Mech Pilot who has kept you alive, even if you begged to die, to the point that you are ready to live again.
Even after just over half a decade, Dez still doesn't know exactly how Jenny came to own the house. It's old, pre-war, and half falling apart. There's a hole in the roof that they've tried to patch half a dozen times, and have since given up and just accepted that the garage is always going to smell like mold. The electrical is a nightmare, and it's a small miracle that the whole place hasn't gone down in a blaze of cheap drywall, asbestos, and bad ideas. The septic system backs up once a month, the fridge makes a disconcerting hum, and there's a hundred other issues, big and small, that nobody in the house has the money or expertise to fix. It's home, though, for as long as they want it. Or until Jenny gets sick of their shit, but Dez has only seen her throw someone out twice the whole time she's been here, and there have been some real assholes over the years.
Speaking of her shithead roommates, Bunny is still awake when Dez walks through the front door. She's managed to corner Manju in the living room, raving about whoever she's convinced is out to get her this time. Dez just maneuvers around them, hoping neither of them notice her. Bunny's sweet, really, and Dez loves her dearly when she's sober. Tweaking Bunny, however, can pound salt. She's been up for at least 72 hours, and at this point in the high the fun manic energy has long since faded into paranoia and irritation. Getting dragged into another meandering rant about how the government is out to get her is the last thing Dez needs after a ten-hour graveyard shift.
As annoying as she is like this, Dez gets it. It wasn't that long ago that she was popping pills like candy too. Therapy's expensive, and meth is...well, meth is expensive too, but easier to find. Her and Bunny had both served in MechCav, though not together, and had been pumped to the gills with dextro over their tours to fight for days at a time without sleep. The only difference was that Dez has been out longer, known Jenny and the rest of their ragtag band longer. Having an actual support network, even if it's mostly other burnouts and fuck-ups, goes a long way to recovery.
The two of them had been holy terrors when Bunny had first moved in, when Dez was still using. Turns out the best way to stop having nightmares is to just never sleep. Of course, that only gets you so far. Eventually, you crash, hard. Now not only are you having flashbacks to whichever war crime your brain has decided to remember today, but your body hurts all over and you've got the shakes. There's a reason the most common causes of death among discharged pilots are overdose, suicide, and homicide, in that order. Dez was well on her way to being another statistic before Jenny dragged her, kicking and screaming, out of the gutter. Almost six years later, she's managed to get clean and is holding down a steady job, even if it's mind-numbing labour for shit pay. She's even paying rent, no matter how much Jenny insists she doesn't have to, that she should be saving up so she can find her own place. If they actually put aside some money for the house, they might be able to actually fix some of their problems.
She finds Cross in the kitchen, meticulously going through all the flyers for coupons so they can afford to eat this week. He's the only one who's been here longer than her. Apparently he met Jenny back during the Consolidation Wars, though neither of them have said much more than that. Can't really blame them, either. The only memento of that time either of them have is a single photo on Jenny's bedside table of her, Cross, and a couple other people in pilot uniforms in front of a J-72 fast-attack frame painted in a decidedly non-standard black and yellow colour scheme. On the back is a list of names, places, and dates. Dez had seen it once when she accidentally broke the frame cleaning the house. She never asked Jenny about it, doesn't need to guess what it is. Everyone who's served has their own somewhere, even if it's just in your head.
Manju's the latest addition to their little band, only coming to live in the house four or five months ago. She's also the only one who hasn't served in some capacity. She doesn't do drugs (ok, she smokes a joint once a week with Cross, but that hardly counts), she's working on her college degree, doesn't even have a criminal record. Jenny picked her up back in February while she was squatting in one of the high-rises that's been under construction for years but never seems to get finished. Kid just had the bad luck to get outed to her transphobic family and got kicked to the curb. Dez will never say it out loud, but it's kind of nice to have someone in the house who doesn't instinctively reach for a weapon whenever there's a loud noise. She probably won't be here too much longer, just enough to get her feet back under her and back to the life she's supposed to have. Most of the strays Jenny picks up are like that. They stay for anywhere between six and eighteen months, long enough to sort out their shit, and go on their way.
Dez swings by her room, digs her rent money out of her bag, locks the bag up in her footlocker, and heads to Jenny's room. She knocks, then knocks again when she doesn't get an answer. It's just before nine, Jenny should be up and getting ready for work already. She tries the knob and the door swings open. The room is in more of a state than it usually is, clothes strewn over just about every surface and drawers left open. Of greater concern is the fact that Jenny's not here, and neither is her bag. She always locks her room when she leaves the house. The picture on the bedside table is gone, and in its place is a piece of folded over scrap paper. She unfolds it and reads the note written in Jenny's chicken scratch.
There's something I need to take care of, don't know when/if I'll be back. Sorry I couldn't say goodbye. Take care of each other.
-Jenny
Dez launches out of the bedroom, down the hall, and back out the front door, blowing past her roommates and making a scene of herself. She has to enter the door code four times with shaking fingers before the garage door finally opens. Jenny's bike is gone. Jenny is gone.
"...Fuck."
