#actually worked a tiny bit on that collection when I was at Aldo

[mizutoyama]

Did I just buy 5 pairs of shoes from the new Aldo X Disney collection?

[sergeant-donny-donowitz]

The First Basterd: DonnyxFem!Reader

requested by @marlenemarauders

A/N *Reader is Polish & Jewish, but you don't have to be either to read it :D

@owba-chan @war-obsessed @inglourious-imagines @tammykelly @struggling-bee @frozenhuntress67 @kwyloz @sodapop182 @marlenemarauders @what-the--curtains @taikawho @spookybearlandtaco Let me know if you wanna be added to the IB or OUATIH taglists! :) _________________________________________ ***November, 1943***

You huffed as you walked through the dense forest. A puff of cool air forming a cloud before your lips as you marched through the winter. Your sniper was slung over your shoulders. You gave the bright grey sky a rare glance with a sigh, before returning to the constant scan of forest floor. You were once a lone sniper, far from home. You had been, since 1939. Lone sniper or not, you quickly learned that in order to survive in war, you had to make a few allies. By late 1942, you had more than a few. Things would change then, though you hadn't anticipated that just yet. By late 1942, you had made a name for yourself. Now, none of your enemies quite knew your name. All they could call you was the Basterd. A composite sketch of you from descriptions from nazis who'd barely survived your gaze was sent halfway around Europe and back. By late 1942, every nazi west of the Vistula River knew your face, and knew you as the Basterd. By 1943, they'd learn you were only the first basterd. 

Back in November of 1942, just before the basterds left England to jump over France, they were informed at the last minute that a special agent working undercover in France would be guiding them when they landed. They were expecting an older, more experienced, serious, mysterious agent. Probably a British spy, or a rogue Soviet. The kind of thing they saw in old movies. They got you, instead. And they loved you... Maybe a little too much, you'd say. It had been a year since then, and you loved them all to pieces, honestly. But, you were a little more than a little annoyed by now. Each and every basterd loved you in his own way...and consequently, became overprotective. Every time you had to risk showing your face to nazis, Aldo hung around dangerously closely, which only made it all riskier. Smitty tried to convince you to only use your sniper, and never even get close enough to have your face seen at all. Omar called him all sorts of names over that, but then acted even more ridiculously by making a Robin-esque kind of mask for you. Hirschberg ceaselessly and shamelessly flirted with you, and stole your kills, insisting you shouldn't waste your time. Wicki was a little more...mature about it. He was still overprotective, but quiet about it. None was more head over heels than Donny. You liked to hang around with him a little more because he made you feel less like a liability, and more like a basterd. Still, it took every ounce of patience and strength to not remind them every waking moment of your life that you were once the Basterd. Until today. Donny took a bullet for you. Well...it was meant for you, but it was a whole meter away from you. The bullet grazed Donny's shoulder, but it could have been so much worse. When the scalping and interrogating was over, you were fuming as you paced back and forth, gathering all the supplies you needed to take care of Donny. "The basterds need you, Y/n. I need you." He knew exactly what you were thinking, and it scared him. What scared you more was that this was not the first time one of the basterds had done something stupid like that. And, you weren't so sure it would be the last. You were tired of it, and you were tired of thinking that if some day, something happened to them, it would be because of you. "Not now, Donny." You shook your head, and clenched your jaw, knowing that if you didn't, you would raise your voice and all hell. "What?" "Not like this," You were exasperated, shaking your head, "Not now. Not in the middle of a fucking war." You were livid. You and Donny had joked about it before. As time went on, you had to actually talk about it.  It kept you both up till two am. It got you both through gunfire, through rain, through sleepless nights. But you'd both come to the same conclusion. This was war. This was no place for love. "Fuck a duck," Donny reached for your hand, but you pulled away as he called out, "I couldn't fucking let them hurt you! Y-" "I was a whole meter away from the bullet! I am not a child in need of protecting." You did your best at cleaning the wound, focusing directly on the blood. If you looked at him, at that smirk you knew he had, you would probably punch him. "When you Americans were still arguing about joining the war, I was already out here, alone, with a stolen gun, running out of bullets, far from home, and far from any allies. I've seen it all, done it all. I've survived." You muttered, "I don't know what more you expect from me." You finally looked at him, with a reproachful glance that stung him,  "I don't know why you expect so little when I'm one of you!" He stammered for a moment, not able to find any justification for it. "It's not that we expect little from you, it's just that....we....I mean..." Donny wasn't the kind of person that stuttered, stammered, and stalled. Whatever he had to say to you, he was having a hard time putting into words, and you were not happy about it. You gave up, uncrossed your arms with an exasperated sigh, and turned away.  "For fuck's sake." "It's just that..." You stormed out of the tent to grab some more bandages, and he followed you. "What? That I'm a girl? I should be sitting behind a typewriter on a fucking base? I should just stick to being a nurse? Let me re-fucking-mind you that I was not trained to be a nurse, I learned all of this out here on my own, years before you even fucking enlisted." All the basterds were sitting around, and could hear it all too clearly. It didn't matter to you, and it didn't embarrass you as much as it would have any other day. They could hear anyway, and...you wanted them to hear. You wanted all of them to quit it. Omar munched on a sandwich and remarked with a shrug, "...She has a point," not yet realizing how serious you were. "Omar!" Smitty put up his hands in exasperation, shaking his head. Aldo muttered, as he opened his tin of snuff, "Just keep your fucken mouth shut."

"Unbelievable. After a whole fucking year..." you muttered, rifling through the supplies for at least one clean, spare bandage. Wicki turned to the others, whispering "So she's mad-mad..." "What else is new?" Hirschberg chuckled, and all the basterds glared at him, not wanting to collectively face your vengeance. Because, as much as they acted like big bad basterds around you and the rest of the world, they were just a tiny bit scared of you. And rightfully so. You shook your head, "I have a higher body count than all of you combined." That alone would have struck fear in anyone's heart. You finally wrapped a bandage around Donny's wound tightly. "Ow! Fuck, Y/n!" "When will you stop acting like I need saving?!" You put your hands at your hips, finally looking at them all, effectively terrifying them. The only thing more terrifying at the moment would be to lose you. "I'm sick and tired of this ridiculous shit. If this is as far as we can get without one of you biting a fucking bullet 'for me', then maybe I should quit." You were dead serious.

You turned your back on them, walking east, which terrified them even more, as they all jumped to their feet, and rushed toward you. "Where are you going?" Wicki asked, completely concerned. Honestly, that was his thing. Being a bit older than all the basterds, he was usually genuinely concerned for all of you. But...mostly you. "You were all ordered to be on this team. I chose it. Now I'm choosing to go to Frankfurt. If you want to come, be my guest. But don't ever do anything stupid, like that again" You gestured to Donny, and he only grinned, wanting desparately to believe that you were bluffing. But, even he knew better than that. "What the hell's in Frankfurt?" Aldo asked, packing up his few belongings, quickly followed by the others. You turned back to look at them, beginning to grin a little. "You ever hear of a man by the name of Hugo Stiglitz?" There was a resounding no. You sighed, "If you want to know, then walk and talk," you shrugged, slinging your sniper over your shoulder, as you walked east. The basterds trotted by, as you revealed a particularly interesting anecdote. _____________ It was 1939. Sirens had been blaring so long and so often, when they stopped, everything sounded as if you were underwater. There was nothing and no one left in Krakow that you could recognize. There were nazis in the streets. There was glass on the ground. People were missing. You had only one chance to escape. It was on the shore of the Vistula river, under the cover of the dark night sky, and the shroud of a thundering storm that you took that chance. You killed a nazi. You took his sniper, and you took off, hoping to make it to Denmark, which was still free at the time. Then, you were sure you'd find a way to help. You'd been running for days on end. When you finally had a moment to breathe, you were in a land you did not know. You didn't even know what day it was. It had felt as though years had gone by. But when you looked around in the dimly lit streets of a strange and small town, your hands shook, your heart stopped, and you watched as your world collapsed. You were in the middle of Germany, nowhere near Denmark. You were only beginning to panic... You had nowhere to go. You had no way to hide a sniper. You felt a thousand eyes falling on you accusingly. You had just caught the eye of a man in a gestapo uniform. He walked over to you, and people turned away. He had been alerted about a "suspicious figure." When he spotted you, he  walked down the street, not raising any alarms or orders. He walked by you, ushering you to a side street, then to a quiet, isolated alley. He saw how terrified you were, and quickly began explaining he knew a place where you could hide. You looked at him, with wide eyes, and hardly breathing. You saw blood on his knife. (And years later, you'd learn he'd just killed one of his officers, minutes before finding you.) He smiled kindly, thinking for a moment, finding the string of Polish words he'd learned not too long ago. "Nazywam się Hugo Stiglitz." 'My name is Hugo Stiglitz.' You didn't know if you could trust him, but when you saw his eyes, you knew you had no choice. When you realized he was putting himself on the line for you, you spoke to him in whatever German you could piece together, "Ich kann von hier aus gehen. Ich kann es schaffen. Geh, bevor du erwischt wirst." You looked so frightened, he could hardly believe what you'd just said, "I can go from here. I can make it. Go, before you get caught."

Hugo simply shook his head, with an assuring smile. "Frag mich nicht Dinge, die ich nicht tun kann." "Don't ask me things I cannot do."

Hugo hid you in the home of a friend, and then another, and another. There was a chain of them. Some of them were hiding neighboring families, some were hiding childhood friends. Some were hiding complete strangers, like you. Hugo visited you every day, wherever you were hidden. He couldn't help you get to Denmark, but, France was an option. He warned you that part of, if not all of France would probably be invaded in a matter of time, and urged you to find a way out. Anywhere. As far as you could. You promised him you'd stay safe, and stay in France, but...he wouldn't find out, would he? He sighed as he escorted you himself to France, knowing you'd be safe there. But, something told him you wouldn't do as he'd advised you to do. No, you had that restless fire in your eyes that belonged to the rebels and the righteous. He smiled, knowing wherever you went after that moment was out of his hands. But fighters like you were never out of his mind. Only months later, he saw the sketch of your face, and he sighed. He wasn't surprised, but he wished you the best. _____________ Four years later, you studied the bloodied papers and 'wanted' picture in your hands. It was a warrant for Hugo's arrest. He was on the run, believed to be somewhere in France. He was to be brought in alive. You only hoped he hadn't been found yet. But if he had, you were going to do something about it. It was only fair, you smirked. Donny found your smirk incredibly cute, though he was undoubtedly a little jealous seeing you get so worked up about some guy. Some guy that wasn't him. He went along with it, trying to stay out of your way. He'd annoyed you before, but this time you were not budging. Every one of the basterds followed you without question. You broke them in and out of a high security prison all the way in Frankfurt. Aldo had his usual spiel ready, of course, being a slave to appearances and all.  Now, he had you to thank for this new recruit. Hugo nodded briefly at Aldo. But, a faint flicker of his old smile graced that grim cell when he realized just who had led the basterds to him. When Hugo was free from his cell, you hugged him. He couldn't remember the last time someone had hugged him. Donny wasn't too thrilled, but you'd both laugh about it some years later in a diner, back in Boston, far from the war and all the ruins it left. It'd be a long time till then. And you were still upset at the boys. If leading them directly into Germany, and in and out of a high security prison, without loosing a single basterd wasn't impressive enough, you didn't know what was. Needless to say, it only took a few hours to find out. You walked at the end of the group, in case any nazis were still on your trail. You were, after all the best marskman they had. Hugo was just ahead of you, but barely. He was tired, more tense then when you had last seen him, which seemed utterly impossible. You spoke in broken German. Wicki was way ahead, he wouldn't hear. "Du bist verletzt." "You're hurt." When Donny heard your voice, he slowed down a little. You smirked, already knowing that basterd was jealous as hell. Still, he muttered something to himself about not knowing anything other than English, and some Italian. Hugo nodded, simply, acknowledging that though you'd known him briefly, you were the only living person who knew him at all. He said one simple word in your language, "Tak." 'Yes.' knowing there was no use in denying it. "If someone comes up behind us, leave me behind." You smiled and shook your head, "Don't ask me things I cannot do." He sighed, remembering that, but still shook his head, "You made it this far without me, why-" "Without you? That's a laugh." It was then that you noticed Hirschberg making a mistake you had made back in 1941. "HIRSCHBERG GET AWAY FROM THERE!" He was on thin ice. Literal, thin ice. Listening to the roaring bellow of the frozen lake. "HIRSCHBERG!" He was listening to everything but you. "GEROLD." He turned to you with wide eyes, knowing to be fucking terrfiied if you ever called him by his first name. "FOR FUCK'S SAKE, GET OUT OF THERE!" Just as he started to get up, the ice beneath his feet began to crack. Donny, through the throbbing, searing pain in his arm, instinctively flung forward, running, and reaching for Hirschberg. "DONNY DON'T!" He slipped away from your grasp, dropping his bat on the ground as he lunged to save his brother in arms. The ice, already fragile and shattered, could offer Donny less time than it had Hirschberg. Now both of them were flailing in the freezing water, in shock from the slicing and searing cold. "NOBODY FUCKING MOVE." You warned, thinking quickly, knowing all of the basterds were liable to follow without thinking. "BUT-" You turned to Smitty. You'd apologize later, but...there was no time to be sorry now. "SHUT IT." "Y/N." "SHUT IT." You turned to Hirschberg and Donny, calling out, "RELAX. FLOAT HORIZONTALLY, BELLY DOWN! BELLY DOWN, HIRSCHBERG!" Though you were shouting, your words seemed soft, and cut through the panic and adrenaline. They slowed down, and did as you told them to do, as you picked up Donny's bat, tying your jacket onto it, praying the knot would hold. You wandered to the edge of the frozen lake, holding on to the sleeve, and sliding the bat out to the boys, "GRAB ON." Donny made Hirschberg go first. "D-donny, I-I c-can't. I-" His teeth were chattering, as he shook his head, along with everything else. Donny stammered, "Th-that's a f-fucken o-order. Go." Your eyes widened, as you felt the ice beneath you pop. "Y/n, no-" Aldo stepped forward now, but you pushed him away. "It won't hold both of us." You looked back, as Hirschberg shakily grabbed on to the end of the bat. "Stay down, I'll pull you back here!" You slowly and steadily pulled Hirschberg. You would've loved to do it quickly, to save Donny. But, that would only make the ice even more unstable. You couldn't bring yourself to look at Donny yet. You could hear him stammering and chattering, trying to encourage Hirschberg through, with some colorful language here and there to keep himself awake. After what felt like an eternity, you finally looked at Donny. His face was blue, his nose was bright red. "DONNY COME ON!" He wrapped his stiff, blue fingers around his bat, as you pulled him over the edge, and close to the shore. The basterds gave up their coats and sweaters for them, and you looked around. You knew this part of the forest. No one would come near it. Not in this winter. Aldo knew that look in your eye. You'd been a basterd longer than they had. You knew what you were doing, and where you were going.  He understood that look meant you were safe. He nodded, agreeing silently with you. "This here's a p'rty good place to stop, boys." Far from the eyes of murderers, hidden from gunfire and planes, you built a fire, and found a place to set up camp. When the sun set, only Donny remained by the fire. Hirschberg, and the rest of the basterds had gone to sleep. Even Hugo with fresh wounds, fears, and insomnia, was able to slip into a dream or two. "Hirschberg's doing ok. " You sat by Donny, smiling softly as you handed him some makeshift soup that Smitty was made. (There was a 50% chance it was edible, and 50% chance the OSS could use it as a torture device. But that's a story for another day.) "Y/n..." The way he looked at you was different. In fact, it was almost the way the rest of the basterds looked at you for the past few hours. There was a form of awe...An unspoken shield of respect. The only difference in the way Donny looked at you, was that there was a shade of love entwined there. "See, and I didn't have to get shot to save you," you chuckled, playfully leaning your head on his shoulder. He slowly lifted his arm, resting his hand on your head. "Where would I be without you..." He was serious, and spoke softly, which was not something you could say happened often. "Probably with a gangrenous arm," you shrugged, and he smiled a little. You looked into his eyes for a moment, and he looked into yours, and he kissed you. "What took you?" He raised his eyebrow, almost offended, as he raised his voice a little, "What took me?! What took you?!" You both laughed about it, your head resting once again on his shoulders, and his head resting over yours as you watched the dancing stars and the rising trees, as snow began to fall softly. There was a long road ahead to occupied France. And longer still was the road to the end of the war. But, in that moment, that was ok. You'd make it out together. All of you. Once, you'd taken pride in being  the one and only basterd. You'd been proud of being the only one who's face could bring the enemy to their knees, and make them beg for mercy. But things changed in 1942. It took some getting used to, but you knew all along it was the only way for any of you to make it out. Together. You were reminded of that when you saw Hugo's face on that warrant. But here, in Donny's arms, it was clearer now more than ever. The only way out of the war, was just like that.

[calliopesquill]

A Year in the Life - Chapter 19

Hi everyone! Sorry this one took so long. It's been fighting me something fierce and I had to get a lot of help with it. Thanks so much to @perlogannwyl for all the help with the legal stuff and all the dialogue in the courtroom scene. She wrote majority of the dialogue, and I could not have done this chapter without her.

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Chapter 19: Discovery

         “ Señor ... Lo siento, but…. I am not sure I heard you correctly. You are saying…. You wish to plead ‘innocent’?”

         “Oh no, you have heard me correctly, Señor,” Ernesto said smoothly, leaning back in his uncomfortable metal chair. The furnishings in the conference rooms of the police station left much to be desired. The ugly side of industrial with lumpy vinyl cushions in truly unfortunate shades of green and orange. The star sneered in distaste.

         Aldo Moreno had been a lawyer for many years, for decades in life and in death. He had been a legacy, hired on with his father and uncle’s law firm before the ink on his certificate had even dried. Ernesto De la Cruz was not the first client in his history to demand such a thing, however difficult it would be to achieve. “You do realize, Señor De la Cruz, that there is video evidence of you tossing a living child from the stadium tower.”

         “There is also video of me supposedly flying, and playing a guitar while standing on the back of a galloping horse,” Ernesto pointed out. “And while I have prided myself on performing all of my own stunts in those films, you know that there was some assistance behind the scenes.”

         There was, in Moreno’s opinion, a big difference between the harness and wires required to make De la Cruz fly, and what it would take to convincingly fake throwing a child off a tower. Not for the first time, he wondered why he had accepted this man as a client. He had been summoned when De la Cruz had first been arrested, two years earlier. Moreno had represented his share of narcissists in the past, and this man certainly fit the bill. His escape the first time had brought Moreno no end of trouble, even putting him under investigation under suspicion of aiding his client. He hadn’t, of course. But De la Cruz had certainly tried.

         He’d been charming at first, under the dust, with splattered food staining the once-pristine white suit. But then, he always had been. If there was anything Ernesto De la Cruz knew how to do, it was put on a show. It took a great deal to ruffle his composure. Moreno had been De la Cruz’s lawyer in life as well as in death, and the only time he had ever truly seen his client less than fully in control was on the big screen at the Sunrise Spectacular.

         That moment had caused him to re-evaluate everything he knew about his most lucrative client. He had handled cases of intellectual property theft for the man before. It wasn’t uncommon when one was that famous. People came crawling out of the woodwork, looking for their fifteen minutes of fame. Most of them had been easy enough to scare off, their stories more full of holes than a beggar’s shoes. Everyone knew that Ernesto De la Cruz wrote his own songs. Kept them in a little leather-bound notebook that he kept on his person until the day he died.

         There were a few brave souls, however, who refused to be scared off by the big name and the fancy law firm, but even they went silent after a time. El Señor De la Cruz had been particularly generous with them, far more than Moreno had wanted to be. Some he even met with personally to discuss their claims. The meetings, to Moreno’s knowledge, had seemed to work. One or two of them relocated to the United States soon after. Another was killed in a tragic car accident a couple of weeks later.

         He hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Just an unfortunate accident. But after the Sunrise Spectacular, with De la Cruz asking him what it would take to make the charges against him disappear…. Maybe it wasn’t so much of an accident after all. His client was less than pleased when Moreno told him that the events of that night could not be so easily swept away. Señor De la Cruz did not like to be told “no”. But what else could he have said? There were thousands of people in the stadium that night who saw him throw a living child from the tower. Such an event would not disappear from the collective consciousness so easily.

         “The Riveras have ruined my reputation with their lies,” De la Cruz continued. “Attacked me in my own home, hunted me through the stadium before the Sunrise Spectacular. They sent their alebrije to attack me. Dropped me in front of the police station like so much worthless kindling!”

         And, if the charges against him were accurate, it was nothing compared to what he put the Riveras and their living friend through. But it was not Moreno’s job to believe in his client’s innocence. Simply to convince others that he was, and that they should do the same. It might have been easier if De la Cruz had not escaped police custody two years before. In Moreno’s experience, men only disappeared for that long when they had something to hide.

         Nell had been to court a few times in her life. Her mother was a criminal lawyer, after all. She’d gone more than once to see her mother in action -- for cases of theft only, as her mother was afraid she might see something traumatizing in a more serious criminal case -- but never for something this big. It was a surreal experience, walking into the courthouse to be part of an actual trial. Especially as she was the only living human in a building full of skeletons.

         She was feeling more than a little conspicuous since De la Cruz was arrested. Prior to that she had at least some degree of anonymity. Of course, she had felt a bit self-conscious, when people realized she was alive, but nobody had harassed her over it. Now with her publicized involvement with the De la Cruz case, people started actively looking for her. Having people gasp and gape when they saw her face was bad enough. Now when they saw her they hounded her with questions about her involvement with De la Cruz and the Riveras. It had gotten to the point that she flew with Buttons to the studio whenever she could. But Buttons wasn’t always around -- she may be Nell’s alebrije but she had her own life, after all -- and there were times when Nell had to go on foot. On those occasions, Rosita offered the use of one of her shawls for Nell to cover her hair and shade her face.

         She wore it now, as she and the Riveras and Señor Bernal made their way up the stone steps to the courthouse. The building was packed with reporters and fans. Some shouted questions when they saw the Riveras approach. Some shouted encouragement. Others jeered and hissed. A row of officers had formed a barricade, holding back the crowd.

         On their way inside Nell heard one officer tell a woman, “Unfortunately Señora this case involves a minor, so all proceedings will be kept private.”

         Nell walked alongside the assembled Riveras as they followed Imelda’s determined, commanding stride. Nell admired her for that ability, to have such presence even when she was so tiny. Like Hector, she found it much easier to simply detour around people or slip between them. He wasn’t doing that today. Instead he kept pace with is wife, their fingers twined in what Nell thought was an instinctive gesture of comfort for both of them. This process would not be an easy one for any of them, but for him most of all. Every day they were in court he would have to spend in the presence of the man who betrayed him. And in the end the fate of his murderer wouldn’t even be up to him, which Nell thought both a blessing and a curse.

         As with the Department of Family Reunions -- and most other places in the Land of the Dead -- Nell noticed an abundance of calaveras in the decor. In the panes of the windows, the wrought-iron of the clerks’ desks, and the inlays of the wooden floors. It was funny how it had become so familiar to her after only a couple of weeks. It would be weird, after a year of living here, to go home and not see the stylized skulls everywhere she went.

         Imelda led their party to the desk of one of the clerks, who seemed to know them on sight.

         “Ah, Riveras?” The young-looking skeleton at the desk inquired. “Case number?”

         Imelda nodded. “Si. 201995N39272”

         “Ah! Rey and Rivera vs De la Cruz. Preliminary hearing, correct?” The young skeleton read off a clipboard.

         Imelda nodded again.

         “Council chamber K, down the hall to your left. You will be heard in Court Room 3, at 10:30. As you are aware Señor Bernal, you will be sitting in front of the Honorable Judge Medina de Salinas. When it is time for the hearing to begin, the family goes through the door that says Viewing Gallery, plaintiffs go through the main door,” The skeleton explained.

         “Gracias.” Señor Bernal said.

         They set off together towards the courtroom.

         Before they entered the main council chamber, Señor Bernal led the family into one of the small meeting rooms at the back for some last-minute council. Their case would not be an easy one, so they would all have to restrain any protests they might have to what was said. There had been some concern that the judge would be biased in De la Cruz’s favor, but the lawyer assured them that if she showed any kind of partiality that there were channels through which a protest could be issued and a new judge requested. The biggest weakness in their case would be the lack of witnesses to the majority of the crimes. They could be reasonably sure that Ernesto would claim that the Riveras simply made up the story in order to discredit him. Given the victim of many of his crimes was quite literally a world away, there was a very real possibility that the charges issued on Miguel’s behalf would be dismissed because Miguel would be unable to testify. This had not sat particularly well with the Riveras or with Nell when Señor Bernal had cautioned them about this during a previous meeting, but there was little they could do if that was the decision the judge made.

         The other difficulty with their case was Nell herself. The court would question what would cause a living spirit to cross willingly into the Land of the Dead. Attempting to stop a kidnapping would be a reasonable answer, but once again they had no other witnesses to the event. The customs guards that she had fought with when she first crossed over would be called as witnesses should the trial progress, but as they had not seen De la Cruz’s face themselves, they would probably not be particularly helpful in this matter.

         With their meeting concluded they stepped into the hall. They were about to head through the doors together when Señor Bernal called them back.

         “Family goes through the door that says Viewing Gallery, plaintiffs go through the main door,” The skeleton explained.

         The Riveras exchanged looks.

         “It will be okay, Mamá,” Coco said to Imelda. She then glanced at Héctor. “We will be okay.” Whatever happened today, they would handle it together.

         When they got to the door that said Court Room 3 Viewing Gallery, they split, but not before Coco hugged both of her parents.

         Nell gave the family their space, wrapping her arms around herself as she glanced towards the heavy wooden door. And wished her family could be here to support her too.

         It was kind of surreal, Hector thought, to think that this was really happening. Two years of waiting and worrying, of trying to rebuild the life that had been taken from him, had finally led to this. It was not what he expected. Señor Bernal had explained the process to them in detail, and Nell had shared her own knowledge of the proceedings as well, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever really be ready for what was coming. He would have to take the stand, to testify against the man who had been a brother to him. They said time heals all wounds, but Hector did not believe that. Ernesto’s betrayal had left a scar that he didn’t think would ever truly fade, and each time he recounted the night of his murder was like drawing a blade over the surface just when it had finally closed over again.

         All he wanted was to put this behind him. To live his afterlife with his wife and his family without old grudges and decades-old heartbreak rearing its ugly head every other day. He wanted their lives to go back to normal, so his daughter and his family could leave the house without being swarmed by reporters. He wanted to say it didn’t matter, to just let it go so they could all move on. But Ernesto needed to answer for what he had done, not just to Hector, but to Imelda and Coco and Miguel too. What he had done to Hector was bad enough, but in Hector’s eyes what Ernesto had put his family through was unforgivable.

         The council chamber, when they entered, felt cavernous to him. Underneath the high, arched beams of the ceiling, there was very little decoration. The three tall windows on the left side of the room were decorated with calaveras, each face portraying a symbol of justice. The face on the right had a set of stylized scales across its forehead, the one on the right had a sword. The skull in the center was undecorated, but was blindfolded. Behind the judge’s bar was a carved fresco depicting the pyramids of the lower level under a starry sky. At the center was a skeletal Justice herself, blindfolded, and holding the sword and scales.

         Besides the one the one they entered through, there were several entrance ways into the room. The one behind a large wooden bar, inlaid with the coat of arms of the Land of the Dead, Hector assumed was for the judge. There was another opposite the one they had come through, which he guessed was where he would enter. Two more were set into the back. One he assumed was for witnesses or other parties, and the other led to a public gallery, where the rest of the Riveras were taking their seats.

         On the left side of the room was what looked like a large but simple rectangular theater box, empty today as there were no jurors present for preliminary hearings. Immediately to the right of the judge’s box was a witness stand. Opposite the juror’s box, surrounded in iron bars, was the dock.

         Señor Bernal directed Imelda, Hector and Nell to their seats on the left hand side of the courtroom at the plaintiff’s desk.

         Nervous, Hector turned around to see Julio, Coco, Victoria, Rosita, and the twins in the spectators’ benches behind them, behind a study wooden fence. Guarded by an officer. Hector fidgeted in his seat, drumming his fingers against his leg and tapping his foot until Imelda took his hand, as much to calm him as herself.

         Nell wasn’t much better off. She had pulled the scarf from her hair and was running it absently between her fingers as she shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Court regulations being what they were, she didn't even have the comfort of being able to wear her own clothes. She'd had to borrow a black skirt and blouse from Victoria, and even with the alterations it was still a little tight in the waist. In some ways it felt more like a costume than regular clothing on her, another part in the massive production that was the trial proceedings. Knowing on some level what to expect didn’t make any of this any easier. It made her that much more aware of what could go wrong for them. They would be going through to a trial court, of that much she was certain. But whether De la Cruz’s lawyer would succeed in laying charges against them as well… That she couldn’t say.

         A few moments before the hearing was to begin, the door on the right hand side of the courtroom opened, and Ernesto De la Cruz stepped into the room, followed closely by his lawyer. He looked well, for a man who had been dumped on the steps of the police station by a flock of giant birds and a very good dog, and had spent the last week in prison. But then, being as well-remembered as he still was, any injuries he would have sustained would have healed up relatively quickly. He was dressed in white, a slightly more understated charro suit than he would normally have preferred, but chosen with deliberate care.

         I see you, villain, Nell thought, fighting to keep her expression neutral as they approached the defendant’s desk. You with your fucking villain mustache. I see you. She could tell at a glance exactly what he was trying to do with his clothing choices, as she had done it herself with the characters in her books. White for innocence, and the modestly decorated suit would remind them of who he was without shoving it in their faces.

         Imelda shifted in her seat and this time it was Hector who laid a restraining hand over hers. As much as she would like to act, she could not do so now. They had laid the case at the feet of the law, and they would have to rely on the law to resolve it.

         Señor Bernal, seeing this, nodded his approval at Hector, who nodded back.

         De la Cruz ignored them completely. He too had been well-coached in what to expect today. He would play the part for the public to try to salvage what was left of his reputation.

         Preliminary hearings were usually public events, but not this time. With a minor involved, it was standard procedure to keep the trial private to protect their privacy. This was something the Rivera’s were grateful for. There had been a lot of pointing as they made their way through the courthouse, a lot of whispering, and for the Riveras it was not an entirely comfortable situation. Since the moment Ernesto De la Cruz’s crimes came to light, their entire family had been under a magnifying glass. Hector’s murder was something personal and painful, and it had become a kind of public spectacle.

         Things had quieted significantly in the last year, and for a time it seemed like the people had forgotten about them and they could go back to their regular lives. But now that De la Cruz had finally been arrested again and they were going to trial, they were once again thrust into a very unwelcome spotlight.

         It was almost a relief when the bailiff, a stout fellow in a trim blue uniform, called for order and announced the arrival of the judge. “All rise. Department five of the the Superior Court of the Land of the Dead for Court case 20185N39272: Rivera and Rey vs De la Cruz. The Honorable Medina de Salinas, judge presiding. Please be seated, come to order.”

         Everyone stood as a short female skeleton in perfectly pressed black robes entered the courtroom through the door next to the judge’s bench and took her seat behind it. Her hair was ashen brown, streaked with grey, covered by a short white horsehair wig. It framed a fine-boned face with a crown of green and violet swirls across her brow.

         “Please be seated,” the bailiff said. “Court is now in session.”

         The judge took a moment to glance over the packed courtroom and then check over that her documents were in the correct order before she spoke. “This case incredibly complex, partially due to the number of alleged crimes, partially due to the nature of most of the plaintiffs for the prosecution. I would like to ask the defense if they’ve been able to contact the party of plaintiff to Subject MR?”

         It took Nell a moment to realize they were talking about Miguel. Her mother had explained to her once that in court, minor’s names could not be spoken because they couldn’t consent to their names being put out publicly.

         “No, your honor,” Señor Bernal said. “As he continues to reside in the Land of the Living, we will not be able to contact him until next Día de los Muertos.”

         “Then for the time being, his case shall be struck out against the defense, and removed from these proceedings.” The judge declared, taking a moment to make a note in the record book in front of her.

         Señor Moreno smirked at the other lawyer, who ignored him. Imelda’s hands clenched into fists against the arm of her chair. Nell’s mouth pressed in a thin line, clenched so tightly she could have sworn she heard her teeth creak. That scum-sucking, egotistical slimeball threw Miguel off a skyscraper and he was just going to get away with it? Oh, hell no!

         “ Señor Bernal,” the judge said when she looked back up again. “When you are ready, you may proceed with the indictment.”

         “Gracias, Your Honor.” Señor Bernal stood to read his prepared statement. “As you are aware, there are several crimes with which my clients would like to charge the defense. Party 1, Señor Hector Rivera presses charges against Señor De la Cruz on accounts of his own murder via the use of the poison arsenic. The time and location of which were the first of December 1921, at roughly 10:30 PM at Sta Maria de la Rivera, Ciudad de México. On this account, I would like to draw your honor’s attention to exhibit 1 through 7 in bundle A of this case file. In order, the statement of Señor Rivera himself, a coroner’s report from the Land of the Living detailing the high amounts of arsenic found in Señor Rivera’s bones when he was exhumed last year by his living family, a doctor’s report dated September 1921 claiming that Señor De la Cruz was suffering from syphilis, and a prescription for 10mg of Salvarsan per day -- “

         “Objection your honor, those documents were my client’s, and we would like them struck from the records,” Señor Moreno said, pushing to his feet.

         “Overruled. These documents were recovered from the ofrenda of a private De la Cruz collector several years ago. Had your client had any need for them, he would have appealed to reclaim those documents then. As of now I see no reason to strike them from the record. Please continue, Señor Bernal.”

         Señor Moreno sat, looking less than pleased.

         “Gracias, your honor. Now -- hm, where was I?” He glanced down at his notes. “Ah, yes. Exhibit 5 -- copies of the letters from Señor Rivera to his family back in Santa Cecilia, left on the family ofrenda last Día de los Muertos, stating that he was travelling with ‘Tio Nesto’, an extract of the script to the film El Camino a Casa, where dialogue from the film matches Señor Rivera’s statement to the letter that involves poison, and B-roll recovered from the Sunrise Spectacular incident two years ago.”

         Judge Medina looked at the paperwork in front of her. “The court shall allow this charge to go through against De la Cruz.”

         “Objection, your honor!” Señor Moreno protested.

         “Sustained. Señor Moreno?”

         “As far as my client is concerned, he is a cultural icon of Mexico! If he had committed such a heinous crime, don’t you think someone would have discovered this before now? Countless books have been written on my client. There are historians that specialize on his life and career! Don’t you think someone would have noticed?”

         “Have you presented any of these books or historians for the court?” The judge asked pointedly.

         “Ah -- no. Not yet,” Señor Moreno admitted.

         “Then I would recommend you do that, as well as find witnesses to your client’s moral character,” Judge Medina suggested.

         “Yes, your honor.”

         “ Señor Bernal, your client’s other charges?”

         “ Señor Hector Rivera would also like to press charges for intent to grievous bodily harm, including aggravated assault, and attempted manslaughter -- both of which occurred on the night of the second of November, 2017. The prosecution would like to present to the court exhibit 8 through 10, a statement from both Imelda and Hector Rivera, both dated the 10th of November 2017, in interviews with the policia of the Land of the Dead, as well as this flooring plan of De la Cruz tower from the Land of the Dead Land Registry and Development, drawn up with De la Cruz’s approval in May 1951.”

         The judge frowned. “I’d like to know, what was the delay between the event and the interview for?”

         “ Señor Rivera collapsed from the strain of nearly being forgotten that night. It was several days before he was able to regain consciousness, and after that was bed-bound by the family doctor’s healing,” Señor Bernal explained.

         “I see,” Judge Medina nodded. “If you could find exhibit to support this statement, the court would like to see it. As of now however, the court sees no reason not to press these charges.”

         “Objection, your honor,” Señor Moreno said again.

         Nell held back a sound of frustration. The trial had barely begun and she was already getting sick of the defense lawyer’s protestations. He sounded like a broken record, and she knew that this was just the beginning.

         “Sustained?” The judge said, a little puzzled.

         “Much of this incident relies only on hearsay. Imelda Rivera allegedly only found her, at the time estranged, husband and their great-great-grandson after only one of these incidents,” Señor Moreno argued. “The only witnesses to the other incident were Señor Rivera and MR -- one of whom was incredibly unwell at the time. The other was a minor in a state of panic.”

         “Sustained,” Medina decided. “You raise a valid point Señor Moreno, as to the lack of witnesses. In this case the prosecution will require more evidence to support the charges. Meanwhile, I would like to overrule your other statement, as many studies have proved that those suffering from being nearly forgotten are every bit as lucid as you or I If you wish to disprove me by bringing exhibit to the contrary to the court, I’d encourage it. The case of MR vs De la Cruz has been struck out, so we move onto the charges of Señorita Penelope Rey. Señor Bernal?”

         “ Señorita Rey would also like to press charges of kidnapping -- “

         “Objection!” Señor Moreno protested, standing up again. “My client was only made aware of Señorita Rey when he was viciously attacked by her alebrijes.”

         Liar, Nell thought with a frown, refusing to look in the defense’s direction. Damn dirty liar. You were fully damn aware when you were trying to strangle me.

         “Overruled,” the judge declared. “If you would please let the prosecution finish?”

         “ Señorita Rey has a rare power: she is a nagual, as identified by her and the Head Archivist, and addressed in this book -- Exhibit 1. It allows her to remove herself from her body, and walk as a spirit in the Land of the Living, and is what allowed her to cross the bridge to the Land of the Dead. It is an ability she realized that MR had as well, after the incident two years ago. She acted as a mentor for him, teaching how to use his powers responsibly. It was this ability she used to cross the bridge in pursuit of her friend MR on the night of the second of November 2019. In her statement, exhibit 2, she states that he was kidnapped by De la Cruz, and as the only living adult aware of his condition she followed in pursuit. Upon recovering MR, she stated that Señor De la Cruz grabbed her and held her back. She got free, and both she and MR attempted to cross the bridge together, but it was closing, so she sacrificed herself to allow him to cross. This is supported by exhibits 3, 4, and 5 -- witness testimony from the customs guards on duty at the time. As my client firmly places the blame for this incident with Señor De la Cruz, she would also like to present a charge of attempted manslaughter, as we are unaware in what state Señorita Rey’s body is currently in the Land of the Living. Exhibit 6, a book found by the Head Archivist, implies that Señorita Rey should have died two weeks ago.”

        “Objection!”

        “Sustained,” Judge Medina allowed.

“My client never intended for her to end up in the Land of the Dead.” Señor Moreno said. “As far as he is aware, she crossed the bridge of her own duress. While the Riveras claim they had their descendant, Señorita Rey isn’t a Rivera. She isn’t even a trained member of any constabulary, so that raises the question as to why she crossed the bridge at all. My client and I would like the prosecution to address what entitles this woman to think she can teach a minor. Does she have a degree or any kind of certification? Also, who willingly runs into the Land of the Dead? The defense would like to call in a full mental evaluation for Señorita Rey. As for the charges of attempted manslaughter, she seems pretty alive today.”

        The judge was quiet for a moment before coming to a decision. “While I will let the prosecution press their charges on the grounds of evidence to support their charge, the court also sees and seconds the defense’s queries. Thus I would like the prosecution to gain a witness for Señorita Rey’s moral character, and for a psychological evaluation to be conducted.”

        “What?!” Nell’s voice sounded, shrill with outrage, as she shot a furious look at the defense. Neither looked back at her, but she could see the smug tilt of Ernesto’s mouth, and wished once again that her alebrije had done a little more damage when they dropped him in front of the police station.

        “Nell, now is not the time to argue,” Señor Bernal murmured to her.

        She closed her eyes, taking a steadying breath, flexing her fingers tensely against the arm of her chair. God damn it…

        “Is there an issue, Señor Bernal?” Judge Medina asked.

        “No, your honor. Just taking instruction from my client. We will comply,” Señor Bernal said.

        “Good. Does the prosecution have any more charges from the client?” The judge asked.

        “One more. Señorita would also like to press charges of intent to cause grievous bodily harm on Señor De la Cruz for the aforementioned actions too.”

        “I will allow it.” Medina glanced down to review her notes before peering over the bar at Ernesto. “ Señor Ernesto De la Cruz, faced with these charges under these charges under Sections 9, 12 and 16 of the laws of the Land of the Dead, how do you plead?”

        “Not guilty,” Ernesto said emphatically.

        “Well then, since no decision has been made, I declare that this proceeding has officially begun.” Judge Medina said decisively, banging the gavel on the desk. “Court dismissed.”

        To say that Nell and the Riveras were less than pleased was an understatement. Señor Bernal suggested that it might be best all around if they retreated to one of the conference rooms at the back of the courtroom to vent before rejoining the public. The moment the door closed behind them, every single one of them exploded in exclamations of fury. That all that Ernesto had put Miguel through was to be simply brushed aside was outrageous. And to request that Nell go for a psych evaluation? Completely absurd!

        Señor Bernal paused at that. Speaking objectively, if he had been working for the defense he would have requested the same thing. However that was not what his clients needed to hear right now. “Por favor - Señores, Señoras … I know you are angry, but we need to take a breath and look at this rationally. That the charges laid on behalf of Miguel have been dismissed is regrettable, but without his statement, there is not much we can do. What we can do is act on what we have been given. Nell, everyone in this room knows that you are a stable, intelligent woman. The defense has made their accusations as a way to discredit you, but we can turn this to our advantage. I have no doubt that any psychologist that you meet with will find you completely sane, but this is also an opportunity to deliver sort of -- an emotional impact statement, as it were.”

        That suggestion, at least, was enough to give Nell pause. The lawyer had a point.

        The others seemed to think so too.

        “Maybe...talking to someone wouldn’t be such a bad thing,” Victoria said softly, with a concerned look towards Nell. She hadn’t told anyone about the

        She sighed, dragging one hand through her hair. Oh, she did not want to do this. There was no shame in needing to see a therapist for any reason -- of course there wasn’t. But it was definitely a place of vulnerability, and she’d been feeling vulnerable enough since she fell off that bridge. Which, she realized, might be exactly the point. “Well… couldn’t hurt.” And if it helped with their case, she’d do what she had to. “Okay, how do we do this?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ So... that was fun. This is going to be a long road for the Riveras and for Nell. I will not be covering the whole trial, but I will make reference to the proceedings when they are relevant. Next chapter is back to Miguel! I think I am going to try to keep to this alternating format as much as possible until I get to the point where I can merge the two halves of the story again.

(Also bonus points if you recognized the "I see you, villain" line. It's from a show called Sense8, which I highly recommend.)

Thanks so much for being so patient with me. This took much longer than I thought it would. Life gets in the way of writing sometimes.

I hope to have the next chapter up in a couple weeks. Until then, this is Calliope signing off!