INASSOUVI

how many years has it been since they last met? rosaria can barely comprehend the passage of time nowadays, especially when it exceeds the borders of a weekly planner.

it's impossible not to recognise theo with his hellhound ears, fully dressed in a three-piece in this hole-in-the-wall restaurant. yes, she recognises him, but that's about it. theo has found himself the righthand of colby's matriarch, and his name frequently reaches rosaria's ear through the grapevine. she doesn't like dwelling on the past, and she sure has no time for heartfelt reunions. especially not when she's on a mission. with a plain white uniform and kempt hair that hugs her skull, she blends in with the busy waitstaff as a fellow colleague, new to the place and eager to learn the ropes and serve. the smile on her face must be alien to someone who knows — or used to know — her privately, but she doesn't have time to refresh her backstory when her target is right there.

despite his infamy, theo hasn't changed much. he tries to get her attention throughout the night, each time ignored by a convenient heel turn or head tilt. about half an hour later, just before theo's patience runs too thin, she manages to sprinkle the poison over her target's dessert with a sleight of hand; someone else will deliver it to his table, and for now, she has time to handle the puppy on her tail.

the  note  sits  ,      silent  and  friendly  and  completely  out  of  place  ,      on  the  counter  .      he  runs  his  finger  along  the  edge  of  the  paper  ,      the  side  of  his  thumbnail  pressing  down  into  a  small  but  pesky  crease  at  the  corner  .      it  pops  back  up  the  moment  he  raises  his  hand  ,      so  he  gives  up  ,      picking  the  note  up  instead  and  holding  it  out  at  arm's  length  .

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ welcome  back  .      welcome  back  .      welcome  back  .

eridian  culture  norm  dictates  that  a  word  or  verbal  expression  repeated  three  times  is  a  sign  of  emphasis  .      this  was  written  out  on  the  paper  once  ,      but  he  sees  them  three  times  ,      inked  letter  swimming  across  his  vision  in  triple  tandem  ,      wavering  and  dancing  in  the  selfsame  greeting  .      he  realizes  a  few  seconds  later  that  his  eyes  are  wet  .      soon  after  ,      a  tear  rolls  down  his  cheek  ,      then  another  on  the  opposite  .

with  a  sniff  ,      grace  lifts  a  hand  ,      runs  his  knuckles  along  his  wet  cheek  and  then  the  other  .      after  a  knuckle  in  his  eyes  ,      he's  back  to  reading  the  singular  greeting  .       ❝ okay . ❞ it's  singular      …      but  it's  enough  .      enough  to  know  that  someone  remembers  this  is  his  home  ,      enough  to  know  that  someone  had  been  here  and  remembered  him  ,      not  just  as  the  astronaut  ,      but  as  the  junior  high  science  teacher  with  the  small  apartment  and  the  favorite  fox  magnets  on  his  refrigerator  .

the  most  logical  person  to  do  this  is  stratt  .      but  he  knows  how  indisposed  she  is  at  the  moment  .      still  ,      he  has  to  ask  :      he  has  to  know  .      the  prison  is  kind  enough  to  allow  him  a  phone  call  in  .      they  have  five  minutes  .      two  minutes  in  ,      he  mentions  the  apartment  .      her  response  is  less  than  optimal  ,      and  not  something  he  could  have  guessed  :      '  do  you  remember  a  woman  named  rosaria  ?  '

the  next  day  ,      he  visits  the  deli  .      the  person  at  the  counter  is  not  rosaria  .      he  asks  where  she  is  .      they  tell  him  she  no  longer  works  here  :      she  hasn't  worked  here  in  two  years  .      not  long  after  the  hail  mary  had  left  the  exosphere  .      for  a  moment  ,      he  stands  ,      considering  whether  or  not  he  wants  a  sandwich  .      if  his  system  would  accept  such  a  generous  helping  of  proteins  and  cheeses  yet  ,      or  if  he'd  find  himself  in  the  bathroom  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  .      he  decides  against  it  .      they  wouldn't  make  it  right  .      and  he'll  probably  get  sick  anyway  !      where  is  she  ,      he  asks  .      i'm  not  sure  ,      says  the  guy  at  the  counter  ,      and  ,      aren't  you  the  guy  who  came  back  from  space  ?

the deli is still her cafeteria, and the elderly owner still someone she marginally cares about. ( of course, there is also the fact that this is the only place grace would know to find her, if he were ever to look for her. )

and he does. he has returned, rested and recovered ( hopefully? ), and now standing in the deli like it was yesteryear.

she has imagined how it would go when she sees him again. sorry, she has practiced the word countless times, sorry for breaking into your house. she feels an apology would be the first thing she owes him, and then it would be more apologies on everything else she did following the break in: sorry for eating your ice cream. sorry for checking your mail. sorry for throwing away your cardboard boxes (but you had a pest situation).

“ you're back, ” what comes out of her is not the practiced speech — now when will she even get to use that speech — but a calm statement. it doesn't reflect the emotions in her stomach. she eyes the guy at the counter and makes a decision.

“ i got this one. ” she says to him as she moves past grace, giving him a small pat on the arm, “ sit down. i'll make you a sandwich. ”

double meat, beef and turkey, single cut. a slice of provolone, lettuce, tomatoes, the signature dressings that hasn't changed for decades. no mushrooms. never mushrooms. she grills both sides of the sandwich before plating it with fries and ketchup and mayo, then walks up to him, who seemed to be too emotional to find a seat himself as she asked him to.

# lasthail . hail  mary  ,        full  of  grace  , holy  mary  ,        mother  of  god  ,        pray  for  us  sinners  ,      now  and  at  the  hour  of  our  death  .

Independent ,     private ,   &.   plot-based  rp  blog  for  dr. captain ryland grace  from  andy weir's project hail mary  (novel)  &.   project hail mary  (2026) .  book-canon  with  movie  influences .  written  by  kat ,  she/her ,  30 .  i  am  not  affiliated  with  andy weir .     read  my  carrd  !     no  minors  please .

CUCKOO 2024 | dir. Tilman Singer

“Even in here?” they raised an eyebrow, “I’ve always preferred sitting. Preferably higher up but, well, the last time I decided to sleep overnight, the rain decided to bless us fortuitously.”

To save them the embarrassment from another cold, he’d decided not to do that again. And because it was somewhat quieter below than above.

But he doesn’t do that. Mostly decided on figuring it out as he went. Letting the dominoes fall where they might, without any real leverage from him whatsoever.

They eat in quiet, one spoon to one, then the other, Will determining that in any other scenario it might be awkward, but it wasn’t. They’re both stuck so far in their own heads that the silence isn’t eerie or uncomfortable. And he makes a mental note that he does, in fact, like the food she’s prepared for him. Regardless, he notes it’s meatless and appreciates it, confident that if he bites into anything disguised as sausage floating around in the liquid, he probably would empty his stomach into the wastebasket. Trauma response, etc.

“I feel significantly better. If not more like a person.” He comments, eyes flickering up as he finally scoots to the edge of his seat. He’s in the silly flannel pajamas that had been a gift from a coworker many years ago during some holiday gift-giving party he had been manhandled to. They were now faded and worn, but still soft & the perfect sick attire for deteriorating away in his home until he didn’t feel so incoherent or unwell.

He wets his lips, eyes finding the crackle of the fireplace, hair perfectly tousled and damp from the restless tossing and turning he had been attempting. Sleep had circumvented him, skin too warm and mind too alive, daubing purple underneath his eyes. He’d invite her to the bed, but there are a few hindrances for that. The way it might come off and the hard reality, he was bound to kick her or keep her up with his incessant tossing and turning. He could be thoughtful in his lack of invitation.

“ why? don't want the puppies to cuddle me before you do? ” she doubts she will be able to sleep in an unfamiliar bed, but she doesn't tell him that; she knows she will be laying there, listening to every whisper and crackle in the walls and floors, whether the lights are on or off. regardless, she will make an attempt, only because he offered. still, she continues to jest. “ maybe if i smelled like puppies, you'd like me more. ”

and no, he does not look like one with much sleep either. in fact, he never did. his skittishness only worsens under the fever, and from the way he pushes himself up, his body might be aching too. a severe cold, she concludes while following him to the kitchen, keeping a few steps distance between them. at this late hour, she is suddenly tempted to put something between her teeth, but she has held out for so long without smoking in front of him; a hand raises to tug at the chain of her breathing necklace, steel black like a bullet, but resists from bringing it above the collar.

whiskey isn't her usual pick, but she can picture it clearly, the sad, downtrodden fbi profiler snug by the fire, slumping in his armchair with a never empty glass, his pack of loyal and spoilt dogs by his feet. it almost feels like a painting.

[ txt from: eva stratt ] miss thornes, we have good news. [ txt from: eva stratt ] dr. grace is coming back.

usually, what stratt considers good news had to do with the earth staying warm, and rosaria wouldn't bother to give her more than a thumbs up reaction. she isn't like them; not stratt, not carl, not grace. she has little motivation to save humanity. but a dying sun concerns more than just them; it concerns all living things, too, and not even just those on earth. rosaria remembers the way stratt gawked at her when she pressed a plastic knife against the director's neck, stating coldly the only reason she wasn't ending stratt then and there, was that she held out hope for them to bring ryland grace back. stratt still looks at her like that, even two years from then, but they have managed a cordial partnership based on a somewhat common goal.

rosaria is selfish in a normal people way. she isn't smart enough to go to space, let alone breed an alien cell and make it stop eating the sun. grace is different. grace helped united nations to figure out what astrophage was, how they functioned and reproduced, which was later used for propulsion. she knows about these things because he talked about them, and he talked about them with such incredible enthusiasm rosaria will never forget. he is good for earth and good for the people around him; his students missed him, and she did too.

she wanted him back the way a child wanted their dead cat back, definitively, unreasonably and impossibly. lucky for her, all this ugliness happened in his absence; now that he's coming back, she will behave like the well-adjusted acquaintance he knew.

she was granted a visitor pass and escorted to her own room to watch his landing from a screen. she didn't get to see stratt that day. once the control tower confirmed grace to be present and alive, she walked herself out of the facility.

it took her a day to restore his apartment back to its previous condition. the stocked fridge the day he was kidnapped and flung into space, the messy magazines and books scattered on the couch and coffee table and kitchen counter and dining table; she even tried to recreate the half-filled trashcan. naturally, with two years in between his last earth day, letters and communications have stacked into piles, and rosaria did her best to sort through them, taking liberty to handle the essentials — bills and subscriptions and what nots — while ridding of the rest. she wanted him to have something to come back to when he did.

of course, none of this was permitted — she is well aware of that. but it wasn't her first and only crime, and she had done far worse for far more atrocious reasons. besides, if she hadn't broke into his apartment, she wouldn't have known for a fact that he did not plan nor volunteer to be an astronaut on hail mary, or that nobody ever came to check. still, a break in is a break in. that's why she doesn't stay for his return. however, she does leave a note on his kitchen counter. she cannot help it. if she can't say it face to face, she'll say it in writing.