[center][url=https://open.spotify.com/track/5gWtkdgdyt5bZt9i6n3Kqd?si=37957e6e11974ccb][img]https://i.postimg.cc/05m61xNT/Elena-Castellano-removebg-preview-1.png[/img][/url][/center][right][sub]Interactions: Gideon, Freya ([@NoriWasHere]), Paloma ([@Atrophy])[/sub][/right][hr]
[indent][indent] [color=#ffff00]“You’re not the, uhhhh, give me a second.” [/color][color=#ffffff]The man paused as he clicked his fingers together. [/color][color=#ffff00]“The Castellano kid? Yes, you are!  I wondered why you looked so familiar.”[/color]

[color=#ffffff]Elena blinked, momentarily arrested by the sound of her last name spoken so effortlessly. It was a rare occurrence, even on this side of the river, for someone to pronounce it correctly on the first attempt. Then again, her mother had never been one for looking at the greener grass on the other side, unlike Elena herself. Her mother was a fixed point here, her knowledge of these southern streets as intimate and detailed as the lines on her own palm. Elena, by contrast, was a periodic visitor despite residing here as well, someone who only stepped out from behind the door of their family’s shop when errands or a restless curiosity compelled her.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]When the man’s hand settled on her shoulder—warm, heavy, and assured—she straightened her posture. [/color]

[color=#f9c2bf]“Yeah,”[/color][color=#ffffff] Elena said. [/color][color=#f9c2bf]“My mom doesn’t get out much, so I guess I’m the delivery service when she wants to help out.” [/color][color=#ffffff]She allowed her own gaze to remain on him, her curiosity piqued. If he knew the shop, if he knew her mother’s name, then this loud, aging bar suddenly felt less like unfamiliar territory and more like a place with hidden connections.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]A flash of ribbon and a basket cut into Elena’s peripheral vision, and before she could fully process the movement, a young woman breezed past them while employing a kind of social boldness that only really worked when you deny anyone the opportunity to object. Which, initially, she certainly did. But then, before Elena could steer the conversation back to its original point, the woman circled back, orbiting their exchange like a restless comet drawn by an unseen gravity.[/color]

[color=#00ff7f]“Y’know, most grease can just be cleaned up with either some baking soda and water or spraying a little white vinegar on it and letting it sit before scrubbing it if you wanna go the natural route,” [/color][color=#ffffff]she interjected, barely pausing for breath.[/color][color=#00ff7f] “Y’know, just saying. But frankly, your best bet is just to stick with a simple chemical cleaner like dish soap. It’s better at killing germs.”[/color]

[color=#ffffff]The woman chuckled to herself, the ribbon in her hair bouncing as her entire head engaged in a dramatic eye roll. [/color][color=#00ff7f]“I mean, obviously, you’d be stupid if you didn’t also use a disinfectant anyway, hah, could you imagine? But still it’s better to be over cautious, I mean you wouldn’t want to kill someone–oh, there’s Vin.”[/color]

[color=#f9c2bf]“It’s actually a different…kind of grease….” [/color][color=#ffffff]Elena’s response trailed off as the other woman bounced off again. It was too bad, really, that she wasn’t able to correct the misunderstanding. When her mother had said grease, it was the kind that sat heavy after plate two, not the kind one scrubbed off a pan. Oh well…it was what it was. [/color]

[color=#ffff00]“Please, come inside.  Enjoy the food, and I trust you’ll find a good spot for those herbs,” [/color][color=#ffffff]the man said then, using the hand he had on her shoulder to usher her inside. [/color][color=#ffff00]“I do want to continue this conversation. I’ll come find you after some business is dealt with.”  [/color]

[color=#f9c2bf]“Gracias,”[/color][color=#ffffff] Elena said with a slight nod, stepping past him. She immediately cut toward the kitchen, skillfully navigating the river of coats and elbows, seeking a path of less resistance. She found an empty burner on the large stove, set the kettle down, and turned the flame on. Only once this task was initiated did she allow herself to glance up, her eyes scanning the room until they located Freya, who had steered herself to a small, lone table. Brewing the tea was her immediate task, but the real objective, a conversation with the girl, was still very much in the works for tonight. She was determined, after all. [/color]

[color=#ffffff]Right after she was finished with this tea, of course.  [/color]

[color=#ffffff]Elena measured the dried leaves by feel alone; mint and anís didn’t require a scale when you’d essentially been raised breathing their aromas. She tore a generous strip of lemon peel, twisting it to release its oils before dropping it into the pot, adding the lemon balm last. She set the lid gently in place. As the water boiled, steam billowed up, curling the fine hairs at her temples. Methodically, she rinsed two chipped mugs with hot water from the tap before pouring the steeped tea. She capped one mug with a saucer to avoid spilling on her journey through the crowd.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]She chose the long way around the perimeter of the room, approaching Freya from the side rather than head-on so as not to make her wonder. Setting the capped mug down on the table with a soft clink, she announced her presence only then. [/color]

[color=#f9c2bf]“It’s a digestivo,” [/color][color=#ffffff]Elena said. [/color][color=#f9c2bf]“Mint, anís, lemon balm.” [/color][color=#ffffff]She touched the saucer, then pulled her hand back. [/color]

[color=#f9c2bf]“We were in the bakery the same day. Do you remember?”[/color]
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