Rex Arany (
heromedal) wrote in
daybreakacademy2019-07-13 07:27 am
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Entry tags:
- adelaide cooke: original,
- anastasia rose: original,
- bai lin: original,
- cordelia brooks: original,
- desco: disgaea 4,
- ekkehardt gehring: original,
- emizel: disgaea 4,
- hat kid: a hat in time,
- hieke: original,
- héctor rivera: coco,
- jailbreak: original,
- james griffin: voltron,
- jolyne cujoh: jojo's bizarre adventure,
- keith: voltron,
- kisara: yu-gi-oh!,
- ky kiske: guilty gear,
- lance: voltron,
- rex arany: original,
- ruby rose: rwby,
- sherlock holmes: fate grand order,
- ⨯asami sato: legend of korra,
- ⨯julianna stingray: va-11 hall-a,
- ⨯mercy: overwatch
Memory Sharicus - Oh No, not again!
About 8 am on July 15th, Rex does something stupid in his usual genius way. It was meant to be a small, simple test run of a method to scan a person and instantly gain all the data he needed to produce a Phantom.
The small field the spell was meant to spread just kept growing, until popping like a bubble with the most counterintuitive sound of all- two seconds of white noise, sounding as if it was coming from inches away. Not everyone heard it. But everyone who did...
It's a painless process, almost ticklish and instantaneous as numerous coloured orbs fly out from their chest, taking wild curving trajectories that launch them all over the academy and some of Soleil, coming to a sudden stop and hovering silently for just a few seconds.
That's when they start to slowly float towards the nearest possible recipient of the memory they contain, accelerating as they get closer as if thought and mind have a unique sort of magnetism.
It's sort of beautiful to see, really, not that Rex will notice because 60% of his mind is consumed with fear he will get into trouble and the Phantom project will be compromised. On the other hand, the Phantom project could provide the perfect scapegoat. So about six hours after the initial event, he released his latest creation- the Phantom mischief-maker, Waggery!
What a disaster.
(( ooc: The planning post is here! Be careful to warn for the nastier memories! If you already have memories planned to share, feel free to write them as a top level or just put up your character and link to the planning/make it a free for all. There'll be a post below for Waggery shenanigans and random NPC memories up for grabs. ))
The small field the spell was meant to spread just kept growing, until popping like a bubble with the most counterintuitive sound of all- two seconds of white noise, sounding as if it was coming from inches away. Not everyone heard it. But everyone who did...
It's a painless process, almost ticklish and instantaneous as numerous coloured orbs fly out from their chest, taking wild curving trajectories that launch them all over the academy and some of Soleil, coming to a sudden stop and hovering silently for just a few seconds.
That's when they start to slowly float towards the nearest possible recipient of the memory they contain, accelerating as they get closer as if thought and mind have a unique sort of magnetism.
It's sort of beautiful to see, really, not that Rex will notice because 60% of his mind is consumed with fear he will get into trouble and the Phantom project will be compromised. On the other hand, the Phantom project could provide the perfect scapegoat. So about six hours after the initial event, he released his latest creation- the Phantom mischief-maker, Waggery!
What a disaster.
(( ooc: The planning post is here! Be careful to warn for the nastier memories! If you already have memories planned to share, feel free to write them as a top level or just put up your character and link to the planning/make it a free for all. There'll be a post below for Waggery shenanigans and random NPC memories up for grabs. ))
Héctor's Memories
If I have not gotten back on plotting, I hope to do by Monday, my weekend.]no subject
(Prose or action as desired) cw: death, emeto, blood, poisoning
"Are you alright, my friend?" He asks, gaze darting briefly away from the road and over to you. You can't speak. Your insides are burning, shredding, something.
"Something's wrong," you rasp. You've never felt anything like it.
"Maybe it was that--" Suddenly everything lurches. You barely think to grab that little in-car trashbin before the heaving starts. "... chorizo."
The pain in your gut doesn't stop. It's only spread to your throat now too. Your hands shake. You can see blood.
A sob breaks from you, born of fear and pain and regret for what you're about to say; "I need a hospital. We've got to turn around."
"You'll miss your flight, Héctor."
You moan despairingly, "I know. Please, por favor. Just--"
The car takes a sharp turn. Ernesto, for his part, drives much faster now. You don't look where you're going. You can barely lift your head. Everything aches. You think apologies in your head to Imelda and Coco. Coco, Coco, Coco. Why didn't you just go home? Why hadn't you left for Santa Cecilia sooner?
It feels like forever but even then you know the sudden stop isn't a good thing, especially with the sudden jerking swerve they take before it. You fight the pain and look up, seeing a fog ghost over the windshield.
"Ernesto?" You croak. The man stares out, wide eyed and bewildered, getting out of the car. Against your better judgement, you follow, one hand braced on the rental car and the other on your guts. Your eyes go wide too.
The city has vanished. Before and behind you is a vast stretch of wasteland. The colors are just slightly off, the light dim and hazy, shadows shift ever so slightly. But that, perhaps, really might be your mind playing tricks after all. Your vision starts to creep inward, blackening.
You feel hands. You say, "Go back... We've got... I've got to... Coco..."
The hands release you. You stumble. The ground rises up. You hardly feel it when you hit the earth. In fact, you don't feel anything at all.
A void stretches and consumes.
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Not over seeing the memory itself, oh no--it's not his fault that someone just left them laying around, and frankly he was just hoping to scoop up his own to keep from prying eyes besides--but that it had to hurt so damn much.
That was Héctor's. He's certain. If the Spanish didn't give it a way, the thoughts of that daughter of his definitely would have. He died in the Outlands. Somehow. It explains the whole skeleton thing.
Everything leading up to it on the other hand... That only raises more questions. The pain has faded, he can look back on what he experienced with a little more clarity and an outsider's perspective, and whatever the hell that was has nothing to do with sausage. The most charitable interpretation is appendicitis. The least... Well.
Politics made knowledge of poisons a regrettable need.
He waits until night to go to Aube, and gives the door to Héctor's door a few short raps with his knuckles. "It's me."
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Re: Héctor's Memories
cw: torture, suicidal ideation, vivisection, cannibalism mention hooboy (Prose or action as desired)
Your thrashing and snarling has given way to sobs, rasps, and whimpers. Your tail aches where it's been severed, your thigh's been flayed, raw muscles been exposed to air, and under all that lies the ever-present ache at your center. It hurts. It hurts, it hurts, you're so hungry. Every part of you aches with it. It's a dark and choking and heavy thing and you can't breathe.
You've got to get out. You've got to eat. You've got to reach Coco, your girl, your sweet hija, the only one who loves you, the only one who could possibly forgive or understand. Your daughter is waiting. Your daughter is safe. She's waiting. You're so hungry.
The hunger tears at your memory. On some level you know it can't all be so, but that horrible aching lack in you rips at each part. That audience wasn't cheering they were holding you hostage. That friend wasn't there, he just wanted your attention. She didn't love you, to hate you so fast. Nobody loved you. You can't argue it.
It all takes place at ones, the poking and prodding of musculature, the ache, your mind folding in on itself. It's just as he's prepared to pick up snarling again that the flayed skin seals up. It all moves fast, stitches weaving the wound shut at lightning speed. Your back arches with your howl. Fear rushes through. You know by now what a new stitch means. It doesn't take long. The telekinesis slices up your middle. You scream. You writhe and try to escape. It cuts higher and deeper and your shriek ever louder for some scrape of mercy. It splits at your collar. It pulls you apart, a pain you can't believe but you can't pass out, your consciousness doesn't flicker, you can't die.
You've been ripped open before. Memories flicker and pass on by, incidents of waking up in morgue and grinding teeth as you push your cut open flesh together and rise, shifting so it and the pain melts away. But you can't shift now. There's no escape. The sun has come and gone and you didn't die. He won't let you die. The pain just blooms and blooms anew until you realize that despite everything you never really knew pain.
You can see your insides. Your organs glisten like jewels in a monster's corpse. You scream again as he lifts up pieces and turns them over. You gasp and choke and cough and shudder with the pain that brings. It won't end. He won't let it end.
And what a pathetic end it would be. No one caring (no one cared to begin with), no one missing you or noticing you're gone (who would ever?), hated (as before), nothing more than a monster (a stubborn cockroach who wouldn't just disappear, who hurt everyone you loved). But Coco, a voice still hisses, and for the first time that voice is the anchor. You want to die. You want to die. If he would just let you--
Every organ touched is placed back. Pulled out to the point of agony but never the point of killing you. You feel that man's power sift through you. You feel it like hands, little fingers, pulling apart and taking and leaving a mark you won't forget. He explores your body with no heed of your screaming or pleading and at some point, you just can't fight. You lay there limp, only twitching, shuddering, and gagging by then, but no longer pushing back. You're powerless. You're a thing. You're his-- to study and torture and keep alive and taunt. You feel every imprint like a burn.
You don't deserve Coco. You'd rather die now. Giving up your only reason for being here. And so you have no purpose at all in the world but to die. He won't let you. Another sob racks through you. You're glad for the mask. At least this one thing protects you, hides you. He'll never know your face.
But then, like the cruelest joke of all, he turns up his music. Die for music and live for it too. Hysterically, you laugh. Of course, of course, you should've known. You remember now. You're in Hell.
Re: Héctor's Memories
(Prose or action as desired)
"I'm not asking you to! Just let me do this!"
The hunter's hands slam down on the desk. You flinch. The hunter notices. You pretend it didn't happen anyway.
"Come on," you cut in before he can speak. "There's gotta be some way I can sweeten the deal here. What do you want? What do you like? Anything, I'll do it, I'll get it for you! You could come with me! Wouldn't a vacation be nice, the beaches on the coast--" You'd been leaning forward in your seat all through this conversation. In that moment, you lunge over the desk, trying to rip the letter from the hunter's grip. He lifts back away like a scolding parent or a playground bully. You push yourself back into the chair with reluctance.
"These letters are a breach of secrecy! Your existence in some books, is a breach of that! You're lucky it's me because others wouldn't be so quick to let you off the hook!"
"Of the hook?!" You sputter in disbelief. "I'm trying to see my family! Just let me see my girl! I'll disappear! Off the map, you'd never hear from me again, if you stupid hunters would just let me go!"
"You expect me to believe that? You've broken the law of secrecy over fifteen times in this town alone. I told you we can't risk you sending letters like these and I still find myself having to intercept them! No more! I promise you, Héctor, I'll make sure every letter with even slight resemblance of your name is going to get returned to sender stamped on the back of it from now on!"
Your teeth chatter. You're not cold. The anger is just overwhelming. You barely hold back. You plead again, voice lower, "Please... I just want to see my girl. My family."
The hunter sits back down with a sigh. He pinches the bridge of his nose before looking at you directly. "... You're getting on to lists you know. You're getting in a lot of trouble and I am trying to be lenient, I am trying to get you to understand. If you don't follow the rules there are people who will take it upon themselves to hunt you down."
You knew this. It's not as if you hadn't been hunted by this thing and that over the years. Hunter parties roamed the Outlands too sometimes.
He continues, "This is your... second life?"
"Unlife," You suggest, with a bitter note. "Or undeath." It doesn't really matter which, they're both stupid words. You're dead but here.
"Whatever. You've got a chance that people don't get. Don't just throw it away."
Your gaze lifts to glower at him. Your daughter is not "throwing away" what matters to you. He sees that look of challenge and shakes his head.
"Listen, I'm just saying. It's not the end for you. So why don't you just find a life for yourself here? Take your extra time and do something with it. Find a French lass or lad with weird kinks and settle down. And for the love of House Mericules, stop traumatizing morticians."
Your only reply is; "Can I have leg back?"
The hunter sighs again and passes back a leg of bone over the desk. You feel the sensation of contact, as well as the comfort of its return. You slide it into a torn pant leg a little and pop it back in place. It's not as if you tried to end up in morgues. Jerk. You get up and limp out the door, slamming it behind and letting him panic over the thought you might not shift back before you get to the street.
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And now it feels doubly invasive, because he knows Hector and that was a... bone? Yeah, he stuck a bone to his leg. Unlife, his magic sustains him--oh, he's a zombie. That's a thing he's probably, definitely not supposed to know. Hm. His bad.
He circles the hallway, lost in thought, and then smacks into one of the decorative end tables lined against the wall. "Oof--!"
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It's not all the bad kind of exhaustion though. There's a sort of buzzing under your fingertips and tiredness in your arms from all that playing, that satisfying sort of tired. Like you've really earned this hopeful rest.
The sun warms your face as you step through the front gate. Home. Finally.
But a fool you were thinking it'd be time to rest. From an opened window, a little girl's voice calls out.
"Papá! Papá is home! Mamá, come see!" The little girl is gone from the window before he can say a word. There's the faded sound of running, a long pause, and then a faint click at the front door. He's already starting to kneel, removing the guitar from his back and reaching out with both hands.
"Coco!"
"Papá!" You scoop her up into your arms and hug her tight, lifting her up and spinning her around. The moment you stop, you turn your smile on her, then quickly go in to kiss her face, her forehead, each side, her cheeks and nose and chin, summoning giggles from her with your terrible onslaught. You stop, grinning, and she throws her arms around your neck.
You look up then to see your wife, looking like she wants to be annoyed but is too charmed by the sight before her. The soft smile on her, the way the morning light catches her hair, still a little disheveled. She's beautiful and your heart melts for a second time.
"Ay, mija, I think your Mamá could use some hugs and kisses too. Why don't you go deliver some for me," you tell your daughter before setting her down. She runs as fast as her little legs will carry her to do just that. You pick the guitar back up.
"You're late," Imelda says, with a raise of her brow.
"But just on time to see the two most beautiful wonders of the world."
"You're not getting out of this that easy."
"I hope not."
You step in through the door and Imelda waits there with Coco in her arms. You owe them apologies. But also, first, you owe them both a dance.
"Héctor!" She protests, but she laughs despite herself and you sway and spin with them both, humming songs you've just made up. And when you slow, when your forehead rests against hers, you whisper, "Te amo."
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...
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(Prose or action as desired)
You go to them both, smoothing back your wife's hair from her face, kissing her forehead, and then sitting at her side, staring down at that little one with absolute wonder. She's here. She's real, this is real.
Imelda sees that look of yours and offers her to you. There's only a moment of panic, fear of messing it all up, before that little girl is in your arms.
"Hola, Coco," You whisper. "It's me. It's your Papá." The truth of that statement hits somewhere in your chest and your wife reaches a hand up to touch your arm, a knowing look on her face. You cast the briefest smile her way, overwhelmed, then look back to your little girl. Your daughter.
You bring her with you, to a chair close by her Mamá's bed. You hold her close to your chest and just watch her face, feeling like you could cry. Probably doing so. You sing softly, "Cerca está el amor ya se siente su encanto, nunca creí que algo así iba a llegar para mí..."
Your little girl kicks her feet. You laugh softly.
"Oh, you like that do you? Ay, how about this; A la puerta del cielo, venden zapatos~ Para los angelitos que andan descalzos~ Duérmete niña, duérmete niña, duérmete niña, arrú arrú..."
Her hands flail. She finds your finger and curls her whole hand around it. You sing some more, a lullaby in Nahuatl first and then in spanish, "Que duerma mi niña, que no despierte mi pequeñita, mi niña, niña, mi niñita..."
You press the softest kiss to her head, in the very same instance kissing your heart goodbye. It all belongs now to a little girl.
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(Grey means mixed emotions right???? LMK if this doesn't work for you) (Prose or action as desired)
You don't need any further persuasion. Your little band is almost beyond screams-- almost. Five skeletons split off from the group and the monster, daemon, whatever the heck it is, follows after. Some horrible thing with blackened eyes and twisted limbs, a back that arches and juts out all wrong. Horrific, terrible, and old hat by this point. Only the newer ones cry out (and the ones too young, who will never move past that stage of youth and are instead taken up into arms and carried).
To stay in a group is safer, but to split off is to draw monsters from the rest of them. They all draw "straws" and no one has the nerve to point out who amongst them draws the short ones on purpose. It was your lucky day.
The five of you run. It follows. You give thanks for your lack of lungs all while ignoring the way the snapped bone of your leg protests the motion. You only slow when you hear a scream-- always a stupid thing to do. A newer guy's been pinned, bringing up the clean white bones of his arms like that might defend him from a creature that's clearly not hunting for meat. You reach for your own arm, popping it off and pulling it back by your suspenders like an arrow. You launch and your knuckles connect with the beast's... something. Time to book it. No matter how fast you go, you can tell it's gaining on you.
"Héctor!" An older skeleton with grey hair tosses your arm back to you. You catch it and spin just in time to see the monster leap. You brace, waiting to the last minute to split in two. Your legs go under while the rest of you goes over, using the beast itself to push off of. It soars past (through) and you reconnect again. It shakes it's head, and snarls, preparing to leap again.
There's a sickening shuck of a sound as that grey haired skeleton jams a staff through the creature's back. It makes a noise that makes you cover the ear holes of your skull, but your Tía holds fast, twisting the staff until it ceases movement. You release a breath you don't need and hobble over.
"We kept the whole group this time."
"Doing stupid moves."
"Stupid moves that worked."
Your Tía smiles wry up at you. What would your family out here do without here, you don't want to know. You reach out for her hand to help her back to her feet. Your bones clack together as you do. There's just a second of that, the both of yougrinning at each other, when her grin slips and she shoves you aside. A second beast, not all that different from the second, launches itself over you and at her.
"Tía!"
She's locked herself onto it, stabbing. She spares a glance for you, only to shout, "Go, Héctor!"
It's only then, glancing back, that you see where the beast came from. A quickly closing portal. You see a world beyond and it could be anything but you know in your heart what it really is. You glance back at her, your primos, everyone you'd be leaving behind. And then, like a coward, you run for it, diving through that portal.
You skid in dirt, crashing hard into a wall. The sound of monsters has vanished, replaced by a different noise. Cars. Voices. A lot of them. For a good long time you simply stay there, still. Then, for the first time in ages, you bring yourself to shine, power working until you're somewhat "whole" again. Fleshy. Your body aches so much more like this in every way. You're still dressed in torn up rags. But if it's what you think...
You climb up, out from under what appears to be a bridge over water. It's night, but not devoid of life. A couple out for a stroll gasps at the sight of you and walks faster away. You stare at them wide-eyed, only spooking them further. You stumble to the road. A car honks at you for veering too close. You wander further. It's a city, you realize. It's a city... on earth. You're on earth. You made it.
It only cost you your family. And it's with that thought that the joyous cry in your throat dies out.
... A phone. You... you need to find a pay phone.
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(Prose or action as desired)
Gently, you shut the door, turning to the little girl on the bed. You go over and tuck her in, pulling those blankets up around her and gently kissing her head. She reaches up, trying to hold you there, to kiss back and keep you from leaving.
"I don't wanna go to bed, Papá," she pleads with you. You laugh softly.
"Well, that's good. Because I actually have a surprise for you, so you can't fall asleep yet." Predictably, her eyes go round.
"Surprise?"
"Si. A very special one. A secret between just you and me. Do you think you can keep a secret, mija?"
She nods her head fervently, only to pause and ask, "What's the secret?"
"Well, I was thinking." About those sad looks. About the ache in him. "I wanted to give you something that would last forever. Something that would show you how much I love you." She makes a pleased little noise, half-ducking beneath the covers.
"But it's something that will take the both of us to keep alive. So, I'll share it with you tonight and then, tomorrow, we'll try it together. And every night after that. Are you ready?"
She nods her head. You're being cryptic and she doesn't quite understand, but that's okay. She will in a moment. You step away from the bed, moving across the room to pick up your guitar. The music always did help her sleep but tonight is something different. Tonight every note truly is for her.
You begin to play. And you begin to sing.
"Recuérdame hoy me tengo que ir mi amor~ Recuérdame, no llores por favor."
Even so young, there's a breathless look of wonder on her face. She recognizes little bits and pieces, words you've left her in sad partings and simply parting for sleep.
"Te llevo en mi corazón y cerca me tendrás~ A solas yo te cantaré soñando en regresar..."
She sits up in bed, all that tucking in for naught.
You sing and sing and play along moving closer until you're right at her bedside. She reaches out her hands like you've done for her before, and what the gesture does to your heart keeps you from ever thinking it silly.
"Hasta que en mis brazos estés... recuérdame."
You strum the last notes and the room is quiet again. The guitar is set down and you whisper, "It's all for you. Just yours. And I'll always sing it for you. So, even if I'm not here some nights, if you sing this song, right at this time, then I'll be singing it too. Every night. That way, no matter how far apart we are, we'll always be together, me and you, okay?"
She jumps to you. You immediately catch her in your arms and hold her tight. Your heart feels fit to burst. Stroking her hair back, you whisper, "My Coco."
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Flipped a coin, green incoming UNLESS YOU WANT A YELLOW ALSO??? (Prose or action as desired)
"You think they called their friends?" You say with a bewildered laugh offstage. It's a multi-day celebration. You were one of the few bands hired out to put on a show each day. It's only a couple of songs per night, no big deal, but apparently, a bigger one than you'd thought.
Ernesto's chest swells up with pride and he fixes his suit. "Any luck and the rest of them will be inviting their friends too."
You laugh. "Getting ahead of yourself, are we now, amigo?"
He makes a face but you get up and punch his arm. "Come on, Güey, you know I'm messing with you. We've got this! Now lets go knock their socks off!"
His smirk comes back, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"I'm thinking we might be feeling un poco loco."
He leaps out to the stage, arms spread like he's an eager king in wait of offering. You get your eyerolls over the smarm out now before you step out after him, beloved guitar in your arms. The cheers settle down to an eager hush. Your hand lifts high. Then, down upon the strings, you begin to play. Your amigo's voice follows soon after.
"What color is the sky? ¡Ay, mi amor! ¡Ay, mi amor! You tell me that it's red, ¡Ay, mi amor! ¡Ay, mi amor!"
You can sing and you've taught him to play, but no doubt about it, you make a far better duet like this. Together you bring out something great, and more than that, you never have so much fun performing as you do with him (save for those times at home, with your family). You dance around one another on stage, flashing grins.
And then it's your turn to join, "The loco that you make me, it is just un poco crazy~ The sense that you're not making, the liberties you're taking..."
He matches you in harmony, both for the lyrics and in providing the background strumming to your more enthusiastic experiments upon the strings of your guitar. He leaves the gritos to you-- not quite his typical charming image-- but you know he's having just as much fun as you are.
Together again, you sing, "Un poquititi-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-to loco!"
And then you stand together, the both of you throwing your hands high as the crowd cheers.
"Ernesto y Héctor, a todos!" He announces to the mass of people. He's proud of himself. But he's proud of you too. He was good at that, finding little ways to make you feel like you mattered. Making sure you were part of it all. You couldn't ask for a better friend. You guess it's a good thing you got the best one. You flash a fond look his way, just briefly, then make the signal for the next song. He nods and readies for it.
You fall to the background behind and start to play again.
green's fine by me
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time to binge
If Héctor should decide to open the pillowcase, this impish furball is what...would greet him, if Wist weren't so hellbent on scrambling out of the makeshift sack.]
Bad cat! Bad cat!! Bad -- hi!
binge binge binge /chanting
It's with great trepidation that he slowly opens the back, fearful of what he might find within. Not sure he's any less alarmed by what he finds and so bracing for that little furball to leap out and attack him. He's two seconds from dropping the case away from himself when it greets him. He blinks.]
Uh... hola.
[Wait. That voice.]
...Wist?
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still fluffball, but I only have those two icons of Baby
sometimes icon sacrifices must be made
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Your familia also found some of the good stuff, an outland plant the squeezes out some kind of liquid the lot of you can actually, somehow, drink. You joke every time about what skeleton was able to figure that one out. It's nothing you need, doesn't do anything for any of you, save for loosen you up and bring you some small bit of comfort and ease. You fill bottles with it and spread it around. About two months ago even, you found another guitar. The luck is good, and maybe that's a sad thing, that drink and song alone are considered lucky, but out here it's enough. It's good enough. Those three things together call for celebration.
A fire's been lit for the sake of comfort alone. You're gathered around it, some skeletons sitting in the sand, some pulling up bits of cloth (usually draped around them, carrying things or even each other) to sit together, couples and family leaning on one another, only rarely knowing each other in life. The stars shine above and if you squinted at the scene, you could imagine you're all back on earth somewhere.
"And he says-- I tell you-- he says; I'm sorry, but until that pig is out of the drive, I can't help you!" The big skeletal man bellows without laughter at his own joke. His rib cage rattles, and you hear the guffaws and laughs of others joining in. Soft laughter and wheezing breaths and everything in between. None of you are alike.
Weaker laughter comes from two of the newer skeletons, their first rest and first break since they woke up dead. But you see your Tío, speaking in hush to them both. He points out to three smaller skeletons-- children, it was horrifically easy for children of all people to fall into the outlands and disappear forever-- laughing together as they race about. Something in what your Tío says seems to ease the newer skeletons and you smile softly.
It's then that your Tío spots you looking. You start but he only looks fond right back, going over to ruffle your hair. He treats you like a kid. Sometimes you don't really mind.
"Notice you haven't spoken up yet," He says. "Why don't you give us a song?"
"I--" Before you can even protest, another voice calls out.
"Juanita!" It's Chicharrón. You should've known.
"Juanita!" Another chimes in with a laugh of delight.
"Juanita?" Says one of the newer skeletons, a man in an office uniform. The teenage girl in bright colors and wrist bangles looks just as confused.
"Oh, you don't know Juanita?" Your Tío says, amused. "Everyone knows Juanita."
"The love of Chicharrón's life," You tease.
"Shut your mouth and sing the song!" He growls back, jostling his pile of junk that he's gathered on his own little cloth patch.
"Can't do both~" But your Tío gives a nod to urge you on, and so you relent. In short moment, you start to play. And then you sing.
"--Her teeth stick out and her chin goes in... and her--" That little group of skeletal kids cuts through the lot of you all, jumping over and even through in some cases. You pause. Then correct the words behind your teeth. "Knuckles they drag on the floor."
You go on to finish the song, contentedly singing more through the night.
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should we wrap up around here?
Works for me
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Ernesto's here, your best friend, practically your cousin with how long you've been together. Longer than you can remember. He was your family first. You both know that. But far away on the other side of the world is everyone else you ever knew. All your old friends, but more importantly, your family. Your wife and daughter. The longing to see them is so sharp you could have a knife in your heart and you wouldn't know. It twists and twists with every second you stare at the world Familia.
The book snaps shut. You toss it into your open suitcase. You and Ernesto are both still dressed from the performance and he startles at the snap of buckles. You've packed up before. Sometimes you talked yourself down. Sometimes he did. One more stop, one more, he'd say, and you'd agree because maybe he was right, this was always going to be hard, but what either of you thought to be hard wasn't the same thing. Where he'd been sulking in the wake of a modest crowd, you... you want what you've always wanted.
"You're giving up now? When we're this close to our dream?"
At least, what you wanted for as long as you've thought for yourself at all. You admit that one's been a long time coming.
"This was your dream," You point out. "You'll manage." He's a talented man. You don't know why you can't seem to make him see that. Maybe you just aren't the one who can help him after all.
You take that suitcase in one hand, the guitar in the other, and head for the door only to feel a sharp tug on that suitcase. Ernesto's grabbed it, looking up at you, pleading, "I can't do this without your songs, Héctor!"
You don't really know what's come over you. Maybe you've just heard this (and so many other excuses) one too many times, but you yank your suitcase away and turn on him.
"I'm going home, Ernesto!" You snap at last. The moment the words leave your lips, a fear clamps down on your heart-- even still with that ache for home beneath. You continue, a little more torn, "Hate me if you want, but my mind is made up."
This is it. It's over. You see the anger wash over his face and you turn away instead of watching a second more. You never wanted to choose between your family. He was part of it, for you. But you can't take another second of this and you know, if you walk away now, he'll never want a thing to do with you again. All those times together, all he's been there for you, this will be the last. Your heart breaks. You'll get to that airport and look like a mourning man as you cash in your tickets, you know it. But at least after that you'll be home, even if part of you is never the same.
"Oh, I could never hate you." Ernesto's soft croon makes you hesitate. You turn slow. "If you must go then I'm... I'm sending you off with a toast!" You glance out the door as he goes to make the drinks, concerned for catching your flight, but ultimately the promise is too great. You set the suitcase down. Just for a moment.
He comes back with a glass for the both of you. The moment he sets yours into your hand you feel a wave of relief. You were harsh tonight, but even now, he forgives you. What you have isn't entirely over after all. Or at least, it won't end on a bad note.
"To our friendship!" Ernesto says, raising a glass, as though you don't love him like he were your brother. "I would move heaven and earth for you, mi amigo." Words that make you smile despite yourself, that soothe your heart. "¡Salud!"
Your glasses clink together and you drink. Ruefully, you point out that you're going to be late, but he offers you a drive there and for that you have to thank him. Your talk goes to old adventures as you head to where it's parked. So much trouble you got into together, so many good memories. Your laughter wakes a sleeping dog in a room down the hall, making you both laugh louder as you hurry along not to get caught. Like old times.
When you set your set your things into the car you don't think about how the closing door sounds like a coffin lid.