#bronca.

husbands.

bronca blows smoke sideways, away from milo's face. elsewhere, a sewer grate belches steam. they're one in the same now.

"—i do," kid. no. maybe? could be older than her, "yeah."

she received the gift of knowledge when their city was born. bronca, the oldest. the bronx, the first borough. she knew everything about new york city's history, so many names and faces, and the network of living city avatars that existed already they could call upon, but also their enemies. it felt only right she meet milo minos, taxi cab driver, sometimes minotaur, first. of course he'd be a cab driver.

husbands.

bronca grunts, irrevocably senior citizen. her key ring jangles on her hip while she scoots herself down the opposite booth. she swirls her index finger in the moisture ring left behind by selene's drink.

the booth upholstery is sticky. christ, do they ever clean these places. the bridge of her nose wrinkles, but she's certainly seen her fair share of worse dive bars.

it happened one night.

"shit," bronca snort-laughs, a scrape in the back of her throat that would've sounded mean if they weren't amicable.

the outsiders.

" most important meal of the day and you skipped it? "

bronca's smile, when it follows, cup set down, is more in her eyes than around her mouth. something mischievous and rarely shared that strips a few years of weathering from her face.

mississippi masala.

she almost laughs.

she doesn't, because she remembers. usually, a kid being no saint means they've been pushed into that role. she'd been younger than august when she'd kicked that grown-ass creep in the nuts with her steel-toed boots for daring to wolf whistle at her and a couple other little girls. only a little older than him when cops discovered how well she can throw a brick when they target her community.

sure, she'd been no saint as a kid, but she had done the right thing. she has a feeling august is the same way.

neek's little friend's got a mouth on him. any friend of nyc's primary avatar is a friend of hers, through association. " anybody that yells at hong like that, kid, is a saint. "