#i think the specific funny cat snout i was trying to Get would have to be drawn with pencil or such

[skunkes]

[unicyclehippo]

Prompt if you want it, polymorphed cat/dog!Jester ends up spending the entire hour being fussed over by Beau who has no idea it’s Jester

It had been going really well, you know? And she’s done it dozens of times over now, changing her form or someone else’s so there’s really no trouble to it at all. Or. There shouldn’t have been any trouble to it at all.

Here’s the thing though: she’d been thinking first of all about changing into a big dog, like the ones they’d seen around town, specifically like the one she had seen wandering around on the outskirts of the market, and she had been thinking about that one in particular because it had had a lovely black coat at one point, she could tell because of the snout where it was sleek and black like their sweet and so, so ugly moorbounders, but it had rolled at some point or another in the grey yellow dust here in the city of beasts and so the rest of the coat was now this kind of coarse grey brown, but still a very handsome dog and also very clever because she had seen it wait for the shopkeeper to be distracted before it ran away with a whole fish! And that’s the dog she had been thinking about specifically, only it was just as she was casting it that she kind of wondered if maybe stealth was the thing, you know? And if maybe she should pick a smaller creature, something that would be good at being sneaky, like a cat! Except what if they ate cats around here? She didn’t want to make presumptions or anything but it was called the city of beasts for a reason (probably because of the beasts, let’s be real) and she hasn’t seen any cats around the place except for Frumpkin and as lovely of a cat as he is, he doesn’t count. And so she had gotten stuck, you see, between being a big dog and being a stealthy cat, and when the spell had taken effect she ended up as...this.

She’s not entirely sure what it is. Kind of a dog, kind of a cat. Her fur is mostly a sandy grey, but if she crosses her eyes she can see her about is black (though these eyeballs don’t enjoy crossing as much as her usual eyes) and that her paws are black up to the knees. Of which is has four. That’s a good sign—she’s definitely a creature of some kind. Looking into the smoky, somewhat reflective surface of the brilliant obviously Kryn building she has hidden beside, Jester can see that her form is squat and strong, with the big shoulders of a dog and a narrow cat-like face. Her tail is long and fluffy but the rest of her fur is short and sleek, besides a few tufts on the elbows. Jester spins to gnaw at one of them that dares to tickle and as she does, she can see—not in the poor reflection of the building but with her own eyes—that her fur is spotted and slashed with dark markings, like the patterns on Frumpkin’s coat and she has to laugh, realising that somehow she—or the Traveller—had turned her into some mix of a dog and a cat. The laugh surprises her, the way it feels in a creatures body—in a dog she might have whined, a cat might’ve flicked their tail, but this creature laughs a snickering high pitched laugh that seems oddly familiar, but Jester can’t quite place it.

It seems smart enough of a creature, luckily, and Jester trots out from the alley to find her friends. It takes no small amount of time—not because she has lost them but because the world is extraordinary like this. It unfolds around her in a hundred new and novel and wonderful scents—ones she might ordinarily have dismissed as bad, like the almost rotting fish and the manure shovelled from the stalls with buzzing flies working around them, aren’t bad. They’re interesting, complicated, and Jester has to keep reminding herself that she’s looking for something.

Right! Her friends!

Had they wandered off? Or had she?

She lopes back to the same alley, sure now that she had disappeared out the opposite end she had entered, and revels in the power in this creature—the lean, stocky form hosts powerful muscles that bunch and push and quickly she has eaten up the distance back to the alley and dashed through it—right into the legs of a human, who smells of sweat and dried blood, old meat and leather, of dry bark and dust.

‘Whoa, holy shit! Oh fuck—it’s—Fjord, pull me away, oh fuck,’

‘It’s not attacking you, relax.’

The human—Beau, of course—is accompanied by Fjord. He smells—and Jester knows this because she goes up to him and sniffs, entranced by everything her nose is telling her—he smells of the sea, still, despite their not having been back for weeks. His scent is heavy with brine, washing away most of any other scent that might stick to him, and she finds herself growling, not out of anger but of frustration. She wants to know!

‘Whoa, okay, nice doggy,’ Fjord yelps.

‘Ha! She hates you, Fjord, suck it!’

‘Ha ha, yes, very funny—now help me.’

‘Okay, okay, yeesh.’ Something soft wafts down before Jester’s face, grey and floaty, and she snaps out at it with interest. Before she can snag it, it is pulled below her and wraps neatly around her collar before rushing closed. A leash, Jester thinks, and as this creature, she rolls over and starts trying to gnaw at the fabric. Beau stands above her, a look of clear amusement on her face. ‘Aw, look at you, you’re cute! Hardly vicious at all, are ya?’ She rubs at the creatures belly with a foot, pulls it back with a bark of a laugh when the creature bites playfully. ‘You must have an owner or something. We could look for them while we’re looking for Jes,’ she says to Fjord, who agrees. ‘Also, she’s not a dog. She’s a hyena.’

‘Huh?’

‘She’s a hyena. They’re cool. Kinda weird, but cool. Matriarchal societies. Super powerful olfactory systems. Strong bite. Probably one of the coolest creatures that exist.’

Jester scrambles to her feet. She can feel her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth, which has opened into a big grin—it must be scary, coming from a toothy beast like a hyena, but Beau doesn’t seem scared. Properly wary, for sure, but fascinated. Carefully, she reaches out a hand toward her and when Jester allows her to put a hand on her square, furred head, she hears a low,

‘Whoa. Very cool,’ from the other girl.

‘Looks like we won’t be looking for the owner, huh?’

‘I mean. It’d be super wrong. To steal someone’s hyena. When we’re trying to help out the place,’ Beau says, haltingly, clearly eager to take the creature and book it. ‘But if we just happen not to find the owner...’

‘Great. A dying weasel and a terrifying hyena. Perfect.’

//

Fjord and Beau make a great team. Jester already knew that, but to see them in action without having to take part is something special. Fjord butters up a few people. Threatens a few more with a surprisingly cold and terrifyingly genial demeanour.

Beau cracks her knuckles a few times, or backs him up in such a way that it’s like watching a good play, seeing them bounce increasingly horrifying threats between one another before lobbing one them at the person they’re interrogating.

Jester likes to think having a hyena sat at the humans feet helps too.

It’s getting near to the end of her hour, she’s pretty sure, when a fur-clad individual—half elven, maybe, with the wine dark skin of a dark elf—approaches with a toothy smile.

‘Ah,’ they sigh, ‘I see you found my majestic creature. How good of you to bring them back to me.’

The half-elf smells of dozens of creatures, and of some sharp chemical scent that makes Jester want to growl and back up, hackles raised.

‘Weird. Doesn’t look like she wants to go with you.’

‘It matters little if the creature wants to go with me,’ they say, in the way someone might speak to a child. If that person were, you know, a villain. ‘I bought them, they are mine.’

‘Got some papers to prove that?’ Fjord asks, accent a deeply fake drawl once more. ‘Friend,’ he tacks on, unfriendly like.

‘Papers, of course. I have them in my shop, around the corner. If you come with me, we can sort this out with no drama necessary.’

It’s obvious it’s rubbing Fjord the wrong way, and Beau has a hand buried into the scruff of the hyena’s neck possessively, suspicion and upset rolling off her scent in waves.

It could all be fixed, Jester knows, by transforming back into herself—but doing so even in a private area of the market would risk too many eyes on them, could be taken as a threat.

She growls, deep in her throat. Feels Beau scratch reassuringly at her beck, behind one of her ears. Jester flicks that ear and hunches down, starts to step slowly back toward an alley. Beau’s hand tightens and then loosens and when Jester pulls mightily away, she sees with some amazement and pride that Beau pretends rather remarkably to be a clown and an annoyance, pretending very well to fall when Jester runs, and then tripping the fur-coated poacher, as Jester guesses him to be.

The sounds of an argument rise up loud behind her as she sprints away, and the magic strips from her bit by bit until she is an ordinary tiefling once more. For an instant, the world seems a little dull—her hearing dulled, her sense of smell a fraction of what it had been—and then she sees the blue sky and, returning to the street, the blue of Beau’s coat, and the green and purple in Fjord’s clothes, and is happy to realise she can see colours again.

With the hyena missing and nowhere to be found, Jester and Fjord are able to diffuse the argument—though none of them like the way the poacher looks at Beau like they’d like to take her in the hyena’s place, a human rarity—and they hurry her back to the quarters awarded them by the lady of Asarius, meeting with their friends who had returned not but ten minutes earlier. Fjord tells them all about their largely unproductive afternoon, ending with a fight over the hyena—

‘It was Jester,’ Beau tells him.

‘What?’

‘The hyena. It was Jester, right?’ She crooks a grin over to her. ‘I mean, the hyena disappears and Jester finds us a hot second later? Too much of a coincidence.’

Under Fjord’s surprised attention, Jester plucks at her skirts and curtsies, fakes a blush. ‘Oh well, you’re welcome, yes, it was me,’

‘Holy shit!’

‘I know, right?’

‘Holy cow!’

‘Yah. Yeah. My thoughts exactly,’ Beau and Fjord say to one another, and Jester can’t help but grin under the attention. If she notices—and she does—that Beau’s eyes remain focused on her for long after Fjord’s attention is recalled, she doesn’t make a comment on it just yet.

‘You did great today,’ Beau tells her later, as they climb the stairs to their room.

‘I mean,’ Jester laughs. ‘I got lost at first.’

‘Yeah but it all worked out so... you did great.’

‘I guess so! Sucks we couldn’t find out who is doing that plot thing the author totally is interested in.’

‘Yeah, we’ll definitely pick that up tomorrow so it’ll be fine, though.’

‘Right.’ Jester nods. ‘They can smell super good,’ she tells Beau. ‘Hyenas. I could smell, like, everything, it was pre-tty wild.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Mhm.’

‘That’s fuckin’ dope.’

‘I can turn you into one, if you want. I have one left.’

Beau’s eyes light up, but she shakes her head. ‘Another time. Maybe tomorrow, if we’re still hanging around the city. That’d be cool. Quick question, hopefully not weird—more of a comment than a question I guess but it wasn’t, like, weird that I was patting you, was it? Because I don’t want. To be weird.’

‘I mean, you’re being pretty weird now,’ Jester points out, because Beau isn’t quite stuttering but it sounds like she’s punching out the words through sheer force of will.

‘Okay, okay, fair,’

‘But I don’t mind. And didn’t mind.’

‘Okay.’

‘You’re still being weird, Beau,’

‘Yeah, it’s just because you’re like, super powerful and cool and brilliant and hyena’s are one of my favourite animals. Not that you knew that. It was like, one of those things where we had to research for hours in the archives when I was first starting out and I hated it but I read a whole compendium of animals from start to finish and now I’m rambling and,’

‘Is it because you’re covering for the fact that you called me cool and brilliant?’ Jester teases, and she isn’t sure what to do with herself when Beau grimaces and her cheeks burn with sudden colour. She doesn’t lie, or deny it. Which is. So so weird. And cool. And great, maybe. ‘I think you’re super powerful too,’ she blurts out, because she’s supposed to say something, and when Beau waves that away Jester frowns. ‘Really! And cool and so smart and you have beautiful hair and, and—‘

Oh Traveller, she remembers saying those words before, and the fluttering in her belly isn’t new but it is a lot more noticeable now. Beau laughs, smiles. Winks. Blows her a kiss, like she had that last time, obviously remembering the same moment. Jester flushes. Stammers for a second before pulling the door to their room open—stopping. Pushing the door to their room open.

[mrslittletall]

Title: The Crazy Cat Vicar (Chapter 9) Fandom: Bloodborne Characters: Laurence the first Vicar, Laurence' secretary Florence (OC), Gehrman the first Hunter, Lady Maria of the Astral Clocktower Word Count: 1.928 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20989841/chapters/59851126 Previous chapter: https://mrslittletall.tumblr.com/post/619196140363071488/title-the-crazy-cat-vicar-chapter-8

Summary: It's the countdown. The ten seconds you have to save your carpet. Or your couch. Whatever. The important thing is, that cat has to get somewhere else!

(Author's note: My apologies, but this chapter is a bit gross because it focuses on the habit of cats to puke out things, mostly hairballs. I swear, every cat owner will know the struggles in this chapter. I very much give an emetophobia warning, because there is some teasing vomit talk, but there is nothing too graphic.  

Also, the only reason I pumped this out already was that I received some fanart made by @onlytheembersremain for the last chapter!)

“So, we expect your presence around-”, the church minister said, but Laurence interrupted him.

“Hold that thought, I will be back in a few minutes.”, he rattled down and then was off, leaving a very confused church minister behind.

The problem was, while the church minister had talked with him, Laurence had started to hear what he referred to as the “countdown”. It was a gurgling kind of sound and he swore, from the first time it was heard, he could count down from ten and when he was at zero it would be too late. Laurence considered himself lucky that he had heard it this time, because often enough he wasn't present when the countdown happened and was met with a wet and gross surprise.

“I got yoooouuuu!”, Laurence shouted as he rounded the corner where Mary was about to finish the countdown and hurled the cat from the carpet, only for Mary to stop retching for a second, turning around and then finishing the countdown right on the carpet.

“Oh, Mary, COME ON!”, Laurence yelled, barely believing that he had made it in time only for the wet and gross hair ball to land on the carpet anyway. Mary just looked at him as she licked her snout and gave him a mew.

“Don't fucking mew me, Lady, you are in trouble.”, Laurence said, pointing down on her, narrowing his eyes. “But first... I have to clean up.”

Grumbling, Laurence went down the corridor and mumbled to himself: “That church minister probably thought I had to run to the bathroom or something... I swear, they better not have any rumours about me having the runs or something similar...”

Laurence stopped in front of a closet and got a bucket and a cleaning cloth out, stopped at the nearest bathroom to fill it with water and fetch a towel and then went back to where Mary had puked out her hairball, of course the cat wasn't present anymore, running away from her punishment. He kneeled down and wrapped the hairball into the towel. “Disgusting.”, he said as he felt the gross and warm thing. Hair balls didn't sound so bad on paper, but the fact that they were coated in hot stomach acid made them so much worse. Once the hairball was safely secured and on the side, he moistened the cleaning cloth and was just about to start scrubbing the carpet, when Florence' voice sounded.

“Oh, Vicar, I heard that you got sick, but I had no idea that you didn't made it. Shouldn't you go lay down and take some blood and let me clean this up?”, she said.

“Already?! Shit, Florence, I am not sick, it was Mary!”, Laurence yelled as he shot up, pointing at the towel, upset that the church minister already had interpreted him running away in the worst way possible. Had he given the expression that he needed to puke? He might have looked pretty shocked once he had heard the countdown and maybe had sweat a bit and maybe had been pale and... he pretty much had given the impression as if he had needed to puke.

Laurence sighed and kneeled down again when Florence said: “The countdown?”

“The countdown.”, Laurence confirmed and started to scrub the carpet, unsure if he would ever get the stain out of it.

“But Vicar, you don't have to clean it up yourself, let me handle this.”, Florence said, already on her knees.

“Didn't you had trouble with your back this month?”, Laurence asked, fully aware that his secretary wasn't the youngest anymore.

“Oh, nothing what the healing blood can't fix.”, Florence waved aside with a smile.

“Still, I know that you don't like to be overabundant on the blood.”, Laurence said. He personally couldn't get enough of the stuff, it may have turned into a slight problem, but he could stop anytime, he just didn't had a reason to. Florence on the other hand, was seeing the blood more as a medicine that should be used for emergencies as well as sicknesses and injuries that would had trouble healing on their own. Her bad back normally wouldn't be a reason for her to take the blood.

“While this is true, what shall the church servants think when they see their Vicar sitting down scrubbing the carpet? That action is below your dignity, your grace.”, Florence said.

“These are still my cats and I am responsible for them.”, Laurence said. “If anyone sees me like this, so shall it be. I am just taking responsibility for the mess they are making. I mean, it could be worse. At least it was only the carpet.”

“Yes, I remember when Mary vomited all over the library books once.”, Florence said and Laurence groaned at the memory: “Don't even remind me of that. I spend fucking two hours apologizing to the librarian in charge while having to find puke anywhere and everywhere, in cracks and chinks where puke never should have travelled!”

“I wonder why Mary is so susceptible to the countdown?”, Florence asked as Laurence squeezed out the cloth and made it wet anew.

“It's her fur, I think.”, he said. “She cleans herself and swallows a lot of fur and that has to come out again. Granted, the other cats sometimes do the countdown too, but it is Mary in 90 % of the cases. At least with her I can be sure it is a hairball, Mick once found it funny to puke out a whole bowl of food because he had eaten too fast and Gary was puking out parts of a mouse he must have hunted. That was some fucking horror show to clean up...” Laurence wrinkled his nose at the memory. “When I took in cats, nobody warned me about the countdown.”

“I heard it is different from cat to cat.”, Florence said. “I also heard that cat owners get used to it.”

“I certainly got used to it by now.”, Laurence sighed, scrubbing on the stain., “But I still try to prevent the countdown from landing on my carpet whenever I hear it. Ugh, that feels like it already burned itself into the carpet. I wonder if this is how Gehrman felt whenever he had to clean up my vomit.”

“That felt definitely worse.”, Gehrman said, making Laurence shot around, hissing: “What are you doing here?!”

“Watching you being on vomit cleaning for once, quite entertaining.”, Gehrman grinned and then greeted Florence.

“If you are already here, can you at least help me?”, Laurence complained, but Gehrman shook his head. Florence raised her brows because Laurence had declined her helping just five minutes earlier.

“I think I had my fare share of helping you clean up vomit already during your regular stomach flus back in the school.”, Gehrman said.

“He got sick easily, huh?”, Florence asked, eyes focused on Gehrman, clearly interested in what Laurence' old friend had to say.

“That is an understatement.”, Gehrman grinned. “He would get a cold with a high fever every winter, we could bet on when it would happen. And sometimes he even got the cold outside of winter. And, like I said, often enough he got himself a stomach flu and had to spend the next few hours either hunched over the toilet or with a bucket. I got really good at reading the signs for when Laurence had to puke, but sometimes I came too late and then it meant cleaning time.”

“So you had kind of a countdown of your own.”, Florence said.

“Countdown?”, Gehrman asked.

“That's what we call it when the cats are about to puke.”, Laurence said, an eye twitching in anger, “And I would cherish if you wouldn't go around and tell everyone about when and where I had to puke.”

“First, I have only told Florence and second, I haven't even told her specifics. But I can, if you wish to hear, Florence.”, Gehrman had a glint in his eyes and Laurence shot up, almost shoving the dirty cleaning cloth in Gehrman's face, or more his chest, Laurence just was too small to reach Gehrman's face properly.

“Don't you dare.”, he grumbled.

“It looks like Laurence doesn't want us to have fun.”, Gehrman said, shrugging. “I am sorry, Florence, but at least I can answer your question. Yes, I indeed had a countdown when I realized that Laurence needed to hurl. It were usually five seconds and I swear I could never move faster than when it started.”

“For the cats we have about ten seconds.”, Florence replied. “For some reason, they like to take their time with the countdown.”

“And I still was too late.”, Laurence sighed and put the finish touch on his scrubbing. He had the feeling the carpet would be stained forever, but at least it wasn't obvious anymore. “There, that should do it. And don't try and clean it too, Florence.”

“I haven't done anything.”, Florence said.

“I can see that itch in your eyes.”, Laurence said, knowing what a clean freak his secretary could be.

“I don't see what the problem of her cleaning it again is.”, Gehrman said. “Why were you even cleaning it up in the first place?”

“Because the Vicar sees it as his responsibility.”, Florence replied. “Even though he asked you to help earlier and you declined.”

“Well, yeah, because I used to clean and am pretty good at it, it was just too amusing to see Laurence clean up for once.” Gehrman grinned.

“Shut up, Gehrman. Why are you even here alone? Where is Maria?”, Laurence asked.

“Oh, she is...”, Gehrman said when Maria came around the corner, carrying a cup with a steaming hot liquid and said: “Hey, Laurence, I brought you some chamomile tea for your upset stomach.”

Laurence just stood there and tapped his food: “Florence, would you please go around and tell everyone in the church that I don't suffer from food poisoning?”

“Understood.”, Florence said and gave Laurence a bow before she hurried down the hallway.

“Oh, so you are fine? I heard that you hurried away in the middle of a conversation, so I thought that you got sick.”, Maria said. “Do you still want the tea?”

“Yes, I would like the tea.”, Laurence said and took the cup from Maria, taking a sip. “It wasn't me who got sick, it was Mary. Hairball, you know.”

“Ah yes, I have stepped in one of them once.”, Maria nodded. “Disgusting little things. Hard to think that it could come out of something as cute as a cat.”

“The same could be said about Laurence' puke.”, Gehrman grinned which prompted Laurence to deliberately step on his foot, the one that was still there.

“I think I am overstepping my boundaries.”, Gehrman grinned and backed away.

“One more dumb saying and I am stepping on something else.”, Laurence warned and then his head jerked around as he heard it again. The countdown.

“Fuck!”, he yelled and was off. Gehrman and Maria just glanced at each other.

“Should we follow him?”, Maria asked.

“Yes, I think we should.”, Gehrman said and soon the duo were on their friend's tail, ready to help him clean up whatever cat would finish the countdown yet. (Author's note: One time Clara projectile vomited all over the keyboard of my husband. There wasn't even a countdown, it just happened. Clara managed to puke in so many hard to clean places, she surely is a pukey cat. She mostly pukes out whatever she ate and this cat is ALWAYS hungry, I don't get it. Geraldina is the classical hair ball puker, when she pukes you can be sure that it will be a hairbal 99 % of the time. Lately she likes to sit behind me on the couch, she is also sitting there right this moment. Write me stories about your cats in the comments, maybe I take some inspiration for future chapters.) Chapter 10

[whattimeisitintokyo]

Somos Famila Ch 37: The Prodigal Son (Part 2)

The Prodigal Son (Part 2)

“Mrrmmf!”

Héctor woke up from a sound sleep when something heavy and fuzzy plopped down hard on his chest and then spread out over his face. When sharp claws began to knead into his neck he flung it off him with a grunt, a small mewl of protest carrying over to the other side of the room. Sitting up in the bed and rubbing his stinging neck he looked out into the darkness to see two glowing eyes staring at him, a low disgruntled growl breaking the silence.

“Damn it Pepita.” Héctor whispered, trying not to wake Imelda sleeping next to him. “Why do you always want to sleep on me? Sleep on Imelda, she likes you!” 

The gray tabby cat simply looked at Héctor for a moment before turning towards the door and rubbing up against it. Ah, she wanted out. She had been in the bedroom probably all day. Rosita had told them earlier that she would take the cat home with her for the entirety of Matty’s stay, so as not to upset his allergies, but apparently that didn’t end up happening. She seemed a little… distracted by Martín’s surprise visit. Understandable. He had never seen the girl so enraptured and giddy before.

With a sigh Héctor opened the door and let the cat slink off into the night, stepping out himself and breathing in the warm mid-May air. He didn’t know what time it was, but it probably wasn’t that long after everyone had turned in for bed. He found himself walking towards Matty’s bedroom with a smile. Now that his boy was finally home, safe and sound, he wanted to see him sleeping in his own bed. Just to be sure.

Peering into the window his smile faded when he saw Matty’s blankets rumpled and turned out, but the bed empty. Glancing about the rest of the room he saw no sigh of his son. Héctor stepped back and looked around the courtyard. Where was he? At this time of night? The bathroom? That seemed the most plausible. He couldn’t think of any place else-

“YIP!”

“Gyah!”

Jumping nearly out of his skin, Héctor looked down to see Dante standing next to him. The dog grinned and panted happily up at him, his crooked tail wagging hard. As his heartrate came back down to normal rhythm his eyes narrowed as he looked at the dog critically.

“You’re not really the same dog, are you?”

Dante didn’t answer, not that Héctor was expecting an answer, but instead trotted over to the exit of the courtyard. It was then Héctor noticed that the green doors were slightly ajar. Dante looked back at Héctor, spun in a circle, and jumped a little with that same goofy smile.

Follow me.

Héctor sighed wearily but went after the dog as he made his way down the deserted streets of Santa Cecilia. He was wide awake now so sleep wouldn’t come back to him easily, and at the very least he could make sure Dante didn’t disappear again for another two years. But instead of wandering about aimlessly looking for a place to leave his mark, Dante looked like he was headed to a very specific place. And soon that place revealed itself to Héctor.

Panteon de Santa Cecilia.

He balked at entering the cemetery, never having been keen on visiting the site that held the remains of his baby girl, and even more so now. With Ernesto’s giant mausoleum taking up so much space, sticking out in its size and grandeur and making sure it was the first thing that caught your attention, Héctor’s stomach curled in sourness as he gazed at it. This used to be their playground, he and Ernesto, when they were little kids. Despite the morbid atmosphere they had some good times. Now his dead body, and his daughter’s, had tainted it forever.

But the gate to the cemetery was also open, and Dante made his way in and towards Ernesto’s gravesite without hesitation. As he watched the dog weave around the various crypts and gravestones, Héctor could see that Dante was not the only occupant there this late at night.

There, sitting on one of the gravestones directly in front of the mausoleum, was Matty. The sight of his son made Héctor relax a little and with a little shake to prepare himself he made his way in. Moving closer to him Héctor could see that Matty was staring up at the lifelike stone bust of Ernesto perched above the entryway, absently patting Dante’s head once he had reached him and put his snout on his lap. He was leaning, nearly fully sitting, on one of the tombstones situated at the front with his crutches laying on the ground, with only the tiny embers of his cigarette giving off a faint glow in the night as he sucked down a puff-

CIGARETTE?!  

“AHA!”

Matty whipped around to see his father staring at him and erupted into frantic, hacking coughs as he hastily flung the cigarette to the ground and stomped it out. “Mierda!”

Héctor crossed his arms and laughed. “I knew you smelled funny as soon as you got off the train! And here I was thinking someone else had smoked and gotten the stench on you. Tsk tsk tsk…”

“It’s nothing!’ Matty insisted as he caught his breath and wiped the tears from his eyes “Just a simple luxury when I had nothing else! I’ll stop as soon as I can, I promise.”

“Mmm hmm, sure.” Héctor chortled and waved the lingering smoke out of the air. “I’ll just keep a wide berth until then, eh? Couple of arm’s length so I don’t choke around you?”

“… Don’t tell Mamá, si?”

“Oh, I won’t have to. If the crushing guilt doesn’t compel you to tell the truth, your ashy fingers, smell and charred vocal cords will give you away in the end.”

Matty growled and shook his head. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“I should ask you the same thing.”

In an instant Matty’s face softened and he looked back up to the bust of his godfather. A fleeting expression of grief changed into a sad, wane smile. “I came to thank Tio Nesto.”

Héctor blinked. “For what?”

“For a few things.” Matty scooted along the gravestone and gestured to the empty spot. “Sit. I already apologized to this chica uhh… Nieve, so I don’t think she’ll mind you sitting down too. Plus she’s been dead for over forty years, so…”

With a chuckle Héctor took the offered seat next to his son, tapering off as he too looked at the bust of Ernesto. That charming smile and faraway, confident look that charmed the world over. Charmed him as well. Fooled him, for so many years. “So, what do you have thank… him for?”

Save for a brief look from his son, Matty didn’t address nor question the slight bitterness to his voice. He simply started his story.

“When I first heard that Tio Nesto died about two months had passed since then. Word travels slow in the trenches that doesn’t include wartime activities. Especially frivolous topics like the deaths of famous people, and extra especially those who are not from Hollywood, like native Mexicans. So, when I finally heard about it, I… did not take it well.”

‘Probably better than I did,’ Héctor thought, but he kept listening.

“I lashed out at everyone, intentionally got into fights. Martín tried to stop me, but I was just so angry I ended up fighting him as well. It got us both sent to the infirmary, where of course Wanda was there to tell me off for how foolish I was being… I said some things, called her names I’m not proud of… and she just lit into me.”

“Now keep in mind up until this point I respected her as a nurse, but thought she was just a sheltered privileged white woman from America who came running to me because I spoke ‘Mexican’. But she was quick to point out I was the sheltered privileged one… And I must admit she was right. Then in the span of about thirty seconds she told me an abridged version of her life, which I won’t repeat out of respect, but… It was rough. It was bad Papá, something I wouldn’t wish on anyone, especially a little girl!”

Suddenly Matty lurched forward and began to breathe hard, his hands clenching into fists on his knees and shaking. Héctor rubbed a hand on his back, whispering soothingly, “It’s okay… I understand, it’s okay.”

Mumbling a terse apology, Matty reached a shaking hand into his jacket pocket and pulled another cigarette. Héctor chose not to say anything as Matty lit it, especially since he was able to relax once he had sighed out another cloud of smoke. He’d let him be this once.

After a few seconds pause Matty then smirked a little. “After all of that she said I was a spoiled little rich boy whose father was King of the Mexicans- something I’ll start calling you now, by the way.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“And then she screamed at me, ‘You are the sorriest son of a bitch on both sides of the Earth, and I pity the lowly cow who will be unfortunate to be your wife!’ And then she… uh…” With a cringe and nervous laugh, he smoked another drag. “She threw a bedpan at me.”

Héctor’s eyes bugged out and he cringed too with sympathy. “Ah… A, um… a clean one I’m hoping?”

“Nope.”

“Uy…”

Matty hummed a chuckled and flicked away some ash, his smile growing warmer. “Anyway… After ignoring her for a few days I finally came around to apologizing to her properly. We talked more about her life and about mine. When she learned about Leti and Tio Nesto she apologized as well, and ever since then… we clicked. I started thinking about her more and more, and she said the same about me. I even learned-”

Matty stopped short with sigh and shook his head. He didn’t think Héctor wanted to know that he had learned to play all of Cole Porter’s songs on the trumpet for Wanda. Even if one occasion had him blasting out ‘I Get a Kick Out of You’ while doing a lazy soft-shoe dance that had her in hysterics. He couldn’t, not after what Mamá had told him.

“-Well we learned a lot about each other and from each other… And when I was hurt and dreaming, I felt a kiss on my forehead and such soft words that made me feel better… ‘You feel better’… and for the first time in my life I didn’t immediately think of my sister and feel better. I thought of Wanda. And when I woke up… she was there. She came to me, in my dreams and in real life, and I…- I love her Papá. I never thought I would ever love someone as much as I do her.”

Héctor wrapped an arm around his son. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Me too. For the longest time I thought I would never feel anything for anyone. I thought there was something wrong with me.”

“Oye.” Héctor said sternly. “There is nothing wrong with you. You just… had to go to the other side of the world to find the one for you. And even if you never did find someone there’d still be nothing wrong with you. Claro?”

Matty nodded with a smile, leaning into his father’s hug, and looked up again at Ernesto’s bust. “So that’s one reason why I have to thank Tio Nesto. He was sort of the catalyst for me to get to Wanda.” With a hard swallow he reached into his pants pocket with a nervous fumble. “The other reason was… I had to thank him for uh… saving my life.”

“Saving your life? What are you-” Héctor asked, but his words trailed off as Matty dangled something in front of his face, and confusion turned into silent horror. It was his pocket watch: the same one Ernesto had given to him when he was seven years old to celebrate the premier of their first movie. Shiny, golden and encrusted with diamonds with the words ‘Seize your Moment’ engraved into it.

Except now it was bent and warped into a misshapen, puckered mess. The diamonds had broken off and the gaps filled in with caked dirt, the glossy sheen scratched to oblivion. And in the center of the broken timepiece was a mutilated silver bullet slug, permanently jammed into the mess of metal. The words were lost forever.

Héctor numbly took the chain from Matty and placed the watch into his hand, and a slight tremble of fear of what could have been made him gasp. “Mateo…”

Matty stared down at the watch blankly, one hand coming up to rub his right pectoral, and continued.

“We were ambushed at Anzio, after weeks of no activity. Martín, several other soldiers and myself were held up in an abandoned town street behind a barrier when suddenly a grenade landed on our side. We were able to scramble away in time except for Martín. He was blasted into a wall, caved into a house. I could hear him screaming. He was alive, I had to get him. The others told me to retreat, but I couldn’t. I promised him I would bring him to Santa Cecilia.”

“I managed to snag a morphine syrette from a medic and made my way back to him. I was able to calm him down with a shot, but while I was digging him out I didn’t notice a Gerry coming in behind me. He shot me in the leg, I turned around to shoot, but then he popped me in the chest.”

“It was a cheap pistol but it did the trick just fine. I fell back. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t react when he stood over me and aimed at my head… That’s when Martín managed to recover enough to gun him down… So, like I said earlier he saved my life too. The last thing I remember I was being carried away. I woke up on the deck of a ship sailing away from Italy, with Martín lying next to me and Wanda by my side. Out of commission for good.”

“If it had been a more powerful gun then this watch wouldn’t had made any difference. But because it was, and because I had it in my breast pocket that morning, I survived… With half my ribs broken and a badly bruised lung, but I survived… So, in a way, Tio Nesto saved me. He let me keep my promise to you. I came home.”

Héctor stared at the watch as he took in Matty’s story, his fingers closing around the twisted metal. His one true fear ever since the day Matty had left nearly came true. Someone shot his son. Aimed a gun to his head. He would have to thank Martín profusely when he woke up in the morning. Staring up at the bust himself, Héctor took in Ernesto’s smile and kind eyes… and felt nothing. Martín saved him, not Ernesto. No matter what Matty thought, a well-placed watch did not give him the honor of being his son’s savior. This changes nothing, Ernesto. I can’t forgive you.

“I know you think I went off to fight in the hopes I would end up dying. Right?”

Looking back at Matty he handed the watch back to him. He didn’t feel like holding it anymore. “No… Well, I-…”

Pocketing the watch, Matty shook his head. “No, I don’t want to die. Even when Leti did and I felt like I deserved to die instead, I didn’t really want to. I guess I went off because I wanted to save people. I thought if I could save one person, that I could prevent their death, then I could feel better about my own loss. And I did save people. I saved a lot of people.”

“And how do you feel now?”

The cigarette was now down the butt, and Matty stared at the dying embers with a shrug. “Leti’s still dead. Barto’s still dead. Now Tio Nesto is dead. And while I helped a lot of people, I also killed a lot of people. They were the enemy sure, but I wonder if some of them were not the fanatics the news reels made them out to be. Maybe they were just boys who were forced to serve their country, with family hoping they would return home too… Ay, you were right. Many people were forced into this war, but I wasn’t. I was being stupid.”

“You get it from me.”

This caused Matty to laugh softly, with Héctor joining him, as he stubbed out the cigarette at last. “Si.”

“And it turned out fine in the end!” Héctor said. “Just think: You and Wanda will one day get married and we can be the family she never had!”

Matty’s smile turned forced and he chuckled nervously, gripping his wrist. “Ah, yeah… About that…”

“What.”

“Wanda and I… are kind of… already married?”

“… What?”

“W-well, you see!” Matty stuttered while still maintaining a too-wide grin. “I was hurt, si? Emotions were running high; it was spur of the moment. A priest was there-Oh! She’s Catholic, you’ll be happy to know! Anyway, a priest was there giving last rites to soldiers, so he was more than grateful to perform a small wedding ceremony. Martín was my best man, even though he was laying out on a cot and delirious the whole time, but he was still a witness! Anyway, we don’t have a certificate yet but a los ojos de Dios… She’s a Rivera!”

As his boy rambled on, Héctor was pleased to see more of his own mannerisms being shown on full display in Matty. Both so different from each other except when it came to love: It made them both idiots.

“I see… Doesn’t count.”

Matty blinked stupidly. “Que?”

“It doesn’t count.” Héctor said, crossing his arms. “You are not truly married until you tell your Mamá, who in turn is going to want to give you a big fancy wedding and invite everyone in town. Ceci will make Wanda’s dress, we’ll have a grand feast with lots of presents and your Mamá will wail and grieve over the loss of her son while clutching Miguel close to her vowing to never let him go. It will be beautiful.”

Matty laughed and nodded in agreement. “Si. It would be nice to have a real wedding… But there’s also one other reason why it doesn’t count.”

“And what’s that?”

“I need to make Wanda some shoes.”

That was exactly what Héctor wanted to hear. Héctor’s heart melted and he smiled warmly at Matty, pulling him into the biggest hug he could give him. They sat there for a moment, holding each other, when Héctor noticed three other cigarette butts among the other two. “How long have you been here?”

“…About two hours. And it took half an hour to get here. It was a mistake to come here alone, I lost my wind and have been stuck here ever since.”

“You stubborn little- All right, wrap your arm around me and lean in. Papi will take you home, cielito.”

“Callate.”

With one arm around his son’s waist and the two of them each holding onto a crutch, they slowly started to make their way back to the house. “And it’s not just you and Wanda. Martín is quite taken with our dear Rosita, and I think the feeling is mutual. Two new romances in one day! It’s very exciting, no?”

“No.” Matty said with a huff, panting a little in exertion as they walked. “It was maddeningly irritating. Every day it was something else with him: ‘What’s her favorite color? What does she like to do? How tall is she? Is her voice low and sultry like a vixen or sweet and clear like a faerie?’ It’s kind of high and squeaky. ‘Ay! Like a faerie then!’ He drove me crazy Papá!”

“It couldn’t have been that bad.”

“Sorry, but I don’t want to tell him what her favorite food is while we’re under heavy fire.”

“…Okay that’s bad.”

As the two laughed down the street Dante followed close behind them, sniffing the air as they walked past and whining a little at what he smelled. His boy was older now and hurt. When he had disappeared so long ago, to place where Dante could not follow him, the old dog’s heart ached for him. But whether he would come back to their small town or to the Land of the Dead, Dante would be sure to greet his owner with much gusto as well as many happy licks. He was a good boy, after all, and that’s what good boys did.

But he was tired, his sight was failing, and his bones had ached something fierce. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could exist amongst the living, so the choice to go to the Land of the Dead had been an easy one. As his body regained it’s strength and his eyes became as sharp as they were in his puppy days, Dante was content to wait for either outcome of his master’s fate in the company of skeletons and fantastic creatures.

But then earlier today he had felt it. The boy was back home where he belonged, and Dante wasted no time in tearing across the marigold bridge to get back to him. And he did greet him with plenty of slobbery kisses and received many hearty pats and rubs. It felt so good to see him again.

But his boy was different now.  

Ever since he had known him the boy had a storm brewing inside of him, so dark and heavy that sometimes not even the best licks on the face or the funniest tricks could get him to smile. He was a good owner, yes, but he was so sad at the same time. So broken. Dante didn’t know what he could do for his boy and it broke his heart.

But now… aah, that was a little better. The storm was not completely gone, but now it was more like a cloudy day with a few drizzles. And streams of sunshine were now breaking through the clouds. Dante guessed that had to do with his boy’s new mate. She smelled nice and her voice was pleasant to hear. Had to work on her petting though. Very amateur, but she showed some promise. But the way he looked at her made the sun inside of him shine brighter, so she was a keeper in Dante’s mind.

His boy was going to be okay now. He didn’t have to worry about him anymore

The old man on the other hand?

Woof…

As Dante watched Héctor walk his son down the road, he was startled when something snaked against his side with a soft purr. Looking down he saw gatita arching her back up his flank and rubbing her whiskered cheek against him. With a smile he gave her a sloppy lick on the forehead in return. With a growl she glared at him then sat down to get to work on cleaning off the slobber. As the two animals watched the men walk off into the night, Pepita turned towards Dante.

‘So what are you thinking?’

‘I think… that I have a new boy to look after!’

‘… A rather old boy.’

‘A boy is a boy! Even girls are boys! It’s a fact.’

‘Hmm. Well, it’s going to be difficult to guide him. I’ve been with him for over a year now. Not only is he hurting, but he’s stubborn.’

‘It’s okay. I’m a good boy who always helps his master. No matter what.’

And with that the two animals followed the two men on their way home, both of them unaware that they were being scrutinized by beings more powerful than they could possibly comprehend.

------------------

“What is this?”

“Um… a ball?”

“Good. And what color is it?”

“Red.”

Victoria turned toward Miguel and gave him an affirmative nod, who eagerly scratched out a big checkmark onto the piece of paper in front of him. Wanda was sitting across from them both at the kitchen table, with Héctor next to her reading a newspaper. Every so often however he would lower the paper to watch his granddaughter rummage through her small pile of trinkets and treasures laid out in from of her, chuckling with mirth. As Miguel finished making the mark on the page, he looked at his pencil and gasped.

“Ooh! Victoria! Ask her about this!” he said, holding up his pencil.

“Okay.” Victoria nodded, and again spoke to Wanda in her limited, but very articulate English. “What is that?”

“A pencil.”

“And what color is it?”

“Yellow.”

“Oye oye…” Matty hobbled into the kitchen on his crutches, freshly shaved and cleaned for dinner with Facundo, Julio and Coco trailing behind him. Looking at all the random junk scattered on the table he turned his attention to the two children, frowning. ���What are you two doing?”

“A scientific experiment, mijo.” Héctor said as he folded the newspaper up.

Matty blinked. “Scienti- what?”

Pointing the pencil directly at Wanda, Miguel said, “She has blue eyes!”

Matty glanced over at Wanda, who as if on cue blinked her large blue eyes curiously at him with a slight flutter of her eyelashes. With a slight sag Matty momentarily grinned and chuckled dumbly at her, then with a hard shake and throat clearing he glared down at his brother. ”Si, she has blue eyes. Your point?”

“We were wondering, since her eyes are blue, if she saw things differently than us.” Victoria spoke up, smiling proudly. “So we’re showing her things to see if she can tell us what she sees. If she gets it right she gets a check mark.”

Matty spluttered. “What the-? Why in the world-? How long have you been doing this?” Glancing down at the paper in front of Miguel, he gaped at the page filled with over fifty tally marks on it. “Ay Dios mio! Yes, her eyes work just the same! Experiment over, now stop pestering her and clear off this mess. Ahora, chapparitos!”

As the two children scooped the items into their arms amidst their giggling, Matty made his way over to Wanda to finally explain what they were doing to her in English. She tipped her head back in laughter as Matty shook his wearily and rolled his eyes, apologizing for his brother and niece. Wanda grabbed his chin to look into his eyes.

“It’s cute.” Wanda insisted.

“It’s annoying, is what it is.”

“Speaking of annoying,” Wanda suddenly whispered, drawing him away from Héctor slightly. “Have you talked to your father about this whole ‘no music’ thing?”

“…No.”

“Why not? Matthew it’s been over a week.”

With a sigh Matty shook his head. When Mamá had told him how Ernesto’s death had hurt Papá so much that he had grown to despise music, he was determined to help him in any way he could. Possibly even get him to change his mind about it. He had the perfect moment at the cemetery to ask his father if he had anything else to tell him. A way of getting him to talk about his problems with music.  

But when Héctor had looked up at Ernesto’s bust in the mausoleum, Matty didn’t just see grief. He also saw anger, bitterness and even a little wild fear. Papá wasn’t just heartbroken over Tio Nesto’s death. He was traumatized. Something Matty all too well understood, and he knew at that moment he couldn’t just force him to confront the past.  

Not yet anyway.

“You can’t push these things, sweetheart.” Matty whispered. “I will one day, but not now. You understand, right?”

Wanda raised an eyebrow at that, but with a hum she smiled. “Claro.”

As the two of them kissed sweetly Imelda came in at that moment carrying two plates full of food. Seeing her son with that woman made her poor heart ache and she let out a long-suffering sigh, causing Matty to pull back from his girl with an annoyed sigh of his own. Setting the plates down she reached over and grabbed Miguel’s face, smooshing his cheeks together and making him look her in the eye. “Miguel, you are never going to get married. Understand?”

Miguel nodded with puckered lips. “Shi, Mba-mbá.”

“Mamá, where’s Rosita?” Coco asked as Miguel rubbed his cheeks back into place. “I thought she said she would help you with dinner?”

“Ay, who knows. That girl’s head has been in the clouds all week.”

Julio shook his head. “No, she’s probably just taking a nap. I’ll go get her.”

Julio walked off towards Rosita’s bedroom while the rest of the family settled down to dinner. Helping himself to a large portion of chicken Facundo leaned over to Matty. “Alright, so you don’t want a parade in your honor. That’s fine, actually humble of you. Then how about a ceremony at the plaza where I personally give you the key to the city and unveil plans to erect a statue in you likeness. It can go next to Ernesto’s! In fact, I have a plan to erect statues of all of the people that have made Santa Cecilia the fastest growing town in Oaxaca!... Which is basically all of the Riveras.”

“Si si, that’s great Facundo, but let’s talk business!” Oscar said, both he and Felipe huddled close together with glee. “Matty, Felipe and I thought up another brilliant idea this afternoon and we need your opinion!”  

Ignoring the groans from everyone else, Felipe held up several different colors of leather swatches. “What do kids like to collect these days? Marbles, baseball cards, stamps, et cetera. Well, in order to capitalize on that, we present to you the latest upcoming trend… Rivera Collectible Shoe Tongues!”

“…Ay…”

Before anyone could wrap their heads around how ridiculous that concept was, there a loud commotion coming from down the hall. First that was the hoarse shout of a man, then another, a giant thud that rattled the walls, and finally the high-pitched screaming of a woman. As the screaming continued a bolt of terror raced through everyone and caused them to leap from their seats and race down the hallway.

It was coming from Rosita’s bedroom.

Héctor was the fastest, reaching the door before anyone else, and ran into the bedroom. “Rosita, mija, are you all- AAAH NOOO!”

He immediately covered his eyes and tried to burn away the image from his brain, but the damage was done. Rosita was in bed, in perfect health, pulling the blanket high enough to cover herself but leaving her bare shoulders exposed. Julio was splayed across the floor, staring up at the ceiling and looking dazed. And on top of him was Martín, naked as the day he was born except for the wrapping around his amputated leg, both hands covering his privates in a futile attempt to keep his modesty. And all of them were screaming hysterically.

Imelda was the next to come charging in, pushing past her gagging husband. In one millisecond she was able to take in and process the scene in front of her, spin around, catch Miguel as he tried to come in, and fling him back out into the hallway. Matty came in next and also covered his eyes in disgust.

“Ay, cochino!” Matty cried out. “Guácala! Amigo are you serious?! In my house?!”

“I am so so sorry!”  Martín cried out, trying to keep himself covered with one hand while gesturing wildly with the other. “We were sleeping, and Julio came in and shouted and I panicked! My first instinct was to tackle him! I didn’t know it was him at first! I am so sorry!”

Matty’s brows raised. “You tackled him with one leg? That’s actually impressive.”

Beneath him, Julio wheezed, “Get… off… of… me!”

Martín rolled off Julio and huddled into a curled position on the floor, his one knee drawn up against his chest. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

By now the rest of the part had managed to cram their way into the bedroom. Coco gasped with her mouth covered and looked at Rosita in shock, who had now begun sobbing in earnest. Wanda buried her face into Matty’s shoulder as she tried to keep herself from laughing, while Oscar and Felipe groaned in disgust.

“Honestly, what is it about these people? Why do they think they can do this while there are children present?”

“It must be the house. It might have a lustful curse on it.”

Facundo marched over to Martín, his face growing redder by the second, and growled at the poor boy. “You… you vile, repugnant little cretin! How dare you lay with my daughter! And under the same roof as our generous hosts! How dare you insult them like this! Committing carnal sin without the sanctity of marriage!”

Coco and Matty exchanged looks at each other, then towards their parents with cocked brows. Héctor and Imelda both flushed red and lowered their heads in shame. “It’s fine, no comento…”

“It is not fine!” Facundo roared out, reaching down to grasp Martín by the hair and wrench his head back painfully. “You desecrated my daughter! You deserve to be thrown out into the streets, you disgusting, putrid-”

“Papá stop!” Rosita screamed as tears rolled down her cheeks. “He loves me and I love him! He asked me to marry him and I said yes!”

“-beautiful, thoughtful, blessing in disguise! Come here, mi hijo!”

Facundo grabbed Martín and crushed him into his chest, squeezing hard as the boy gasped for air in pain. “Ay, you beautiful, beautiful man! Thank you for making my dreams come true!” Raising a fist into the air, Facundo happily crowed, “Do you hear that Vicky? Our Rosita is to be wed! You can now rest in peace! Ay, Gracias a Dios!”

“Papá are you insane?!” Julio asked in disbelief, having finally pulled himself off the floor and leaning heavily against the dresser. “They’ve only known each other for a week! This is madness! Mamá Imelda, please say something to end this!”

Everyone looked towards Imelda, who in turn nodded and raised her head high. Clearing her throat, she walked over to glare down at Martín, making him shrink in her presence. Kneeling down she place her hand on his shoulder. “Tell me niño… Do you have any interest in the shoe business?”

Julio sagged back to the floor with a pitiful sob and Coco launched herself onto the bed to hug her best friend, unconcerned with her nakedness. “AAH! Rosita this is so exciting! We’ll get Ceci to make you a wedding dress, but better than mine ever was! Twice as frilly, twice as lacy, twice as… No four times as many flowers! And with diamonds! This is going to be the greatest day of your life!” She hugged her some more with an excited squeal as Rosita hid her beet red face in sheer embarrassment.

With a smirk Matty walked over to Martín. “Well amigo, you wanna have a double wedding with me and Wanda?”

Near tears himself and still in the iron clad hug of his future father-in-law, Martín cried out, “What I want are my pinche pants! Por favor!”

Outside of the bedroom and down the hall, two little children and a baby listened to all the screaming, yelling and laughing that came behind the closed door. Soon enough little Elena grew bored and began to tuck into her dinner, which consisted of rice and beans strewn about her highchair table. The other two tried to make sense of what exactly was going on with all the grownups.

“What did you see?” Victoria asked, having stayed behind to watch over her little sister while the adults decided to act like children themselves.

“Not a lot.” Miguel shrugged. “I think Señor Reyes and your papá were wrestling, but your papá was losing.”

Victoria nodded sagely. “Papá doesn’t fight. I don’t think he knows how.” Having grown bored herself, she jumped off her chair and brushed off her dress. “I’m going to go to bed.”

Miguel blinked. “Before dinner?”

Victoria shrugged. “Abuelo Facundo said I could rest in peace now that Tia Rosita was getting married, so I guess I have to. Buenas noches, Miguel.”

“Buenas noches, Victoria.”

After Victoria had left, Miguel peered down the hall to where all of the adults were still gathered. He didn’t know how long they would be gone for, but it would give him some time to work a little before they came back. Shushing Elena to keep this between them, Miguel pulled out his pencil and a folded piece of paper from his pocket. Laying it flat onto the table he looked at his work so far.  

The figure he had drawn was nice, but it was missing something. Ah si! A moustache! Nice and thin, almost like a second mouth. No, better make it a little thicker. And a big circle over his head like a halo! Add a little lump on top and now it’s a sombrero!

He’d have to put it away soon, but Miguel was more than pleased with the progress he had made so far on his drawing of Tio Nesto. It was almost perfect!

He couldn’t wait to add it the other items of his shrine!