an hour or so ago. Sitcom ass morning, he grinned to himself. He was getting the avocado peeled and scoopable (with that hit of lime (oh he was too good)) by the time the frazzled and bedheaded Heather entered the kitchen and got to looming over him. His head swivelled lightly to properly regard her, and he was reminded of the rule, which was that girls, regardless of appearance, looked really cute when bedheaded. Not that he'd use the term "cute". She'd probably use some esoteric communist revolutionary boxing technique used to murder the Russian monarchy and promptly break eighty of his bones.

Her comment elicited a chuckle from him. He was just involved enough in the pseudopolitical whatever of the Online™ to get it, and yeah, it was pretty funny. He wasn't sure if he should be worried that he was reading enough tweets and watching enough tiktoks to be able to formulate a comedically tandem response to it, buy it was no time to think about the possible brainrotting of the self when he had a girlfrrrrfffuck partner (what) to cook for.

"Pft, yeah. You gotta go out n' work the fields and die in a war now, though."

Or at least something close, if she wanted to be worthy of Manuel's Glorious Made-The-Fuck-Up Vegan Breakfast Burrito, he thought as if he wasn't already making it for both of them. It struck him quite suddenly, just as he'd finished up the final bits of the actual cooking and was getting to sorting everything into neat parts which could be scooped into a nice wheat tortilla, that this was her first time seeing him cook. Very few people knew outside his family, as widespread knowledge would break two rules; the tough guy kayfabe and by extension the separation of the persona and family life. But, somehow, standing next to Heather as she peeked at his spread, not one drop of worry even began to well up. The grin softened into a smile once more.

"Yeah, yeah, I cook. I come from families with old, ooold recipes..."

He promptly turned around and presented the full extent of the spread: saucy tofu scramble that could practically pass for real eggs, spicy vegan queso sauce, pico de Gallo (thanks, Abuela), crispy roasted potatoes, and creamy avocado with some skillet-roasted flour tortillas.

"...Buuut, none o' them really that good for vegans, so I made a new one."

Genuinely. He'd completely winged about a flat half of the items on display. Nevertheless, they cooked good, smelt good, and tasted and would taste good. This was because Manuel was that guy and had trained under nothing short of the greatest masters: Sassy old women of colour.

[Dr Adjective]

"Looks good to me, wherever it came from."

She drew in closer, an expression of genuine approval gracing her usually-sullen features. If only everyone were so easy to bring around, at least as far as is willing to cook vegan food without immediately feigning utter disgust counted for such purposes. Hey. It was a start.

"'nother new one?"

That was around about the moment one Cassandra Lane, Heather's dear mother, chose to cross through the kitchen again. With all the other aromas in the air, Heather almost hadn't noticed the coffee pot brewing until the elder blonde made a bee-line for it, empty mug in hand. Her dismissive attitude was roughly to be expected, though her daughter tended to prefer to bring partners home when she wasn't around she didn't exactly make a secret of her 'liberated' attitude to sex and relationships. By now, Cassandra was generally familiar with the regular fixtures of her daughter's messy polyamorous-adjacent web, and the rhetorical question came more as a gesture of idle curiosity than any sort of condemnation.

Heather's arm snaked around Manny, taking a subtle, possessive grip at the small of his back.

"Yeah. And look, he cooks."

She left it up to him if he felt comfortable introducing himself or not. What with the kayfabe and all.

"Last night go well?"

Likewise, Heather's question was more rhetorical than genuine. She didn't really care, but it was pleasant enough to make small talk, what with how rarely she interacted with her mother, and she remained high on Heather's list of people to improve relations with. And hey, maybe there'd be some interesting tidbit about the tech side of things, something she could apply to Finest shows... or Calluna if that ever made it to the live stage.

"Nothing you'd find exciting, just a conference."

[LYourLocalAutist]

His smile broadened as he allowed the light pride produced by the compliment to suffuse him. Ohh, if she thought it looked good, he couldn't wait to see her taste the stuff, he thought as he finally got about packing every little thing he'd cooked up into the warm wraps for consumption. There was an order to these things, to what the tongue would touch first and what you had to stack where to make sure this bit of that didn't mix with that bit of this and instantly turn into slop. Every part of cooking, of food, could really just be boiled down to some manner of precise song and dance. Even the eating bit. Though that was a thought for a few moments from now.

He barely turned his head to acknowledge the mom's arrival; he'd already gotten the opportunity for a brief introduction a little time ago, when she came in to put that pot on. Nice lady, if a bit dismissive. Though, if that brush-it-off attitude was the one she took to all the stranger men she found cooking in the kitchen, she probably had good reason to. This interaction was best left between mother and daughter, however uncaring it— where the hell was that hand going

Manuel's eyes widened in light surprise at Heather's subtle gesture. Well, subtle to some outside observer, maybe, but Manuel was a dude currently getting hit with the arm-around-the-waist bit he was fond of pulling on the ladies. Pretty damn flagrant a move to him. A sudden snap of perspective as fresh and well-seasoned as the food he was working with prompted him to stop and think a moment, the rest of the mother-daughter exchange beginning to blur out: Woah, so this was how it felt? He considered a moment the feeling of being the one being held, of the closeness, especially with someone else taking charge for once.

...Not half bad. Probably went way harder if you were small, though, and you couldn't catch Manuel dead fantasizing 'bout all that. Oh, what, you thought this was gonna be some "haha yeah unless??" bullshit down here? Hell nah. Just remembering Mona and her size and how nice she probably felt being held like he did. Like a normal person.

Coming back to himself, he looked down at his hands and made the prompt realization that he'd just autopiloted two fully fledged MGMTFUVBBs (proper name in progress) and that with the table set (he'd prepared in advance (that's why he's the goat)), they were just about ready to eat. Smile still on his face, he turned around to face the now coffee-possessing mother of the Heather by his side, and decided that there really wasn't a point to trying to put on a show in front of someone's mom of all people. So, as he made his way down to the table, he presented an offer to the older woman.

"I can make another one for you too, 'f you want."

Because everyone deserves the chance to taste really good looking and smelling food from a stranger at least once in their lives.

[Dr Adjective]

Alas, it couldn't last. Manuel had to plate up and serve up, she couldn't just keep playing the trad...husband? Whatever the hell it was she was doing holding him by the hip, she wasn't really sure. Clinging to someone who seemed to get her in a way few others seemed to, despite their differences? Nah, couldn't be that. Just fucking with him, after, well, drop the with. Getting a little playful with the subtle gestures at who exactly was doing what last night, the sorts of things he could surely never admit under the aegis of his cool-and-or-tough guy persona. Not a problem she'd ever had, call that a certain kind of freedom.

"Mmph, fuck the corps." Heather replied to her mother.

"They pay the bills, lets us do the fun stuff."

The daughter simply shruged, grunted in response. She couldn't deny that, and knew that neither of them wanted a lengthy discussion again about the structural, institutional issues behind that reasoning. Cassandra wasn't interested in theories on how artists could still work while liberated from a liberal capitalist economy, who would feed whom, etc, etc. They'd both been over it before. The needle had not been moved.

"I'm good thanks." Cassandra brushed him off, her nose crinkling almost imperceptibly in somethin like distaste, before she drifted away towards her home office and left the youngsters alone with the fading aroma of strong coffee.

Heather herself, she joined Manny at the table, pulled out his chair in her best impression of an old-timey chivalrous gentleman... betrayed ever so slightly by her wry smirk.

"You're kind of adorable, you know." she jabbed, taking her own seat thereafter. "And if you cook every morning after? Might have to make this a regular thing."

[LYourLocalAutist]

Manuel shrugged the rejection off, tuning out of the perhaps incoming mother-daughter argument concerning the capitals or whatever as he had their more casual earlier banter as he got to pouring the waters and setting the plates. This kinda stuff wasn't what concerned him in his everyday life. ...Okay, well, it literally was, but who has the time and patience to memorize all that blabla about which governmental branches we have to dismantle via ant army tactics in what order and what everyone's position on the commune will be? He came back to himself just in time to notice Heather's small considerate (definitely keeping in line with the bit action and grinned to himself as he sat down. The baddies did, apparently.

And then came another jab. This one caught him off guard. Below the belt type shit. Adorable? Him? Nahhh, blonde girl was tweaking now. He rolled his eyes and scoffed, but even so, that grin remained plastered on his face as he picked up his respective burrito from the plate. That grin, and some tinge of warmth that rushed to his cheeks. Warmth he felt, despite himself. Shit, he had to lock it in right away and save at least some amount of face. Maskless, he was a lot nicer, but that didn't mean his cool factor had to fuckin' evaporate or some shit.

"Really," He began, propping an elbow right up onto the table and plopping his head right onto it to add that extra degree of coolness to the grin, along with that jokey-casual tinge to his voice. "That what I am now? Personal chef and fuck-buddy on the side?"

[Dr Adjective]

“You said it, not me.”

Heather parried, flashing her own smirk back. She paused to enjoy a bite while the burrito was fresh and hot before continuing, and immediately her expression lit up in delight, brows raised and eyelids a-flutter

“Fuuuuuck me, that’s good. I was gonna say, if you’re that bothered, next time you can top and I’ll cook, but… brother I am not matching this.”

She could certainly cook, but for her it was more of a chore than an art, a task for producing pleasant-tasting sustenance that had all the nutrients she needed to stay healthy and build mass. In a word, she lacked flair. She didn’t lack empathy though, and her comment did bring a further thought to mind. His body language broadly spoke of comfort, but there was a certain edge… and Heather was plenty aware of the pressures of masculinity. Sometimes she even felt the weight herself.

“You… aren’t that bothered, are you? I’m having fun with this whole role-reversal banter thing, but if I take it too far…”

[LYourLocalAutist]

Manuel almost stopped chewing to make the bodily motion of being blown away. Shit, dude, he was supposed to be the one on the ball on account of having been up for a while. Maybe he could benefit from caring a little less about owning the woman who'd been in his ass the previous night, but he had his pride or whatever on the line, damnit! However, he still had one more secret weapon up his sleeve: an unavoidable and undeniable killshot. The money maker which had been since Manuel's 10th or so his most sacred weapon. And Heather was falling riiiight into it.

And damn, he didn't even have to begin saying anything before the compliments began to rain in. He allowed his pride to momentarily swell at a new voice's new thoughts on his work, fresh and tasty like trying some food for the first time. He let his grin widen juuuust so for that small moment before calming himself down lest his head blow up and detonate along with the house or something along those lines. Even that came easier; as he took another bite of his burrito and put on another joking tone, he felt remarkably relaxed eating with the woman in front of him. Maybe it was the banter or some other dynamic along those lines, but that was simply the case. Not that he was complaining.

"Oh you think this is good, find some way t' up your game and you'll get to see the real business."

He really just felt like he could joke and laugh, utterly unburdened around her. This was one of the rare spots he cherished, where he could let all social weights slip right off his back and prance around free as himself. That feeling just made Heather's proceeding question that much simpler to answer.

"Pff, it's chill. Funny shit in the first place, interesting too, and who's gonna talk to anyone? Ya mom?"

He allowed himself a little cackle there. Heh. Her mom.

[Dr Adjective]

Did he really hit back with a… not even a your mom joke, just, laughing at the notion of saying the words your mom out loud? It was certainly one way to reassure her he was unbothered. In his lane and the rest of the meme. Put that concern more-or-less to bed then. Heather took another bite, chewed thoughtfully, chewed over her thoughts on the situation.

Her thoughts? That this was… nice? Relaxing, in a way that dealing with many of the other people in her life wasn’t. Half the people she surrounded herself with were messed up one way or another, badly enough that an extremist misanthrope like Heather was somehow a suitable emotional rock to anchor themselves to. Manny? Yeah, he shared some of her problems, but in a way that seemed to just make him get her. That made interaction easy, after finally getting over that 3-ish year hump of thinking each other were assholes unworthy of the time of day. Maybe she would have to up her game, whatever that meant. He certainly seemed to enjoy himself overnight, maybe making the next breakfast was next on the to-do list.

Assuming there’d be a next one already, huh.

Funny how that works out.

Gulp. Swallow.

“Tell me, though. Not gonna think less of you.”

Heather gave an amused snort, gesturing to him with the roughly-half-a-burrito.

“Already think you’re evil anyway, can’t make it worse.”

The nuances of complicity in an interlocking complex of pervasive evil systems could wait until after she’d eaten and had a shower or something, there were cheap jabs to be made in the here and now. And, unbelievably? Heather was enjoying herself. Her typical scowl had been absent for several minutes, supplanted by the kind of smile that had been rare on her face ever since she left Santa Monica.

[LYourLocalAutist]

"Really, it's fine. I promise."

What reason was there to lie now? After they'd gone through, what, three separate situations of opening up the contents of their hearts to each other? One of which included a bit more than their hearts (HEYOOOO). If he could be angered by something as simple as haha tradwife joke he wouldn't be that guy. He'd be some other, lamer guy who wasn't as in touch with their emotions. Someone who only had the hype moments and aura without any of the good writing. Type shit.

He raised an eyebrow staring down the woman across him as she came out with the "evil" bit, grinning with some manner of curiosity. He knew it was meant jokingly, but even so; still now, of all times? He shot back, that joking tone everpresent in this relaxing setting. He was getting to fuck with their dynamic.

"Really? With my burrito in your mouth? What's it gonna take at this point?"

[Dr Adjective]

As long as he knew that beneath the well-cultivated layers of ironic detachment and generalised hostility, there was a core of compassion with the door open to reach it as-and-when, Heather was satisfied to let the matter drop. Besides, speaking was cutting into valuable hot-and-fresh time for her breakfast.

There was a brief silence after Manuel’s next question, whilst its target finished another mouthful.

“Give up meat, resist the state.”

Beat.

“What did you expect?”

Perhaps it was more obvious to Heather herself, she’d said much the same to her mother enough times that the word evil had lost almost all impact between the two of them to the point that It frankly ran the risk of becoming a charming bit of friendly banter, rather than a sincere criticism of her apathetic callousness.

Maybe just being a friendly good example stood a better chance of working than hostility though. Diversity of tactics never hurt anyone, at least.

Anyway. Only a few mouthfuls to go. Then he’d probably go, too.

Did she want that?

“Gonna shower after this, if you wanted to make your excuses.”

Hm. Maybe she didn’t, yet.

“Unless you’d rather join me.”

The little smirk couldn’t be contained, but the wink was left implied. She had to retain a little bit of aura.

[LYourLocalAutist]

Manuel only took the briefest of pauses to contemplate her terms, spanning just a few seconds after her follow-up statement to them. Finishing his own process of chewing and swallowing that banger breakfast he'd made, he opened his mouth once more, having convened his thoughts. He lifted one finger.

"Absolutely not."

...In reference to the first, plain and simple. Thruthfully, though he understood their reasonings and recognized they pretty much had all the moral arguments on their side (those fuckin' factories, damn), he couldn't truly get vegans. It was just- seriously? You don't fuck with no pork no chicken no nothing? He'd never say it out loud, especially not in front of Heather, but that sounded a bit in line with self-inflicted torture in his eyes. Meatless existence. He had to suppress a shiver at the thought. Pushing it away, he continued speaking and responded to her second term, keeping the tone consistent. Second finger was lifted.

"...I see an ICE agent in the hood, it's on sight."

Completely serious. Eyes shifted a bit. ...Well, as serious as an unarmed teenage boy could be, anyway. Which, considering the national situation, was still pretty fucking serious. He'd been watching the news, he knew about Canon's vision, his fucking goal. Schools being raided, fuck's sake. Kids being abducted and treated like animals. Fucking feds operating without due process. Manuel wasn't a fan of violence in any conventional sense, but he wasn't even going to consider letting that shit slide anywhere close to somewhere he knew family lived. He knew how easy it was to just lie about someone's "legality". He remembered.

...Wait, crap, he'd gotten a bit too edgy there. He leaned back in his chair and took another bite of his burrito, speaking in a lighter tone in an attempt to diffuse the seriousness of where he'd let his thoughts wander.

"Buuut, I guess that's still, like, half evil. Progress, though."

Aand things were reset! Hopefully. Ah, well; a few more mouthfuls and he'd be gone anyway. Bit of a shame, he thought as he chewed and savoured. He was having a good time. But he wasn't one to overstay welcomes. Case in point, he was already making preparations to get up as she mentioned showering, nodding as she made the statement. Good things couldn't last forever, simple as and then he nearly spit out the food that was in his mouth.

HUH??

Shit. Caught off guard, and didn't have the herb in his system to simply shrug it off. Lock it in. Uhh, swallow food, sit back down, look away, get eyes less wide. Project nonchalance through voice.

"Mierda- I mean- uh- well, shit, if you're offering, heh..."

Fail to project nonchalance through voice.

Fuck's sake. White girls with muscle were a different damn breed.

[Manuel "Mañana" Hernández continued elsewhere...]

[Dr Adjective]

Last bites. Up and about, collect both plates, stacked up by the sink for attention in the indeterminate Later. Heather had more pressing types of washing on her mind. The poorly-concealed eagerness, those puppy dog eyes she’d come to enjoy… pun intended.

“Your loss, guess you’ll never know what my upped game would’ve looked like.”

She turned to face him, leaning back against the counter in a way calculated to do two things: make yesterday’s shirt ride up and show a little abs, and make the definition in her arms really pop too. From what Heather could gather? Her beau seemed very much fond of that sort of display.

“But of course I’m really offering.”

Sincerity was something she’d always been proud of, a trait she’d never once second-guessed… unlike many, perhaps most, others.

“Unless you’re shy in the daylight.”

And she lead the way without another word. If he wanted more, he could try translating the Ukrainian ones on her collarbone: вбити кожного ката.

[Heather, out.]