Carpathia's Questionnaire

I share an apartment above my tea shop with two of my adopted siblings. We live in New York because it's just where we happened to end up, and it eventually became home. My family immigrated from Italy when I was very little, and I slowly settled in. Me and my siblings decided to share the space because together we could afford a whole lot more than if we split up (plus we like each others company, living alone was never my speed). New York is a nice place, I'm never too far from solid Italian food, and my tea shop serves as a comfortable space for all sorts of people. New York feels like the best place for me to help people, so I've never really thought about living anywhere else.

I earn my money through the tea shop I run with my brothers, The Safe Harbor. It's not an industry juggernaut or anything, but we make enough to keep the lights on, food on our table, and emergency expenses to spare. Tea always held a special place in my heart, so I wanted to be able to share that love with people who needed it. Most of my money goes to medical expenses for me and my siblings. Believe it or not, we're all trans, and HRT isn't cheap. It's funny how things work out like that sometimes, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

I've met a lot of people pushed to do things they aren't cut out for because they had been shunned by society at large. People being forced into boxes that don't fit them and being punished for struggling. I want to make a place where people don't have to worry about that, where they can rely on their community to stand with them in their hour of need. Where they can feel safe to struggle with so called "basic" skills. Humans are wonderfully diverse, and I won't punish people for being wired differently. And if someone stands in my way, I'll remove them. Hopefully without violence, but I can't let more people suffer just to preserve some assholes life. If they have a problem with me constructing a safe space to the point they get violent, I won't hesitate.

Enlisting. My family didn't have a lot of resources, and I was having trouble finding a job to help out. I quickly learned a great way to make money was to sell your self to the U.S military. So at the ripe old age of 18 I joined up. The U.S never really felt like my country but I played the part I was supposed to and swung into all the patriotic bullshit. At least I started off that way, turns out a lot of my fellow recruits were in a similar spot. None of us wanted to be putting our lives on the line for a government that could barely pretend to care about us, but we were all forced into it one way or another.

Lyle Rorark, my adoptive brother. We met when we were both still in active service, and we hit it off really quickly. He's younger than me, 25 to my 33. Not that much of a difference but I can't help but be a little protective of him. He's pretty hotheaded, but he makes good tea and gives good hugs, and I don't really know what else you could ask for in a brother. I had the honor of being the first person he ever came out to, I even helped him pick out his name!

Cyrus Foolbright, my second adoptive brother. He joined the military so they would pay for his transition. He's a tank of a man, 6"3 and arms bigger than my head. Also the best waiter I've ever met. Cyrus doesn't talk much, only really saying what needs to be said. I can respect that in a person, especially when they still let you know they care about you in other ways. Cyrus always does the dishes.

Alice Vidal, our first and best customer. They're a regular who comes around at least once a day. Also a veteran. I don't know too much about them, they don't really like talking about themselves. I think they work as some sort of mechanic now? Regardless, they're nice, like chatting with all of us, and their presence helps keep the shop feeling warm and homey.

My childhood wasn't... pleasant, but it wasn't that bad. Mom and Dad cared about me and did everything they could to raise me right, but it came at the cost of their health. Both of them worked nearly constantly to make rent and pay for all the things a growing girl needs. We were immigrants and had rough luck from the start. Dingy apartments, landlords fleecing us for rent, and failing health from all the stress. I tried to help anyway I could, but I was just a kid. I couldn't do anything but try my best to make them proud. I neglected my social life and focused on school. All I got for it was a C+ GPA and hatred of highschool. Couldn't afford college, and I couldn't find a job that stuck. So I did the only thing I could, enlisted in the military.

Mom and Dad were pretty heavy smokers. Even with my fancy new health insurance it was too late to be able to do much for them.

Did you know smoking increases your risk of heart attacks?

Romantic love? No, never. I never gave anyone the chance to get close enough, and the people I did start to develop feelings for ended up dead. There was this one girl I served with for a bit, she had the most beautiful eyes. I held her in my arms as she bled out. Her name was Saffira. Still think about her sometimes. The most love I've felt was for my family. I'd do anything for my brothers, and I know I can count on them to do the same. They taught me there's more than just one type of love, and just because we aren't related by blood doesn't mean we don't watch out for each other.

I'm most afraid that I'm wasting my time. That'll no matter how much I try to help people nothing will ever make up for the blood I've spilled. I keep waiting for the day I wake up and feel like I've finally atoned but that day might never come. No matter, I just need to keep trying. If I just keep going, eventually I won't feel so disgusted with myself when I look in the mirror. Funny, I thought that'd stop being the case after the years of HRT, but I guess I'm not so lucky. Cyrus always tells me it's not the past that defines us, but what we do with our future, and I believe him. Even so, I still can't forgive myself. It seems so much easier to forgive others for the harm they commit than myself. This seems like the kind of thing you're supposed to figure out in like, elementary school, not your thirties. It makes me feel pathetic.

That's a good summary I think, my greatest fear is that I'm just a pathetic, broken women flailing around trying to make up for a past that will never leave her in a vain attempt at easing her guilt.

I think I hate myself.

My most prized possession is my bomber jacket, specifically the pride patch on it's left upper arm. It holds a special place in my heart as being the first piece of clothing I bought for myself after figuring out my name. It's Carpathia's first piece of clothing she properly picked out for herself. It isn't the most fem thing on the planet, but neither am I. If I had just stopped at the jacket it probably wouldn't have such a special place in my heart, but it's also home to my first pride patch. I nabbed it at my first pride parade and I had a brand new (thrifted) jacket just begging for some ornamentation. I have other jackets with other patches but these two feel like they're a part of me.

I should probably stop wearing them to contracts if I care about them so much, but Lyle is good at sewing and I wouldn't quite feel like myself without it.

I'm busy. I used to think I was busy when I was just running a store with my brothers, but holy shit that was nothing compared to what I have going on now. I don't really have day's off anymore now that I'm volunteering at the shelter. I need to dedicate myself to making enough croissants and tea that I'll be able to feed everyone, and that's a lot of baking. Lyle offered to help me out but we really need him to man the cafe while I'm away. Then, to top it off, I have these damned "contracts" to go on. So once a month, my siblings are just left a woman down with little to no notice on my part.

They understand, and they're capable of running the place without me but it certainly isn't very nice to run the entire place with just two people. One of these days I might just turn down one of these contracts because rush hour is about to hit...

Wake up at 5:30 am sharp, take my medications, take a shower, shave, get dressed. All that needs to be done by 6:00 am, so I usually just grab whatever clothes I see first. I've spent long enough thinking about what I put in my wardrobe I don't need to think too hard about what I'm pulling out. There are a few duds in there, but the worst that happens is I look straight, and even then it's counterbalanced by the pride flag I wear on my arm.

Next I worry about breakfast. If Cyrus didn't close the night before he's usually awake and cooking breakfast around now, that means I get to have something that is delicious and amazing. If Cyrus did close the night before I eat a bagel. It might have cream cheese on it, half the time I'm too lazy to put it on. Once I've done all the things that are required of me as a human being, I head down stairs to start prepping the Safe Harbor for opening.