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@marisolsshine
We just saw marisol aguilar entering the british museum. I heard through the grapevine that they are an archeologist. Although they are [ a civilian ], they can sometimes be naive, overly forgiving, or even unassertive but I’ve also heard some people say that they were compassionate, generous, and quite earnest.
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Favorite thing about Joaquin?
"I have to chose just one thing?" Marisol smiles, glancing down at her hands then back up. "Despite all of the darkness in his life, Joaquin manages to be so endlessly dedicated to those he cares for, so generous with his time and talents and resources. Like before he even knew me, when I was just some stranger in a pub, he went out of his way to save me from a not so great situation." Her face flushes slightly at the memory. "He has this way of looking at you, of really listening in a way that makes you feel like you're the only person in the world who matters, at least for that moment. You can see it as he moves through a room, be it some crowded fancy restaurant or some tiny neighborhood pub - people are drawn to him. And despite all of that - he still looks for me."
What made you go into archaeology?
"My parents gave me such a profound love of history and our culture from such a young age, I grew up around digs and heritage sites. So I don't even know if I ever considered anything else. My dad wanted me to stay in Mexico with them, but I didn't want to be stuck working for family forever, as much as I adore them." She takes another sip of her drink, then leans in a bit closer, voice lowers as her face flushes slightly. "But also like, I'm really much more interested in the repatriation of artifacts and history, like who gets to share it. So much of our history and material culture is trapped behind glass thousands of miles away from any relevant context. I think it's incredible that so many people across the world want to learn about the places and history that I love and cherish, but this cannot be done in an effective or respectful way when the source of this knowledge stems from violence." She pauses, eyes widening. "Ohmygod and now I'm going to get fired because my bosses are going to think I came all this way just to reverse Indiana Jones them or something." Marisol leans forward, catching her head in her hands before mumbling. "I have a PhD, I promise I'm usually not like this. Please don't say anything?"
Closed Starter for: @marisolsshine
When: Feb. 2024
Where: Julie's Apartment
A balcony in London felt like a paradox. With the amount of rain and gray, dreary days that cloaked the city it wasn't like her balcony got much use beyond the storage closet that housed cleaning supplies and an old bike. It was an uncharacteristically "sunny" afternoon. A few clouds lingered, but the dappled rays were enough reason for Julie to lounge outside with a friend. The friend being Mari; Mari who fell of the face of the earth a week or so ago and reappeared the night before. Julie was in the middle of refreshing her bartending skills when she noticed her friend glancing down at her phone again. "Mari," Julie said, peering over her sunglasses, "Is everything alright? You seem distracted today."
The sun is out, and Marisol is but a sunflower – seeking out light wherever she can find it. But her mind is still on that island, heart in the possession of a dangerous man who calls her his light. And she’s being an utterly terrible friend. “What? Oh god, Jules I’m so sorry, what are you making again?” It's weak and they both know it, but Marisol loves her friends – adores those few she’s found and managed to hang on to here. So she turns her phone on do not disturb and puts it away. “I promise not to become one of those girls who only talks about her boyfriend, seriously. Anyway – what were you saying?”
Anna de Noailles, tr. by Jethro Bithell, from poems "in the garden"
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LOCATION: Tate Britain Museum STATUS: open!
His wheelchair is parked comfortably in the giant room - absolutely surrounded by beautiful works of art. Oil paintings from the 1700s lovingly framed in ornate gold. And the ceiling goes up so high, with the skylight letting in so much sun. It's a perfect place to sit on a day off. And while Oz is always on call, he's decided he'll make the most of the down-time from the gallery nearby.
"You seen the American exhibit? The way folks used to draw babies back then... I dunno what was going on there." A lopsided smirk as he glances to the person nearby. "Or maybe the Tate wanted to make sure Americans looked bad and chose the worst of the worst." Oz shrugs. "One of 'em looks like a weird gnarly carrot. You'd know if you saw it. Did you see the carrot baby?"
Marisol grew up in museums and on archeological digs, learned at an early age to appreciate the careful and crucial work of preserving the past. It’s the reason she came to London, the work she does every day. She loves the stillness and the silence of the British Museum in the early morning or late at night, when there are no annoying tourists or bored school groups. A past professor once called those hours in a museum the only true peace to be found in modern cities. But Marisol knows better – there should be a bit of unease to a museum, as if one is disturbing something sacred. These places that sometimes seem to exist outside of the normal confines of time and space – somewhere so deeply haunted by the weight of history and expectations whilst utterly, achingly empty. She will be alone in the Mexico gallery before opening and half expect to round a corner and find the old Mayan Gods reclaiming all that was stolen. Or maybe she’s also just haunted by that weight.
So she ends up at the Tate, looking at gorgeous oil paintings of long dead European aristocrats and tries not to overthink. A stranger’s comment catches her attention, and she laughs lightly, quickly glancing around to be certain they’ve not disturbed anyone else. “Babies are difficult to draw! And that way predates the Americans, like have you seen literally any religious iconography from the European Middle Ages? Balding baby Jesus is just as bad as carrot baby.”
Setting: Front patio of a café
"I look familiar?" He glances up from his phone, and offers a courteous smile to the disturbance. He's not here for fun, although it's sure nice to do surveillance chilling on a café's patio with access to both caffeine and cigarettes. He just lit his 2nd one this afternoon when they approach him. He's always suspicious when that happens. Maybe they know he's a cop, or maybe they just want to chat. Either way, he's glad he's not the only one on watch duty.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Marisol flushes in embarrassment, not realizing she’d been thinking aloud. “I didn’t say he like you, I said here like this café.” A smile more like a wince, she glances down at her phone – dead, useless. And with utterly no idea where she was. “I might be a little bit lost, I used to live on the other side of the river – I think – but I just moved a month ago. And now I’m rambling to a perfect stranger, god you must think - I’m so sorry.”
Happy Valentine's Day, lucita. Besos, Joaquin
@marisolsshine
Melissa Barrera as Lyn Hernandez in VIDA (2018-2020)
