CH8: Tugging at Threads (Harleen + Renardo)
Jul 20, 2019 9:40:15 GMT -6
Post by montywonty on Jul 20, 2019 9:40:15 GMT -6
The dust for the mission’s beginning had not yet settled, but plenty of dust and heat was to be had as Renardo laid in his single mattress. Fanning his half-open shirt against himself, he went over the mission details in his head for perhaps a fourth time. Next was an excerpt from the war strategies text that Jack had provided for entertainment. Lastly was the irritating ache upon his tongue. This would repeat for him, solitary, until once again his attentions were taken.
That hat on Harleen’s head. Something wasn’t right.
“Miss Charlet.” Renardo piped out, slowly rising to proper posture. “...your green beret. What is the story behind it?”
"What? This ol' thing? Why, it's nothing but a hand-me down from my mother's side of the tree!"
Harleen stole a glance at Renardo as he was addressing her, but otherwise her attention was sold solely to the guide book in her hands as she stayed glued to the outdated, oh so very much so, data within. "Still, it's a happy little keepsake. It's made of the real, honest and pure, Mexican cotton, none of that synthetic stuff that became popularized later on. I may not be a direct part of my roots, but it's still a nice reminder that the old ways don't ever really go away, as homogeneous as the world's gotten." She stopped, giving a bit of a quizzical look before chuckling. "Sorry, got a little carried away there. I just figured you'd want something more than 'well, it just looks good!'"
“Carried away? Not necessarily.” Renardo managed to say while stroking his chin. Meanwhile, his bronzed sights were scanning the woman’s hat rapidly. “I had theorized that it was of genuine cotton make. Generic synthetic fabric is not capable of keeping the charm of organic stitch imperfections.” A solemn nod in accord. So it was both a keepsake and a steadfast signifier of heritage.
“You seem to cherish it.” He commented while lowering his lids. “May I ask why then, if you cherish it, that it’s left injured?” Were Harleen to check, she’d find a patch of the hat fading in color, and fragments of cotton seemingly shaved off from the fabric.
"Partly because it's been like that for ages, partly because well...Where am I going to get it repaired on our schedule, secrecy, and budget? Sure, we have machines and the like for that, but something as special as this...Why, it requires a more loving touch. It's the work of an artisan to stay genuine the way that it has. Systems and machinery have their own charm and weight to them, but I feel like there's a separate and equal need for a master's touch to his craft." Harleen replied, almost pouting at the thought of her precious little treasure becoming some kind of every day knock-off. "You've got to treat a lady's belongings with care, you know!"
Don’t smile, Renardo. You musn’t. It was resisted in the end - this was the serious matter of a memento, after all. He kept his sights nonchalantly away, resting his cheek upon his robotic left palm. “I’m fully aware, and I imagine.” He said as his free hand began to sift through his pocket, pulling out a wallet-sized tin case. “If it’s an artisan’s touch you’re concerned about, then I can fix it.”
“Woah...Mr. Etsy. here.” Harleen commented as she peered at the tiny tin case, giving a quick judging look before offering a confirming nod. “I’d be happy to have you on board!”
“It’s Mr. Santos, Miss Charlet.” Renardo affirmed with no sense of humor whatsoever. To appease her further however, he opened the container up, the tin unraveling and unfolding to reveal: patches of many fabrics, spools of string of every color, and a full artillery of sewing needles. “Come on closer, then.” He finally glanced back over to her, gesturing her closer with a curled fingertip. “I will not be able to fix it from over here.”
"Honestly, at this point I would have thought you'd have done some robotic arm extension!" Harleen chirped back, though she made the note to hold her tongue on any more talk like that. Here the lad was fixing something up for her, stiff or no stiff. And so, being a gal with no sense of personal space she happily planted her rump directly next to him and reluctantly freed her beret from her head. "Well she's all yours, Mr. Santos." She emphasized his surname, wanting to okay along with his knife's edge seriousness.
Renardo lightly rolled his eyes as she tried so hard - but she tried, and that’s what mattered. It is exactly what he asked for anyways. He daintily received the beret and held it within his organic hand, gently running his fingertips along it to get more familiar with the material. He turned it about a few times to analyze the problems once more: decay of fabric strands and overall wear and tear. A glint of light hit the frame of his glasses once more, and at the speed of light, he wove a needle at the ready and began to attack the problem at its core.
Nary a sound was heard while thread met cloth, the man finishing to repair the piece in only a matter of minutes. The end result was Harleen’s beret looking...different. It was not as how Harleen could’ve remembered it. But, it looked new enough to look as her grandmother could have remembered it.
“Does this result satisfy you?” Renardo eyed Harleen, brow raised.
To say Harleen was a bit overwhelmed at his intensity would be an understatement. For once in her life, the loudmouthed communications officer sat in silence as she gave a over his shoulder peek at his work. There was something soothing about his precision, his even set rhythm almost...mechanical in a way, music in it's own synthesized way. In fact, the poor girl's eyes began to feel heavy as she settled closer to the master at work, feeling comfortable in her seat.
Still, work had to come to a stop and she finally snapped from her trance at the calling of her name, the hat thrust into her hands. "You know...It looks even better than it did before, better than it ever did really." Harleen's expression was a mixture of gratitude with a dash of an underlying concoction, a slew of emotions Harleen couldn't quite pinpoint herself. It was like a new haircut that the barber had gone off into something you didn't expect. You didn't….hate it and the feeling that it was better off now wasn't out of the range of your imagination, but it was different. Still, that was no reason to seem like she hated it. So, she slipped it back where it belong, giving her cutest pose to Rey.
"Well, what do you think! Cute or what?"
Renardo simply remained seated in his little corner, scratching at his chin while he observed Harleen. He took a look down her frame, then back up to the beret, and the pose she struck with it. “...if you’re trying to be endearing with it, you should try a pose like such.”
The lanky lad rose from his seat, then vibrantly struck a pose; one arm down, the other arm folded behind his head, with a twist to his hips. A pose that could make any Instagram influencer jealous - and all with the man’s overbearingly serious resting expression.
For the second time that day Harleen had been rendered speechless, completely taken aback by the overly serious Renardo actually playing along with her antics. She could laugh till she was in tears given the circumstances, but it would be fairly inconsiderate to her host trying his best. And so, with the widest smile and a contained teardrop forming in her eye, Harleen leaned into the demonstrated pose and gave it her best glamour face, winking as she turned her gaze to her wonderful audience. "How's that for endearing?"
Strange. The wide smile on her face, almost ready to overflow with a tear - it seemed genuine. Could there really be such a person in this grim line of work? It wasn’t hard to believe after the voice overheard upon their arrival, but Renardo forgive himself for thinking that was just the bridge girl being clumsy.
“Better.” He stated with little fanfare, putting away his artillery of the cloth as quickly as it had arrived, and curled back up into his little bunk while he kept his gaze towards the tiny window. “...I believe that will be all for it. Your treasure may look foreign to you now. But it will certainly gain back the charm of deterioration in time, for your later generations.”
"Cute girl gives everything she's got and all she gets is a better-" Harleen had started to protest when Rey had hit the target spot on, spilling out the emotion she had been wearing on her sleeve with extreme precision in a very enlightening manner. That's what the problem was...and better yet, the solution. "I don't get you." Harleen commented, fingers brushing against her beret as she tried to formulate her feelings. "So stuffy and oblivious to how to treat a lady, yet you understand how I feel when even I don't. That's not fair you know. Hunky, smart, and emotionally conscious? Pick one, you jerk."
Renardo let out a quiet groan, however not to Harleen’s postulation. He held his hand gently over his mouth, the silhouette of his tongue pressing around on the inside of his cheeks with a couple brief, uncomfortable winces. Only after did he give Harleen the attention she deserved. All because she said something he couldn’t ignore. “If you’re trying to butter me up with flattery for whatever reason you may have, it’s not going to work.” He said sternly with a furrowed brow.
"It's a compliment. People do that for people when they say and do nice things, you know." Harleen puffed out her cheeks, staring down his furrowed brow with her own. "Just like comments like that earn you the stick eye." Harleen folded her arms, sitting up straight as she gave it her best pout. "Apologize." The two sat in silence, as if the statement was processing between the two of them or stubbornness or maybe even a combination of the two kept words from being exchanged before she repeated herself in a spoiled tone. "Apologize."
It was hard for a while for Renardo to discern if Harleen was trying to be insolent or childish. After all, he was only speaking the truth, and nothing but. He was well aware of how difficult it is for others - colleagues, bosses, friends, potential lovers - to take that truth. But the more he looked at her and her steadfast pout, the more he thought: there was nothing to extract from her. Nothing deeper. Just Harleen.
He let out a heavy sigh while rising to his feet, his mechanical limbs clanking against the trailer floor while he walked closer to her. He drew in a deep breath to fix up his slouch, even then only standing a few mere inches over the already small woman.
“I apologize for doubting you. You said what you did out of sincerity in kindness, and I sullied such words with my own biases. It shall not happen again, Miss Charlet.”
Harleen fixed her gaze intently at the taller gentleman, giving him an honest, piercing evaluation. He was blunt, to a very rude degree, but it was a simple kind of honesty, straightforward without an agenda. Indeed, his honestly almost worked counterintuitive to his own goals and socialization. It wasn't anything she could STAY mad at, though she couldn't help the curiosity that formed in WHY he came to the conclusion that he did, let alone these said biases. "You're an honest boy, Mr. Santos, just don't forget I'm also just as honest, just far cuter " She gave an enthusiastic brush of her hair for the sheer flair of it before straightening herself up. "I'm not like the people who hurt you, I can promise you that." She commented, fishing for more as she let her curiosity get the better of her.
Those deep brown eyes of Renardo’s watched Harleen’s every sway, and thought, and ponder, remaining rigid in his space, as if he were a doberman watching an enthusiastic pomeranian. He kept his lips shut tight on the matter of Harleen’s cuteness - after all, such a thing was subjective. A cool demeanor was all he could ask for in the humbling moment that she brought upon him. All he begged for, aside from a quirk of his brow at her late statement. “...right. Honest you are, Miss Charlet.” He clearly glossed over.
“On that note, I am going to have to take my leave for the moment.” Renardo squeezed passed Harleen in the narrow hall, conjuring his cane to unfold from his belt and extend. “Everyone has an important job to do, and we both have ours.” No backstory for Harleen. Not today, curvy Satan.
No bite. Still, it was just the first of many future attempts to crack open that hunk like a fortune cookie, with the delicious truth inside. "See you later, cowboy." Harleen gave a tip of her beret, trying to end things on a lighter note, but the boy had his own agenda and soon...She was alone again, manning her station in solitude, her thoughts drifting to the conversation as her only salvation from the quiet.
That hat on Harleen’s head. Something wasn’t right.
“Miss Charlet.” Renardo piped out, slowly rising to proper posture. “...your green beret. What is the story behind it?”
"What? This ol' thing? Why, it's nothing but a hand-me down from my mother's side of the tree!"
Harleen stole a glance at Renardo as he was addressing her, but otherwise her attention was sold solely to the guide book in her hands as she stayed glued to the outdated, oh so very much so, data within. "Still, it's a happy little keepsake. It's made of the real, honest and pure, Mexican cotton, none of that synthetic stuff that became popularized later on. I may not be a direct part of my roots, but it's still a nice reminder that the old ways don't ever really go away, as homogeneous as the world's gotten." She stopped, giving a bit of a quizzical look before chuckling. "Sorry, got a little carried away there. I just figured you'd want something more than 'well, it just looks good!'"
“Carried away? Not necessarily.” Renardo managed to say while stroking his chin. Meanwhile, his bronzed sights were scanning the woman’s hat rapidly. “I had theorized that it was of genuine cotton make. Generic synthetic fabric is not capable of keeping the charm of organic stitch imperfections.” A solemn nod in accord. So it was both a keepsake and a steadfast signifier of heritage.
“You seem to cherish it.” He commented while lowering his lids. “May I ask why then, if you cherish it, that it’s left injured?” Were Harleen to check, she’d find a patch of the hat fading in color, and fragments of cotton seemingly shaved off from the fabric.
"Partly because it's been like that for ages, partly because well...Where am I going to get it repaired on our schedule, secrecy, and budget? Sure, we have machines and the like for that, but something as special as this...Why, it requires a more loving touch. It's the work of an artisan to stay genuine the way that it has. Systems and machinery have their own charm and weight to them, but I feel like there's a separate and equal need for a master's touch to his craft." Harleen replied, almost pouting at the thought of her precious little treasure becoming some kind of every day knock-off. "You've got to treat a lady's belongings with care, you know!"
Don’t smile, Renardo. You musn’t. It was resisted in the end - this was the serious matter of a memento, after all. He kept his sights nonchalantly away, resting his cheek upon his robotic left palm. “I’m fully aware, and I imagine.” He said as his free hand began to sift through his pocket, pulling out a wallet-sized tin case. “If it’s an artisan’s touch you’re concerned about, then I can fix it.”
“Woah...Mr. Etsy. here.” Harleen commented as she peered at the tiny tin case, giving a quick judging look before offering a confirming nod. “I’d be happy to have you on board!”
“It’s Mr. Santos, Miss Charlet.” Renardo affirmed with no sense of humor whatsoever. To appease her further however, he opened the container up, the tin unraveling and unfolding to reveal: patches of many fabrics, spools of string of every color, and a full artillery of sewing needles. “Come on closer, then.” He finally glanced back over to her, gesturing her closer with a curled fingertip. “I will not be able to fix it from over here.”
"Honestly, at this point I would have thought you'd have done some robotic arm extension!" Harleen chirped back, though she made the note to hold her tongue on any more talk like that. Here the lad was fixing something up for her, stiff or no stiff. And so, being a gal with no sense of personal space she happily planted her rump directly next to him and reluctantly freed her beret from her head. "Well she's all yours, Mr. Santos." She emphasized his surname, wanting to okay along with his knife's edge seriousness.
Renardo lightly rolled his eyes as she tried so hard - but she tried, and that’s what mattered. It is exactly what he asked for anyways. He daintily received the beret and held it within his organic hand, gently running his fingertips along it to get more familiar with the material. He turned it about a few times to analyze the problems once more: decay of fabric strands and overall wear and tear. A glint of light hit the frame of his glasses once more, and at the speed of light, he wove a needle at the ready and began to attack the problem at its core.
Nary a sound was heard while thread met cloth, the man finishing to repair the piece in only a matter of minutes. The end result was Harleen’s beret looking...different. It was not as how Harleen could’ve remembered it. But, it looked new enough to look as her grandmother could have remembered it.
“Does this result satisfy you?” Renardo eyed Harleen, brow raised.
To say Harleen was a bit overwhelmed at his intensity would be an understatement. For once in her life, the loudmouthed communications officer sat in silence as she gave a over his shoulder peek at his work. There was something soothing about his precision, his even set rhythm almost...mechanical in a way, music in it's own synthesized way. In fact, the poor girl's eyes began to feel heavy as she settled closer to the master at work, feeling comfortable in her seat.
Still, work had to come to a stop and she finally snapped from her trance at the calling of her name, the hat thrust into her hands. "You know...It looks even better than it did before, better than it ever did really." Harleen's expression was a mixture of gratitude with a dash of an underlying concoction, a slew of emotions Harleen couldn't quite pinpoint herself. It was like a new haircut that the barber had gone off into something you didn't expect. You didn't….hate it and the feeling that it was better off now wasn't out of the range of your imagination, but it was different. Still, that was no reason to seem like she hated it. So, she slipped it back where it belong, giving her cutest pose to Rey.
"Well, what do you think! Cute or what?"
Renardo simply remained seated in his little corner, scratching at his chin while he observed Harleen. He took a look down her frame, then back up to the beret, and the pose she struck with it. “...if you’re trying to be endearing with it, you should try a pose like such.”
The lanky lad rose from his seat, then vibrantly struck a pose; one arm down, the other arm folded behind his head, with a twist to his hips. A pose that could make any Instagram influencer jealous - and all with the man’s overbearingly serious resting expression.
For the second time that day Harleen had been rendered speechless, completely taken aback by the overly serious Renardo actually playing along with her antics. She could laugh till she was in tears given the circumstances, but it would be fairly inconsiderate to her host trying his best. And so, with the widest smile and a contained teardrop forming in her eye, Harleen leaned into the demonstrated pose and gave it her best glamour face, winking as she turned her gaze to her wonderful audience. "How's that for endearing?"
Strange. The wide smile on her face, almost ready to overflow with a tear - it seemed genuine. Could there really be such a person in this grim line of work? It wasn’t hard to believe after the voice overheard upon their arrival, but Renardo forgive himself for thinking that was just the bridge girl being clumsy.
“Better.” He stated with little fanfare, putting away his artillery of the cloth as quickly as it had arrived, and curled back up into his little bunk while he kept his gaze towards the tiny window. “...I believe that will be all for it. Your treasure may look foreign to you now. But it will certainly gain back the charm of deterioration in time, for your later generations.”
"Cute girl gives everything she's got and all she gets is a better-" Harleen had started to protest when Rey had hit the target spot on, spilling out the emotion she had been wearing on her sleeve with extreme precision in a very enlightening manner. That's what the problem was...and better yet, the solution. "I don't get you." Harleen commented, fingers brushing against her beret as she tried to formulate her feelings. "So stuffy and oblivious to how to treat a lady, yet you understand how I feel when even I don't. That's not fair you know. Hunky, smart, and emotionally conscious? Pick one, you jerk."
Renardo let out a quiet groan, however not to Harleen’s postulation. He held his hand gently over his mouth, the silhouette of his tongue pressing around on the inside of his cheeks with a couple brief, uncomfortable winces. Only after did he give Harleen the attention she deserved. All because she said something he couldn’t ignore. “If you’re trying to butter me up with flattery for whatever reason you may have, it’s not going to work.” He said sternly with a furrowed brow.
"It's a compliment. People do that for people when they say and do nice things, you know." Harleen puffed out her cheeks, staring down his furrowed brow with her own. "Just like comments like that earn you the stick eye." Harleen folded her arms, sitting up straight as she gave it her best pout. "Apologize." The two sat in silence, as if the statement was processing between the two of them or stubbornness or maybe even a combination of the two kept words from being exchanged before she repeated herself in a spoiled tone. "Apologize."
It was hard for a while for Renardo to discern if Harleen was trying to be insolent or childish. After all, he was only speaking the truth, and nothing but. He was well aware of how difficult it is for others - colleagues, bosses, friends, potential lovers - to take that truth. But the more he looked at her and her steadfast pout, the more he thought: there was nothing to extract from her. Nothing deeper. Just Harleen.
He let out a heavy sigh while rising to his feet, his mechanical limbs clanking against the trailer floor while he walked closer to her. He drew in a deep breath to fix up his slouch, even then only standing a few mere inches over the already small woman.
“I apologize for doubting you. You said what you did out of sincerity in kindness, and I sullied such words with my own biases. It shall not happen again, Miss Charlet.”
Harleen fixed her gaze intently at the taller gentleman, giving him an honest, piercing evaluation. He was blunt, to a very rude degree, but it was a simple kind of honesty, straightforward without an agenda. Indeed, his honestly almost worked counterintuitive to his own goals and socialization. It wasn't anything she could STAY mad at, though she couldn't help the curiosity that formed in WHY he came to the conclusion that he did, let alone these said biases. "You're an honest boy, Mr. Santos, just don't forget I'm also just as honest, just far cuter " She gave an enthusiastic brush of her hair for the sheer flair of it before straightening herself up. "I'm not like the people who hurt you, I can promise you that." She commented, fishing for more as she let her curiosity get the better of her.
Those deep brown eyes of Renardo’s watched Harleen’s every sway, and thought, and ponder, remaining rigid in his space, as if he were a doberman watching an enthusiastic pomeranian. He kept his lips shut tight on the matter of Harleen’s cuteness - after all, such a thing was subjective. A cool demeanor was all he could ask for in the humbling moment that she brought upon him. All he begged for, aside from a quirk of his brow at her late statement. “...right. Honest you are, Miss Charlet.” He clearly glossed over.
“On that note, I am going to have to take my leave for the moment.” Renardo squeezed passed Harleen in the narrow hall, conjuring his cane to unfold from his belt and extend. “Everyone has an important job to do, and we both have ours.” No backstory for Harleen. Not today, curvy Satan.
No bite. Still, it was just the first of many future attempts to crack open that hunk like a fortune cookie, with the delicious truth inside. "See you later, cowboy." Harleen gave a tip of her beret, trying to end things on a lighter note, but the boy had his own agenda and soon...She was alone again, manning her station in solitude, her thoughts drifting to the conversation as her only salvation from the quiet.