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Caritas- Tuesday

It was back to normal after last week and... last weekend, and now they could get into preparing for the holidays.

Which meant talking Tino out of experimenting with drinks using Jones Thanksgiving flavored sodas as mixers.

"Absolutely not," Kitty was telling him. "If someone wants to drink turkey and gravy with vodka, that's a cry for help."

[One time someone gave my roommate a bottle of Jones Brussels sprouts soda as a joke and it sat atop the fridge fir a year until the day it fell and broke and it's one of the worst things I've ever smelled. Anyway, open!]

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Rosa showed up just in time to hear the words turkey and gravy and vodka coming out of that mouth, Kitty, and so she was just going to give you such a look.

Was it offended? Disgusted? Oddly proud?

It was Rosa, so the answer was yes.

"Help me," Kitty said. "He's trying to do bad things."

"I mean," said Rosa, "he wouldn't be Tino if he wasn't, right? And, also, you know I'm a terrible person. I might actually be kind of into this."

Not for herself personally, but the potential for schadenfreude in this situation was palpable.

"If you say that, you have to try it," Kitty warned.

You fought dirty, Kitty, but that was why Rosa liked you.

Even if her narrowed eyes didn't exactly say as much right then.

"...well played," she said. "Should I keep him distracted with overly complicated drink orders that are just slightly wrong each time?"

Hey, if she was being denied Thanksgiving cocktain sadism, she had to get her entertainment elsewhere, right?

"Yes, please. If not, my whole nights going to descend into green bean-flavored madness."

Which, ew.

And Rosa looked at Kitty with a look that she hoped communicated the fact that she so desperately wanted to say something about cream of mushroom soup and fried onion garnish, but she wasn't going to, because you were her friend, Kitty, her friend and friends just didn't do that to their friends.

It was a moment that reminded Rosa why she didn't usually bother with friends, but, goddammit, Kitty...!

So, instead, she just then turned to Tino and rattled off some super-annoying, super-specific, stupidly detailed drink order and told him to get to it.

"There," she then said to Kitty. "That'll buy you a few minutes until he brings it over and I point out that I said three olives."

She'd totally said two.

"You are the best, never forget that," Kitty told her. "Would you like a thank you drink while you're being very specific on olives?"

Rosa's smirk may have had a faint preening quality to it, although, obviously, she didn't need the reminder.

"I'll just have a beer in the meantime, I think," she decided. "Thanks. And, hey, am I right to assume since I heard little baby Clint on the radio that you managed to get skipped this weekend?"

"I did. So I got to watch my baby and my husband," Kitty sighed, but got her the beer. "This town sometimes, I swear."

"You say that a lot," Rosa pointed out with a faint smirk, lifting that beer in a salute to Kitty's astute and accurate observations. "I almost want to take it and make it a drinking game or something."

"And we carry flasks around for when we wake up to a weird weekend?"

Because she was down.

"And any time someone complains about it being this island or this town or this place," said Rosa, as the grin slowly started to grow on her face, "we take a swig. We'll be wasted in no time."

Well, Kitty might be. Because the whole thing counted on actually talking to people, which Rosa generally didn't do, as a rule. She'll just take bigger swigs to compensate.

"We'd need our stomachs pumped after weekends like that."

Not exactly a deterrent, but something to keep in mind.

Rosa gave Kitty a slightly dubious look, because this woman had seen how much Rosa could drink, over this past year and change (oh god) that they'd known each other.

"I don't even think the kid weekend is all that bad," she noted. "True, I didn't have a baby and a husband to watch over--" And in that moment, she had to lift her beer in a silent toast of may she never "--but I did punch a kid, teach myself basic Russian, and finally figured out how to train my dog. Definitely an improvement from last time when I thought someone else owned my apartment and I decided to live in the woods as a feral wild child all weekend. So you know...I'm okay with the kid weekends."

"Okay, I need to hear about training your dog," Kitty said. "I meant to ask after radio."

"Well," Rosa said, "that ties in with the Russian, and the kid I punched, because that whole thing made me think I needed to become a Russian ballerina spy. And what good Russian ballerina spy doesn't have a fierce attack dog, right? So I get my precocious butt up to the library, rent a few books, and now my dog finally listens to me, but only in Russian. Apparently, she likes it. And her name's Anna Pavlova now, too."

"This is not the story I expected and somehow it's better," Kitty admitted. "So you, as. Russian ballerina spy, named your dog after a Russian ballerina."

Amazing.

"Now I'm wondering what story you were expecting," Rosa noted. "And I actually named her that before any of the spy shit." She paused, slightly, shook her head. "It's a theme. That one weekend we were all teenagers, I named her Tchaikovsky."

"I was expecting that your dog responded better to kids or something." Boring. "Does her name change with every weird weekend?" Kitty wondered.

"Ugh, to kids?" Rosa's nose wrinkled. "That would be terrible. No, thank god, it's just the Russian. And...so far, it's really just been twice that I've renamed her, that I can think of. She seems to like Anna Pavlova, though, but it might just be because that's what I called her during her training."

In all of two days.

As a seven year old.

Hey, it didn't have to make sense, right?

"I'm so glad you came in today," Kitty told her.

She loved this story so much, Rosa.

And she might talk to your dog in Russian.

Anna Pavlova would love that so much that Kitty would absolutely become her favorite person in the world. Granted, whatever person was in front of Anna Pavlova at the time tended to be her favorite person in the world, but anyone speaking to her in Russian would be, like, exceptionally so.

Rosa, meanwhile, just eyed Kitty. "Just remember," she said, "I didn't have to tell you anything."

"I would never take any of this for granted," Kitty said firmly. "Either the story or the rescue."

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Caritas- Tuesday

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