Homeathon: The Home at 252 Everclear
Jun. 3rd, 2013 05:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lb_leeHi everybody! This prompt is for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
catskillz, who requested a home with a family of choice, related neither by blood nor romantic attachment. This technically takes place in the Infinity Smashed universe as a loose follow-up to City Girl, but no prior reading is required. Happy homeathon!
The Home at 252 Everclear
Frances Bertelli hates people. Oh sure, back in the day, she was a dewy-eyed young idealist, but the years weigh heavy on her now. She’s ready to hole herself away, fade into the Vaygo streets that raised her.
That's how she starts up 252 Everclear. All on its own, it takes up almost a whole block, but most of it is charred and rotten from riots and municipal neglect, and officials want nothing to do with the place. Frances can take over the remaining stable rooms and disappear.
But her city won't let go of her that easily.
She's sledgehammering the door open—she can tell she's getting old, it's actually hard—when a scruffy, raw-boned girl of about thirty saunters over.
Frances knows who she is, of course. She knows everybody. The girl’s name is Mariposa; she got disowned and invests all her emotional energy into labor associations and Red Flag meetings. Lately, she’s been living with her boyfriend, but the relationship is on the rocks. Frances can tell from the bruises on her hands.
But she's smiling, confident and cocky like the young are, and she asks, “You opening up the shop?”
Frances admits she has no plans.
Mariposa holds out a hand for a turn at the sledgehammer, and Frances hands it over. “See, the zine space got condemned last week, and as head librarian...”
Damn her nostalgia. Frances can't say no to her people, and anyway, the space is too large for her. And so Mariposa throws her young vigor into the initial set-up—scavenging a new door, the chain and lock, the scrubbing and cleaning and clearing, which allows Frances to focus on the more advanced things like sewage, power, water. In exchange, the shopfront becomes How Revolting! Zines, and Frances turns a blind eye to the bedroll Mari keeps stashed behind the front desk.
Still, Mari's only a part-timer, so Frances keeps her privacy. She clears the places, gets the power going, fiddles with the pipes so How Revolting! can have a bathroom. By May, things seem to be all in place, and Frances settles back.
Then she gets robbed. Three times.
The first time, she’s angry. The second time, she's furious. The third time, she's incensed. She and Mari sweep up the broken glass, and all the while, Frances curses the young and the ignorant. To hell with retirement, she is the city. Nobody robs her.
She calls Benny, who most courteously apologizes to her for the indignity, and reassures her that his boys will take care of it, but she wants more immediate relief. Mariposa is obviously not equipped for the task, so Frances goes looking for a dog. She’s not worried; her city always provides.
Within the week, she's found a sullen, sleep-deprived teenager from Georgia. He’s a brawler, petty thief, and an independent operator—rare, on Benny’s turf. Whatever it is that’s kept him ahead, she can tell from the circles under his eyes and the bandages on his arm that he can’t keep it up much longer.
He doesn’t want to talk to her, but he’s on the street during the hottest summer on record. He needs her. She offers him shelter, protection from Benny’s boys in exchange for protection from hoodlums.
All he asks is, “You got a kitchen?”
She takes a moment to juggle power, pipes, room placement, and says, “Long as you’re willing to help me build it.”
That makes his head come up, a spark of interest in his eyes, the start of a smile. “I get to build it?”
And suddenly, Frances is a real landlady. Not that the boy socializes, but she can smell his cigarettes, his cooking. All 252 is filled with it, and Mariposa starts finding excuses to amble upstairs and try to cajole food out of him. It never works, but he starts trading Frances comfort food for her laundry skills.
The next time someone tries to break in, it’s taken care of. Frances doesn’t know what the boy does, but Mari says it was amazing. The problems end.
Until her AC breaks down in July. She’s working on that when the boy comes in, bitching about how his fridge has gone out, and then Mariposa reports that the sewage has gone wrong.
It turns out some of the pipes are bad, and no one is willing to lend Frances Bertelli an AC in this weather. Frances hates dealing with money, but there’s no help for it: they need cash, a lot of it.
Frances is rigging the boy an icebox when Mariposa saunters up, saying she knows someone at the women’s health center who knows a working girl who needs housing and no judgement.
That causes a fight—Mariposa’s a feminist; the boy’s a Catholic—but Frances shuts them both up with a raised hand.
“You want a fridge?” She asks the boy.
He does.
“This girl have money?”
She does.
The argument’s settled. Gabriella Estevez joins 252. She doesn’t speak much English, but Mari’s bilingual, and Frances can get by, and it turns out that Gabi’s the sweetest person in the place—and the richest. She smiles and talks to everybody, even the boy, who doesn’t like girls.
Things settle. Mari runs How Revolting! The boy cooks and smokes. Gabi conducts business. Frances slowly renovates the rest of 252, drafting Mari or the boy as necessary. (Gabi, it turns out, is hopeless at home repair.) They get comfortable, used to each other.
She doesn’t realize how much until Gabi corners her in the workshop and says, “We should do Thanksgiving dinner. Mari said yes.”
Frances blinks. Gabi’s from Guatemala; Mariposa calls Thanksgiving colonialist. Why would they do dinner? “What’d the dog say?”
Mari snorts. “He hates you least. You ask him.”
Frances doesn’t know which surprises her more: that she agrees, or that the boy does.
So they end up having a real Thanksgiving dinner, where Gabi and the boy bicker in different languages over who makes what and how, and Mariposa sets up table settings. Frances watches them all, bemused. She hates people. How did she end up with a house full of kids?
Somehow, Mariposa scraped up a cheap bottle of wine. After everyone gets a glass (or coffee mug, or cup), she toasts, “To 252!” And Frances finds herself toasting, along with everyone else.
catskillz, who requested a home with a family of choice, related neither by blood nor romantic attachment. This technically takes place in the Infinity Smashed universe as a loose follow-up to City Girl, but no prior reading is required. Happy homeathon!The Home at 252 Everclear
Frances Bertelli hates people. Oh sure, back in the day, she was a dewy-eyed young idealist, but the years weigh heavy on her now. She’s ready to hole herself away, fade into the Vaygo streets that raised her.
That's how she starts up 252 Everclear. All on its own, it takes up almost a whole block, but most of it is charred and rotten from riots and municipal neglect, and officials want nothing to do with the place. Frances can take over the remaining stable rooms and disappear.
But her city won't let go of her that easily.
She's sledgehammering the door open—she can tell she's getting old, it's actually hard—when a scruffy, raw-boned girl of about thirty saunters over.
Frances knows who she is, of course. She knows everybody. The girl’s name is Mariposa; she got disowned and invests all her emotional energy into labor associations and Red Flag meetings. Lately, she’s been living with her boyfriend, but the relationship is on the rocks. Frances can tell from the bruises on her hands.
But she's smiling, confident and cocky like the young are, and she asks, “You opening up the shop?”
Frances admits she has no plans.
Mariposa holds out a hand for a turn at the sledgehammer, and Frances hands it over. “See, the zine space got condemned last week, and as head librarian...”
Damn her nostalgia. Frances can't say no to her people, and anyway, the space is too large for her. And so Mariposa throws her young vigor into the initial set-up—scavenging a new door, the chain and lock, the scrubbing and cleaning and clearing, which allows Frances to focus on the more advanced things like sewage, power, water. In exchange, the shopfront becomes How Revolting! Zines, and Frances turns a blind eye to the bedroll Mari keeps stashed behind the front desk.
Still, Mari's only a part-timer, so Frances keeps her privacy. She clears the places, gets the power going, fiddles with the pipes so How Revolting! can have a bathroom. By May, things seem to be all in place, and Frances settles back.
Then she gets robbed. Three times.
The first time, she’s angry. The second time, she's furious. The third time, she's incensed. She and Mari sweep up the broken glass, and all the while, Frances curses the young and the ignorant. To hell with retirement, she is the city. Nobody robs her.
She calls Benny, who most courteously apologizes to her for the indignity, and reassures her that his boys will take care of it, but she wants more immediate relief. Mariposa is obviously not equipped for the task, so Frances goes looking for a dog. She’s not worried; her city always provides.
Within the week, she's found a sullen, sleep-deprived teenager from Georgia. He’s a brawler, petty thief, and an independent operator—rare, on Benny’s turf. Whatever it is that’s kept him ahead, she can tell from the circles under his eyes and the bandages on his arm that he can’t keep it up much longer.
He doesn’t want to talk to her, but he’s on the street during the hottest summer on record. He needs her. She offers him shelter, protection from Benny’s boys in exchange for protection from hoodlums.
All he asks is, “You got a kitchen?”
She takes a moment to juggle power, pipes, room placement, and says, “Long as you’re willing to help me build it.”
That makes his head come up, a spark of interest in his eyes, the start of a smile. “I get to build it?”
And suddenly, Frances is a real landlady. Not that the boy socializes, but she can smell his cigarettes, his cooking. All 252 is filled with it, and Mariposa starts finding excuses to amble upstairs and try to cajole food out of him. It never works, but he starts trading Frances comfort food for her laundry skills.
The next time someone tries to break in, it’s taken care of. Frances doesn’t know what the boy does, but Mari says it was amazing. The problems end.
Until her AC breaks down in July. She’s working on that when the boy comes in, bitching about how his fridge has gone out, and then Mariposa reports that the sewage has gone wrong.
It turns out some of the pipes are bad, and no one is willing to lend Frances Bertelli an AC in this weather. Frances hates dealing with money, but there’s no help for it: they need cash, a lot of it.
Frances is rigging the boy an icebox when Mariposa saunters up, saying she knows someone at the women’s health center who knows a working girl who needs housing and no judgement.
That causes a fight—Mariposa’s a feminist; the boy’s a Catholic—but Frances shuts them both up with a raised hand.
“You want a fridge?” She asks the boy.
He does.
“This girl have money?”
She does.
The argument’s settled. Gabriella Estevez joins 252. She doesn’t speak much English, but Mari’s bilingual, and Frances can get by, and it turns out that Gabi’s the sweetest person in the place—and the richest. She smiles and talks to everybody, even the boy, who doesn’t like girls.
Things settle. Mari runs How Revolting! The boy cooks and smokes. Gabi conducts business. Frances slowly renovates the rest of 252, drafting Mari or the boy as necessary. (Gabi, it turns out, is hopeless at home repair.) They get comfortable, used to each other.
She doesn’t realize how much until Gabi corners her in the workshop and says, “We should do Thanksgiving dinner. Mari said yes.”
Frances blinks. Gabi’s from Guatemala; Mariposa calls Thanksgiving colonialist. Why would they do dinner? “What’d the dog say?”
Mari snorts. “He hates you least. You ask him.”
Frances doesn’t know which surprises her more: that she agrees, or that the boy does.
So they end up having a real Thanksgiving dinner, where Gabi and the boy bicker in different languages over who makes what and how, and Mariposa sets up table settings. Frances watches them all, bemused. She hates people. How did she end up with a house full of kids?
Somehow, Mariposa scraped up a cheap bottle of wine. After everyone gets a glass (or coffee mug, or cup), she toasts, “To 252!” And Frances finds herself toasting, along with everyone else.
