#she really does just called link a useless and late failure huh

[three-bunnies-in-a-trenchcoat]

I think this would have been a great time for Zelda to punch Impa

[pengychan]

[Coco] Cielito

The little face she remembered was gone, replaced by a skull with markings of pale blue, silver and purple; her eyes traced the swirling patterns, paused on the tiny silver dots under his eyes - those amber brown eyes, so much like her own, staring at her from beneath thick black hair she’d stroked and brushed so many times.  After thirteen years, she was looking at her son.

A/N: Set a few years after Down to Dust. I started this... months ago, and only just finished it. I really wanted to get it done at long last. I mean, we all knew Cheque’s mother would die at some point.

***

With precisely nothing in her life having ever gone according to plan - not that she’d ever had a plan, she’d just kind of drifted through existence - Celia del Rio found some comfort in the fact that her death had, at least, been perfectly straightforward.

Sepsis. Septic shock. Catastrophic organ failure.

It had been a logic, predictable chain of events. It didn’t have to happen, she knew. If she’d walked into a hospital the moment she’d begun feeling sick, the sepsis would have been treated and she’d maybe have lived to turn forty-seven. Only that she’d missed all the signs, because when you fuck over your body in every possible for your entire life, feeling sick is not something noteworthy. She’d assumed it would pass, and by the time she had known something was wrong, it was too late: she was already slipping into septic shock.

The doctors had done their best, she had to give them that, but it would have been a lost battle even if her body had been healthy enough to take it in the first place. And so things had progressed to the last link of the chain, the one she’d heard someone muttering through her semi-comatose state, the last words her mind could grasp in the Land of the Living.

Catastrophic organ failure.

“So, your name is Celia del Rio. Age at the time of death?”

“Forty-six.”

“Occupation?”

Full time addict, part-time dealer, part-time prostitute. The good news is, I haven’t felt the need for a fix since I breathed my last. The bad one is that my only other skill is useless since we all lack the relevant bits. Or at least I think it is, but asking would be awkward.

“... No occupation.”

“I see. Place of death?”

“Mexico City. Can I have some clothes? The hospital gown is making this weird.”

“Of course, in a minute. Do you know the cause of your death, dear?”

“Sepsis.”

“Huh. You don’t hear that one so often, nowadays.”

“Do I win a prize?”

“You can have a biscuit, dear.”

“Thanks. Where does it go? I don’t have a stomach.”

“No one knows. The general rule is, don’t even question it.”

“Don’t question it. I can go with that,” Celia said with a half-smile, and took a biscuit from the box the clerk pushed towards her. She let her gaze wander around the office while the skeleton across the desk - a skeleton, for heaven’s sake, and she was one too and maybe the situation should freak her out more than it did - kept typing her details on the keyboard of a seriously ancient computer. Everything look so normal, aside from the fact that she now lacked guts, flesh, blood, skin and all that. Also, she looked like a toddler had scribbled over her face with a blue crayon. “Is this real? All of this?”

“I am rather sure it is, dear.”

“I was thinking I may be in a coma. Maybe we are all in a coma.”

“Some would call it a limbo of sorts. You have no idea how many others thought the same before you,” was the good-natured reply. “We are almost done here, I���ll just run a search for any members of your family on this side, so that you can notify them.”

If you must, Celia thought, but the biscuit in her mouth kept her from talking, so she nodded. She doubted there was any relative of hers there, and if they found any, they may as well be strangers. Her half-brother had ran off when she was only four or five, and she hadn’t seen him since, but he would be only about sixty now. Was her mother still alive? Was she dead? It may be good to know it, if anything to avoid her. Her father, maybe--

“All done,” the clerk announced, and smiled. “Your son is going to be overjoyed to see you.”

Celia blinked. For several, long moments she just stared, her brain grasping the words but refusing to comprehend them. Her fingers felt numb, the biscuit in her mouth turning to ashes. She swallowed it with great effort and opened her mouth. She realized, distantly, that the other woman’s smile had begun to fade at her reaction.

“What,” Celia spoke, struggling to get each word out. “What did you say?”

Now the smile was entirely gone, replaced with something that was much closer to alarm. “That… that your son… oh my, I am sorry, I thought you’d--”

“There is a mistake,” Celia cut her off, and hearing herself saying as much aloud was a huge relief. Of course it was a mistake. It had to be. She smiled, feeling immensely stupid for even considering the idea for a moment… but, in the back of her mind, something was ready to shatter. She was acutely aware of that when she spoke again. “My son turned sixteen two months ago. I know it because I marked it on the calendar, you know? I always mark it, so that I don’t forget. It’s the day I stay clean. I forget my birthday, but not his. Never. Would you forget the best thing that ever happened to you? The only right thing you did in life?”

“I… I believe it would be best if--” the clerk began reaching for the phone by her side, but she trailed off when Celia reached to grasp her wrist and shook her head. She kept smiling, but the dread was there, growing harder and harder to ignore.

“No. Listen,” she said, her voice raspy. “There is a mistake. I know that there is a mistake. He can’t be dead. He’s only sixteen. His birthday was two months ago.”

“If you just let me make a call--”

“There is no need. He can’t be dead. He’s sixteen, do you understand?” Celia repeated, slowly, like she was speaking to a very dense child. She refused to let her voice crack. She feared that once that happened, she would crumble. “A sixteen year old has no business here. He’s in the Land of the Living. He’s still in school, he probably has a crush on a girl like boys his age do. Or on a boy, who cares? I love him so, so much. That’s why I let him go, you see, so that I could never drag him down with me. I let him go, so that he’d be all right. And he is. He’s all right. He can’t. Be. Here.”

Those were the last words she’d remember uttering, if anything because she kept repeating them over and over, aloud and in her head. She clung to them as more people walked in, as they took her into another room, as they offered her a warm drink, food, gentle words. She hardly heard, felt, tasted any of it.

He can’t be here. He can’t be here. He can’t be here.

Someone sat in front of her and grasped her hands. Celia recoiled and looked up for the first time to see a skeleton with yellow and green markings looking at her, his expression sorrowful. It was that expression, more than anything else, that cracked the bubble of denial.

“He can’t be here. You don’t understand, my cielito can’t be here,” she repeated, her voice like old paper, and the other’s hands squeezed her own just a little tighter. When he spoke his voice was quiet, and yet it seemed to reverberate everywhere, filling the world.

“I am so sorry you have to find out like this. He had a terrible accident, seven years ago.”

Seven years. He never turned sixteen, did he? What was I doing that day? Where was I?

Everything seemed to blur before her eyes, her mind coming to a standstill. Her hands were numb to the man’s touch; a buzzing sound in the back of her head drowned out all noise.

Even her own scream, when it came, sounded distant.

***

The letter came in on a Tuesday but, wedged between a flyer for discount tacos and a catalogue of antiques, it remained unnoticed until Saturday morning. It may have ended up in the bin along with the junk mail if it hadn’t fallen off the pile when Rosita had gone to tidy up the small table they had been left on. What had caught her attention was the shaky handwriting the address had been written in, and she’d opened it there and then, standing in the middle of the living room.

Forty-five seconds later she was running through the house to call the rest of the family, and within five minutes an emergency family meeting was in full swing - making Héctor very, very grateful that the letter had been noticed and read on a day Ezequiel was not in the house.

“She left him with strangers for his entire life, and now she wants to see him?”

Imelda’s voice was as sharp as her words when she spoke, causing everyone else in the room to fall silent. The letter had gone around from hand to hand before finally reaching hers, and her fingers were clenched so tightly on it that it looked as though she was about to tear it in two. Instead, she handed it to Coco when she held out a hand to take it.

“At least she had the good grace not to demand to have him back,” Victoria was pointing out, causing Rosita to frown. She was clearly relieved that all that Cheque’s mother asked was to see her son - after all, now she was her legal guardian; if this Celia had decided she wanted custody, the matter would have go to through court and would likely get messy - but at the same time, it clearly bothered her.

“How can she not want him back?” she asked, wringing her hands. “Who wouldn’t want such a sweet boy? If he were mine--”

“If he were yours, he would have never found himself in foster care in the first place,” Julio pointed out, placing a hand on his sister’s arm. That caused her to smile a bit, and cover that hand with her own.

“No,” she agreed. “Never.”

“And she didn’t even know whether he was dead or alive,” Felipe muttered.

His brother nodded. “Yes, that’s what she said. Never knew in life, which means…”

“... She never bothered to ask after him.”

“Not for seven years, at least.”

“What kind of mother--”

“We don’t know the circumstances,” Héctor found himself speaking up, and seven pairs of eyes turned to him. He found Imelda’s gaze, and held it. “Cheque hardly told us anything about what happened to him before being placed in foster care. He was only three, he probably doesn’t remember much in the first place. We don’t know why she did it, and maybe… maybe something happened,” he added.

The vague memory of excruciating pain in his stomach, of the effort that it took to take on more step towards the train station before collapsing, made it back in his mind for a moment. Clearly that had not been the case with Cheque’s mother; she hadn’t died while trying to return to her son. She had left him behind and cut all contact with the intention of never taking him back - but if she simply did not care, why write to them at all? Why plead with them to be allowed to see him, even if just one time?

I know I did everything wrong, the letter read. I only want to see him once to tell him how sorry his mamá is. If he doesn’t want to see me, I understand. I won’t bother you again.

He’d been there, too. He knew better than he’d have liked what it felt like to be desperate to fix a mistake, to explain, to see someone important one more time, oh please I am so sorry I left, I only want to see her one more time.

“Maybe something happened,” Imelda repeated, staring at him, and something in her posture and gaze seemed to have softened, like she knew exactly what he was thinking.

Héctor nodded. “Yes. We know he lost his voice, somewhere along the line. We know it’s not a physical problem. If he tries to force himself to speak, he panics. He never wanted to tell us or even Socorro, but something awful must have happened. If it happened before he was placed in foster care, then maybe his mother thought… she thought it would be for the best.”

I know I did everything wrong. I am so sorry.

Imelda frowned in thought before speaking slowly. “She might have thought he was better off without her,” she said, and her harsh expression had softened. She’d never understand a parent willingly leaving their child behind, but a parent choosing a child’s well-being over their own wishes was another matter entirely in her eyes. “Is that what you mean?”

“Sí. If she’d only wanted to be rid of her son, why write to us now? She must care at least enough to wish to set things right, and--”

“And Cheque misses her.” Coco’s voice caused everyone’s gaze to shift from Héctor to her. Coco ran a thumb across the sheet of paper before looking up at them. “That picture of him and his mother together - the one Socorro put on the ofrenda for him a few years ago, remember? It’s been at his bedside ever since. He paid for the frame he put it in with his delivery tips, all on his own. That boy is amazingly lazy when it comes to cleaning his room, too, but I have never once seen a single speck of dust on that frame. I was very careful not to let anything ruin papá’s photo, too, although of course I couldn’t put that in a frame.”

There were a few moments of heavy silence as Coco folded the letter carefully and handed it back to her mother. Imelda took it, something sorrowful her gaze, and Coco smiled at her.

“If we can allow him to see Ernesto de la Cruz of all people, I don’t see why we should get in the way of letting him see his mother, if so he chooses,” she said. “We’ll ask him if he wishes to meet her. If he doesn’t, we’ll write back to let her know. If he does, we’ll stand by him. I don’t think any of us should have a say in the matter.”

And with that, it was settled.

*** 

“You’re cheating. Don’t look at me like that, I know you are. No one wins five games of Con Quien in a row without cheating.”

YOU’RE A SORE LOSER.

“Then you won’t argue if I’m the one to shuffle the cards next.”

SUIT YOURSELF, Cheque wrote, and leaned back against the chair to drink some orange juice like he was sipping wine or something, the smug little bastard. All right, Ernesto thought as he began shuffling the cards, time to start getting serious and--

A sudden ringing sound caused him to recoil, and turn to the next room, where the phone was. With a snort, he threw the cards down on the table. “I’m still shuffling them. Don’t touch anything,” he said. The boy shrugged, letting one of the chihuahuas climb on his lap.

I don’t need to, the smug look he gave him told him, and Ernesto swore himself he was going to wipe that off his face one way or another.

But first, the phone. He picked it up in the middle of its fifth ring. “No, I did not leave a message,” he said, wasting no time with a greeting. “So sue me. If you expect me to believe for even a second that having Carol of the Bells as the tune of your answering machine was a coincidence, you’ve got another think co--”

“That’s actually a great idea, but I’m sad to say I wasn’t the one who came up with it. Taking credit for others’ good ideas is your thing,” a very familiar voice cut him off. Ernesto blinked.

“... Héctor?” he blurted out, taken aback. Despite Cheque making regular visits - usually on his own, but sometimes he was left at the door by that bruja who was now his legal guardian - he and Héctor hadn’t seen each other in… a rather long time.

“Who did you think it was?”

“Someone almost as annoying. What do you want?”

“Is Cheque there?”

“Of course he’s here, your daughter in law or whatever she is--”

“My son in law’s sister.”

“Whatever. She left him here yesterday with enough food to feed an army and looking at me like she was hoping I’d burst in flames.”

“She’ll be disappointed to know you did not. I mean, is he there in the room with you?”

“No, he’s in the next room over. Say, does he cheat at Con Quien with you as well?”

“Oh, we’re sure he cheats something awful with everyone, but none of us has ever managed to catch him in the act. It’s like one of those magician tricks of his, it drives Óscar and Felipe up the wall. How many times has he beaten you?”

“Five in a row.”

“Now that’s impressive, considering that you also cheat something awful.”

“That is an accusation I firmly reject.”

“You taught me how to cheat.”

“You remember wrong. I may have done a thing or two in life and death I’m not proud of--”

“A thing or two.”

“--But I do not cheat at cards. I never needed to.”

“Then I suggest you start now, or you’re never gonna beat the kid.”

“Noted. Is that what you called to let me know?”

“No,” Héctor said, and voice suddenly serious. “We just got a letter. Cheque’s mother died, and is asking to meet him.”

That was… not something Ernesto had expected to hear. “Ah. That’s… early?”

“Yes, there aren’t many people in your bloodline who got to live long lives. You’ll be happy to know you’re still the only one who can claim a giant bell as the cause of death, though.”

“I’m reasonably certain it was put down as a freak accident. Am I supposed to tell him, or-”

“No, no. We’ll do that. Just… tell him to come home. Don’t tell him why. We need to talk this through before we answer the letter, make sure he wants to see her.”

“Are you serious? He never shuts up about her.”

“You may want to choose a different wording.”

“You know what I mean. He brings her up at every visit. Doesn’t he do that with you?”

“No. He’s pretty tight-lipped about her at home.”

“Rethink your wording, right back at you.”

“You know what I-- uugh. Just tell him to come home.”

“What reason am I supposed to give him?”

“Since when do you need help to lie to kids? Just come up with something. Tell him he’s got… I don’t know, a special delivery to do.”

“He was supposed to stay until--” Ernesto began, only to trail off when a click on the other side of the line ended the conversation. “Rude,” he huffed, putting down the phone. He turned towards the door, and his frown deepened. 

Cheque wouldn’t be happy when told to go back for a delivery, but the only alternative would be telling him why they wanted him to return, and Ernesto suspected he wasn’t the best-suited person to break that kind of news.

***

They let Coco do the talking.

Truth be told they had all been more than willing to explain him the situation, or just be there, but in the end they had figured it might be a bit too overwhelming. A one-on-one talk would be best, and if there was someone who knew how to approach the subject - one that Ezequiel wouldn't even talk about to them, but that he did bring up with Ernesto, apparently; Héctor wasn’t sure he liked that - it was her.

Ezequiel had become worried enough the moment he had stepped in, clearly disgruntled for having been called back a day early and without any actual explanation. They had tried to look as relaxed as possible, but the entire family waiting for him in the living room was, come to think of it, a dead giveaway that something had happened.

Coco had stood up before he could become too alarmed, taken his hand, and gently told him there was something they should talk about. They could do so in his room, she’d added, if it worked best for him - and they had, only to come back out after something like half a hour.

When they did come out, Coco was very calm while the boy’s eyes were wide and bewildered. Not a surprise, really, in Héctor’s opinion.

He knew she would die, but that was sooner than he’d expected; and he’d very much hoped she would look for him, then, but he had no idea if she ever would. Now he knew, and it was better than nothing. However the meeting went, at least there was that. He knew his mother cared enough about him to seek him out, to plead to see him.

I only want to see him once to tell him how sorry his mamá is.

I wish I could apologize. I wish I could tell her that her papá was trying to come home. That he loved her so much.

“I told him,” Coco was saying, stepping forward. Ezequiel held onto her hand as though he feared he would fall otherwise. Not that he possibly could: the next moment Rosita’s arms were around him, and she was picking him up. He stayed limp as a ragdoll - or rather, a marionette - for a moment clinging back to her, burrowing his face against her shoulder.

“Ay, pequeñito, you’re so pale! I mean, you would be if-- you know what I mean. Oh, I’ll get you some cake!” she exclaimed. Héctor wanted to ask him how he felt, but he knew the kid was probably overwhelmed as things were, so he did not. As Rosita took him to the kitchen, he turned to Coco… as everyone else did, too, in a mute question.

Coco nodded. “He wants to see her.”

A long breath, and Imelda nodded. “Then he will. We will write back, and tell her to set a time and place - at the Department of Family Reunions, maybe. They have rooms for this sort of thing, and meeting on neutral ground would be for the best,” she said, settling the matter… to immediately raise another. “Who is going with him?”

“Huh?” Julio blinked up at her. “I thought we all were going.”

Felipe frowned. “Maybe that would be a bit… well…”

“Intimidating?” Victoria suggested, and nodded without waiting for a reply. “Makes sense. All of us lined up… it might be too much. Maybe we should discuss--”

“There is no need,” her mother interrupted her gently. “I am going with him. Papá?”

Héctor looked back at her, the question - “why us?” - almost leaving his mouth, but in the end he just nodded, and no one argued… not even Rosita, later, when they told her.

There was no need to ask or argue, after all. The reason why was known and understood, by him and everyone else in the room: it would be them to go with Cheque because it had to be them. Because they had been there, in a way.

Because for all of their family’s good intentions, they were the only ones who knew.

***

The knock came after precisely three hours of tossing and tuning in her bed, unable to sleep. Rosita sat up and turned on the light just as the door creaked open and a small figure in the doorway, clad in a tiny pajamas.

“Oh, pequeñito! Shouldn’t you be sleeping by now? Tomorrow is the big day,” she added, and smiled despite the stab of something she couldn’t quite define somewhere in her ribcage. The past few days had felt surreal, with all of them talking about the upcoming meeting and then pretending not to be thinking of it at all whenever Ezequiel was present.

Except that they did, of course, and the niño had hardly been left alone for a moment, because everyone could tell how anxious he was. He’d been shown new ways to work leather by Victoria, told riddles Óscar and Felipe seemed to have thought up all by themselves, taught a tune to play by Héctor, given brand new clothes by Coco and Julio and a pair of new shoes by Imelda, who claimed that his old ones needed replacing - a clear lie as they were still like new, but absolutely no one had mentioned it.

As for Rosita… she had tried her best to be there, to look after him and most of all to be happy for him because he had so wanted to see his mamá again, but it was hard. Yes, her letter said that she wouldn’t try to have custody of him, that she knew she didn’t deserve it, but… people change their mind, sometimes, and what if little Cheque wanted to go with her?

It was a real possibility, she knew. When she’d walked in his room to call him for dinner the previous say, seeing him staring down at his mamá’s photo had felt like a smack. And it was unfair - it was selfish - but it still hurt. There was a small part of her mind that kept asking if all she’d done meant nothing, what about her, what about me.

The thought made it back to her mind again, and she had to chase it away. Before her, Ezequiel holding up his whiteboard.

I CAN’T SLEEP. CAN I STAY HERE?

“Ay, mi corazón, of course you can!” Rosita exclaimed, and moved to make way for the boy, who climbed on the bed. She reached to turn off the light, and then stilled when Cheque suddenly clung to her, tight. He was still holding the whiteboard in one hand, and she could see the words written on the other side, too.

THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING. I’M NOT GOING AWAY.

Suddenly, her non-existent throat felt very, very tight. “Oh, chiquito,” she choked out, holding him back tightly, and managed nothing more. She didn’t think it mattered, either; if Cheque had proven something, it was that a lot could be said without words.

“Yip! Yip!”

“Oh, look at that. Another guest,” Rosita muttered, and that got a silent snicker out of the boy as the tiny alebrije walked in through the still open door and jumped on the bed as well. She didn’t mind too much; she found Diablo adorable, if a little rascal. What had that man done to deserve such adorable alebrijes and great-great-grandson, Rosita would never know.

“No more barking, and you can stay,” Rosita finally said, and scratched him behind the years before she turned off the light and rested back down, letting Cheque snuggle close. “Now sleep, pequeñito,” she said, brushing back his hair. “You have a great day ahead of you.”

The next morning everyone would do their best to reassure the nervous boy. She would brush his hair until it shone, they’d hand him his brand new clothes and shoes to put on and, before he walked out of the door, Imelda would crouch before him.

“Chin up,” she’d tell him, and chuckle when Cheque nodded and puffed out his chest. Then she’d stand back, they all would, and watch the boy leave with Héctor and Coco. And then… then they would wait, and see. But it was fine.

Whatever the future held, Ezequiel was one of them and nothing would ever change that.

***

Celia hadn’t been so scared of someone’s hatred in a very long time.

She was used to pity, contempt, disgust and the vast array of emotions in-between, but hatred? That was a far too strong word. She had never made enough on an impact on anyone in her life to warrant strong feelings, one way or another. Her mother had been the one, true, shining exception to that rule.

Even at a young age, she had known that something about that woman was not quite right. Looking back now, she could tell she had been deeply unhappy; something in her had broken quite early on, or had never been whole in the first place, leaving her quite dedicated to sucking every semblance of joy out of the lives of everyone else around her. She had been like that to her first husband, to her firstborn, to her second husband and then to her – harsh to them as she was on herself.

Celia vaguely remembered her father as a submissive man who seemed always a few moments away from apologizing over his own existence; gentle, but distant. She didn’t remember a single hug, a moment of affection coming from the woman who had birthed her. The one who had told her stories, tucked her in bed and enthusiastically complimented her drawings as a child had been her brother – half-brother, her mother would point out, as though she wanted to take even that away from her, as if he didn’t have her blood as well.

But then again, if there was anyone his mother had seemed to despise more than her daughter – more than herself – it was her son.

Oh, if only he’d stayed. Dino - Bernardo, Bernardino, Dino; no one else but her had ever been allowed to call him that - had been the one presence in her life that could in any way contrast that of their mother. If she raised her voice, he would raise his own. If she moved to strike Celia, he moved right between them; he was much older than her, by about thirteen years, and by the time she’d been two he was tall enough to tower over their mother.

In the end, Agata had been afraid of Dino; the first time Celia had seen that, her brother hadn’t even raised his voice. He’d come to stand between then and then, when their mother had raised a wooden spoon, he’d spoken very quietly. “Try it, and see what happens.”

His voice had been so flat and his face so blank, and that had scared their mother more than anything he’d ever said or done before, of all the times he’d screamed right back at her. It had scared Celia, too, if only for a moment, because even at her young age she could tell what the meaning of his words was.

Don’t push me. I don’t want to find out what I could do, and neither do you.

Of course Agata has never admitted to being afraid of her firstborn, but from that day onwards she’d back off the second he stepped between them, or raised his voice.

“You brought my father to an early grave,” Celia vaguely remembered Dino saying. “You’ll find me harder to do in, bruja.”

But in the end, Dino had only been a boy; he could not, and should not, shoulder that responsibility. Eventually he had left, aged just seventeen, after giving her a hug that had stolen her breath. “If I could take you with me, I would,” she’d heard him saying over her own sniffles. “Hang in there. I’ll come back to get you out of here as soon as I can.”

Hang in there was typical Dino; almost a catchphrase, his answer to the toughest moments – hang in there. Better times are coming. Hang in there.

She’d hung on, or tried to, but things had been so hard; the mood in the house became bleaker than ever, with no mention at all of her brother – as though Bernardo del Rio had never even existed. In the end, it had been too much and Celia had ran away before Dino could return for her, if he ever had. She couldn’t hang in there – and she’d paid a high price.

She couldn't make it on her own. She couldn’t take care of herself, let alone of a child. When she’d known she was pregnant, after being hospitalized for almost going into overdose, she should have listened to the nurse who’d brought up the possibility of giving him up at birth… but she had not. She had wanted to cling to her child, thought that the fact she had to care for him would give him the strength to turn her life around.

Except that it hadn’t, and thinking otherwise had been foolish of her. She had almost dragged him down with her; her mistakes had cost him his voice. A year after the incident he still wouldn’t speak, she still wasn’t clean, and she had learned the lesson in the harshest way possible - sometimes, all the love in the world simply isn’t enough.

Taking him to her mother had been a desperate last resort before turning to the foster care system, fueled by the hope that, after so many years, she might have mellowed. She had not, and had thrown all the insults possible at her - but she could have accepted it all if it meant her Ezequiel could have a safe place to be. What she could not accept was the way Agata had looked down at her child and uttered one single word - bastardo.

That had been the last straw, what had tuly made her weep as she took Ezequiel in her arms and ran away from that house for the second time. Two weeks later she had ripped her heart out of her chest and left her little boy in foster care, handing him over as he slept, too drained to cry more tears.

Then she had left and never turned back, never asked for news of him. She knew that if she asked she may not resist and try to see him, and that would do him no good. He needed to be away from her, and if he hated her for it, so be it: anything to keep him safe. His hatred was a small price to pay for the knowledge he’d have the life he deserved.

Except that it hadn’t been enough, he hadn’t been safe enough. Except that a road accident had ended that life before he even turned nine and he might still be alive if only she hadn’t given him away, if only she’d been stronger and better and more resilient, if only she’d fought harder, if only if only if only--

A knock caused her to flinch and hastily stand up from the small couch in the room she had been bought to for the meeting, at the Department of Family Reunions. The thought - he is here, my Cheque is beyond that door - was staggering, and she had to work her jaw to speak… and even then, her voice was only a whisper. “... I’m here.”

They still heard her, or if not they decided to come in anyway. The door opened slowly, and there were two adults - a man and a very old woman - but Celia paid them no mind. As something in her chest cavity seemed to clench, she could only stare at the tiny figure with a whiteboard in his hands, looking back at her.

The little face she remembered was gone, replaced by a skull with markings of pale blue, silver and purple; her eyes traced the swirling patterns, paused on the tiny silver dots under his eyes - those amber brown eyes, so much like her own, staring at her from beneath thick black hair she’d stroked and brushed so many times.

After thirteen years, she was looking at her son.

*** 

For a few moments that felt like years, no one moved nor said a word.

It hadn’t been like that when Coco had met her papá. Back then, she’d barely had the time to process that she was about to see her family when suddenly he’d been there, holding her tight, laughing and crying at the same time. It had been… a bit confusing, really, and so fast. There had been no moment of stillness and silence like this one, with little Cheque standing by their side rigid as a statue, hands clenching around the black marker and the blank whiteboard, as he stared at his mother with wide eyes.

It was plain to see that, even if he could speak, he would have been unable to say a word… and the same went for the woman standing a few steps from them. She stared at her son, a hand over her mouth and a clenched fist pressed against her ribcage, where her heart used to be. Her expression was somewhere between horror and pain; not the reaction Coco had had when she had seen Victoria on that side again, but she couldn’t fault her. Coco had known her daughter was long dead.

Only a days ago, Celia del Rio had believed her son was alive. She had held onto the memory of a three-year-old child, imagined the young man he should have grown into… and now she faced someone who was neither, but still her child. Coco could see recognition dawning in only a moment before she lowered the hand she���d held before her mouth and clasped them together tightly. She had to work her jaw before she spoke and, when she did, her voice was hardly more than a broken whisper.

“... Hola, cielito.”

It was like a spell had just been broken. There was a sudden clatter as both the whiteboard and the marker were dropped on the ground, and Cheque moved so fast they could hardly follow. The next moment Celia del Rio knelt and the boy was in her arms, clinging to her neck, shaking so hard his bones rattled even in her vise-like grip as she held him tightly against her chest, leaned her cheek against his hair.

“Lo siento,” she choked out, rocking him. “Your mamá is so, so sorry. I should have never let you go, I should have never--” the words faded into wordless sobs, and over them there was another noise, harsh and strained and broken, like the muffled cries of a wounded animal.

There were no words - there would never be words, Coco suspected, and they may never hear it again - but even so, it was enough to make her and her papá exchange a glance. They had never heard Ezequiel make a noise like that.

They had never heard him make any noise at all.

“We should leave,” Coco mouthed, and with a nod her father closed the door, and they stepped back into the wide hallway. They would stay right outside, of course, but they needed some time on their own.

They sat on two small armchairs by a coffee machine, and even from there and through the door they could hear the sobbing inside slowly subsiding. There was a small table with magazines, but they were ignored. Her papá smiled a bit. “She’s as loud as I was.”

Coco chuckled. “I think you were louder.”

“Was I?”

“Just a bit,” she said, and held out her hand. He held it tightly in his own.

“She won’t let go for a while. I know I didn’t.”

“I don’t think Ezequiel wants her to let go. I know I didn’t,” Coco said, and gave his hand a squeeze before they both fell into a long, comfortable silence.

On the other side of the door, slowly, the sobs subsided. There were loud sniffles, words that they couldn’t quite catch, more crying - and then Celia del Rio’s voice again, still shaky, rising up in a song that was impossible not to recognize - Cielito Lindo.

“De la Sierra Morena Cielito lindo vienen bajando…”

“Cheque’s favorite,” Coco said, and she knew then that they had done the right thing.  Whatever happened next - whatever their misgivings, whatever the next step would be now that Cheque’s mother was there - it would be all right. They would deal with it at the right time. Right there and then, everything was exactly as it was supposed to be.

“Ay, ay, ay, ay Canta y no llores…”

*** 

“… Porque cantando se alegran Cielito lindo, los corazones.”

The last notes of the song faded in the small apartment, and Ernesto made a face, putting the guitar away. Over the years since disaster, it had become easier to make himself play and sing again… but he had to be careful, so that no one would guess who really lived there.

No one had actually listened to him in years except for his alebrijes and Cheque, and the boy hadn’t been heard or seen for almost two weeks now.

Of course not. He has his mother back. No reason to cling to me.

Something clenched in his chest cavity, and Ernesto made an effort to ignore it.

“Well, good riddance,” he said aloud. He sounded unconvincing to his own non-existent ears, and he reached up to rub his head with a groan. A drink, he thought, he should just have a drink and--

“Yip! Yip! Yip!”

Sudden barking, and the sound of the cat flap at the door opening and closing, announced Diablo’s arrival. As his fourth alebrije ran inside the room to start tumbling across the floor with the others, there was another sound - three quick knocks on the door, followed by a brief pause and then two slower ones.

Cheque.

Ernesto stood, and strode to the door with a scowl. Two weeks without a word, not even one of his letters - who did he think he was, just dropping him like that and then thinking he could waltz in when he pleased? Snorting, Ernesto threw the door open.

“Oh, look who suddenly remembered where I--” he began, only to trail off when he realized he wasn’t looking at Cheque at all. He was there, sure enough, but someone else was with him - a woman, with dark hair tied back in a loose ponytail and pale blue markings on her face, staring at him in bewilderment. Her hand was holding tightly onto Cheque’s own.

Well. This is awkward.

Very slowly, Ernesto’s eyes shifted from her to the boy, who just grinned up at him and held up the whiteboard with his free hand.

CAN WE COME IN? IT’S ABOUT TIME YOU MEET.

“... You say that like I have a choice,” Ernesto found himself saying, knowing full well that he did, and moved aside to let them in.

[misskieshakate]

Langst Fic Idea Part 2!

Wow the first one went beyond 500 notes?? Like really?? For a fandom that swears their love and appreciation for Lance, we sure love to hurt him a lot.  As a thank you this is part 2 :))) 

 *I’m not really sure how langsty this is but here you go.*

 - The moment they noticed that Lance wasn’t with them, Pidge ran to the nearest control pad. 

 - When Lance flew away that night, Pidge placed tracking devices on each of the fighter jets in the hangar just in case. 

 - They crowd against Pidge, watching her as she tapped the screen multiple times. “I placed a device in all of the jets. I’m sure I can override the system with that so give me a sec…" 

 -“Fuck! Lance rewrote my program?” Because of that she was only able to track the ship and access the camera. And so they watched their battered and bruised friend place the ship in autopilot and try to give first aid to himself. - “Where is he going?” “He’s going back to Haggar.” Shiro said through gritted teeth, “ I heard him strike a deal before I passed out." 

 - "He was captured by the Galra and coming back to them? Screw that, i’m bringing him back!” “No Hunk. We just got Shiro back. We can’t lose another Paladin. We know where he is and he’s leading us to the Galra, this is our chance to blindside them for once.” - Hunk and Pidge argued hard with the princess but her logic was one where the universe has a chance in winning against the enemy. 

 - So they followed Lance’s ship and watched the Blue paladin writhe in pain. Hunk and Pidge stayed up every night watching diligently over Lance and often hear him sobbing himself to sleep. They thought it was because of his injuries but they didn’t know the extent of Lance’s pain. 

 - Because Lance was gone for a long time, Blue was left uncleaned ever since the day Shiro went missing. Hunk and Pidge made it their mission to scrub Blue clean for Lance, so they went to the hangar to give Blue a thorough washing. 

 - Once they were done, Blue’s shield went up and effectively trapping them inside. They pounded against the force field, even begged Blue to let them go but it was useless, the shield was not going away. 

 - Hunk called out to Yellow but she just sat there watching them. Pidge did the same with Green but the robo cat bowed its head when Blue let out a mechanical growl. 

 - “Guys, uhm… Blue wants you to come to the hangar asap. As soon as possible please, she’s kinda scary." 

 - When everyone was trapped inside Blue’s force field, Black pounced at Blue but Red immediately tackled Black to the ground, growling at their leader. Black stayed still a while after Green and Yellow pinned it down. 

 - they watched In amazement as the Lions did nothing to save them, even Allura was dumbfounded when she can’t control the lions. - Blue’s mouth opened beckoning them to enter.��

 - Once they were settled in Blue’s cockpit, Pidge’s initial action was to disable Blue’s forcefield. She sat on the pilot’s seat and was shocked with a bolt of electricity. The message was clear, no one sits on the pilot’s seat except her pilot. 

 - ‘All of you hurt my gentle Paladin. He did not deserve the way you treated him but he still loved all of you. You will stay and you will listen to me or suffer my wrath.’ The message was loud and clear… Blue was pissed. 

 - The temperature in the cockpit dropped a few degrees, fogging up their breaths as they breathed in and out the chilly air. 

 "Hey Blue! I hope you don’t mind if I hang out with you for a while. The guys are doing their thing and I guess they don’t need me for today.”

“I know it’s kinda late, Blue, but i just had a dream about one of my siblings and they were smiling at me…”

“Mind if I accompany you today, pretty thing? Haha was that a good pick up line? No it wasn’t huh… uhm, shiro and keith came out as a couple today. I don’t know how i feel about it, but it kinda hurts ya know. I get it, they’re perfect for each other, inevitable… haha what am i saying? As if i had a chance in the first place.”

 "Blue, why did you pick me? I’m… sub par, mediocre, average. I mean, I know i’m amazing and- ok ok i’m not using my ‘mask’ when I’m with you. Geez, you’re scary when you’re mad.”

 "Hey Blue, do you think i’m a part if this team? Because I know i’m not the best fighter but i try though. I love my friends so much that i’ll jump in front of a blaster for them… but will they do the same for me? Who am i kidding of course they do!“ 

"Pidge called me stupid today… i know it’s kinda true but it still hurt.”

 "Hunk and Pidge are doing this amazing thingy and i tried to help but they locked the door. They said that I talk too much… do i? Oh my god do I annoy you too? I’m sorry Blue, i’ll try to talk less.“

 ” ugh Keith is so… argsh! I know i suck in hand to hand but he didn’t need to call me useless!“ 

 ” you know that feeling when your leader doesn’t spare you a time of the day? Not listening to you and picking his boyfriend instead? I mean, i know that wasn’t his only reason but agh why am i crying?!“

 ” the princess made me feel like a loser today… hah why do i even try.“ 

 ” hey blue- i know i know i should go to the healing pod. But all of them are there and i don’t need an annotated list of the things i did wrong. Hehe it’s funny because that’s exactly what my mom would’ve done, well she’d show concern first though. 'Mijo you look like a beaten potato. Who did this to you? Do i need to call a parent? You should have punched harder. Kick 'em in the nuts! At least give a few bites… fight dirty mijo!’ Haha god i miss her. Agh do you mind if i cry again? It’s just that… it’s probably someone’s birthday right now or someone’s wedding. I wanna go home Blue. I wanna feel loved again.“

 "We… we lost Shiro, Blue. I-i tried to save him too but I can only retrieve Black. I heard Keith scream, heard his heart break. I came here because he lunged at me a while ago, practically blamed me for it. He said that he heard me giving up in the mind link, that i didn’t do my job in clearing an exit for the team. Why did he think that? Why? I love Shiro just as much as he does, why did he think that I’ll let anything bad happen to him or the team? I get it that i laugh at everything but i do take my job seriously- if i have a job in the first place-  but it’s done, Shiro’s been captured and I’m to blame. Hah i’m sorry your pilot is such a failure, Blue.”

“I tried to help the team today. I made some jokes and they laughed for the first time after Shiro. I guess that’s my role now cause I’m not even that good in shooting people…”

 ” oh my god Blue i think Keith likes me! What the fuck! Am i supposed to feel this happy? Oh god, is it cheating? Shit, i don’t want Keith to be cheating on Shiro! Oh god… is it bad that i’m happy? What am i suppose to feel?“ 

“God Blue… is this what being in love feels like? Like floating in a cloud of happiness and rainbows.”

“Keith’s avoiding me lately. I think it’s because I annoyed him again. I guess I’ll try shutting up for him.”

 "Keith broke up with me today. I expected this you know… who would even pick me when you have shiro? Hah turns out he was only using me cause he missed Shiro. It fuckin hurt Blue, i feel like my stomach is always hollow and my chest is too small for my heart.. i can’t. I was always waiting for the day when he’ll eventually call it quits but I didn’t know I’ll fall in love, that i’ll fall this deep. It’s my fault anyway, i should’ve known that it’ll always be Shiro, it’ll never be me. That’s why i made up my mind. i’m going to make this right." 

 "Hey Blue. I’m going to bring Shiro back and i’m here to say goodbye. i wish you’ll find a better pilot, a better fighter worthy of you. c’mon now girl don’t be like that. you and i know that the team deserves more that what i have to offer and they need more if they’re going to save the entire universe. i’m doing the team a favor, Blue. i’m doing you a favor. This team is like my family now, and I’ll do my best to protwct it. If that meant Shiro, then I ‘ll do my hardest to bring him back. And you’re like my mom too, if the pilot destined for you is out there then you better find them, not stick with some loser like me. If that ever happens, I want you to remember me ok? I love you, Blue. Catch you later.”

- All of them were dumbfounded by the series of videos that Blue played. Guilt was written all over their faces. Hunk was comforting a crying Pidge, Keith’s head was down unable to look at anyone, Shiro clutched at his prosthetic arm, and Allura’s knees went weak. It was Coran who braved Blue’s presence and asked her what their next move should be.

- ‘Instead of giving all of your resources to bring him back, you decide to merely follow him? He is hurt and all you do is watch him suffer. Do you hate him that much? When the Black paladin was captured, you targeted my gentle paladin, saying that he gave up. You endured sleepless nights looking for the Black paladin, searching far and wide with the hopes of bringing him back. And now my paladin is right there, not that far away, almost within your grasps and you do nothing! You ask me what you should do? Bring my paladin back to me.’

- While they were trapped inside Blue, Lance’s ship slowed to a stop. Then, the Galra ship’s invisibility barrier ebbed away and allowed Lance’s ship entrance.

- Lance was escorted to his usual cell, and his usual torturer sat comfortably in the middle of the room.

- “Back so soon, little Blue?” “Can we cut the pleasantries, Lotor. If you haven’t noticed, I’m kinda tired.” “And here I was waiting for you patiently just to show you something. C’mere, sit on my lap like a good boy.” The guard shoved Lance hard, applying pressure on his bad leg that he practically fell on Lotor’s lap. 

- Lotor flicked his hand and a giant screen lit up. “Did you know that the whole time you were coming back to me, your castle ship was close by? Heh, they didn’t even went out to chase you or bring you back. No, they just watched you go. I’m guessing they have some sort of device in your ship that can track you. Now, depending on what we gathered from you, my little Blue, is that you have someone in your ship who is capable of technological wonders. So why didn’t she hack into your ship? Wanna know what I think?” “Do i have a choice?”

“I think they planned on following you hoping that you’ll lead them to us. You see, they didn’t care if you got captured again as long as you lead them to the enemy. Face it, little Blue, you’re the sacrificial pawn, the loose bolt of a complete machine. You hold no significance to them.” “That’s not true!” “Or maybe, they were so fed up with your nonesense that they made sure that you are delivered properly to the slaughter.”

“You don’t believe me? Why don’t we ask them, little Blue. Maybe they’ll even watch as I carve into that beautiful bronze skin of yours.

- Lance didn’t know what to expect, will they be worried? Will they promise to het him back? Lance was so full of hope and longing for his team, that small minutes that he had with them when he came back to return Shiro was far from enough. 

- The screen connected to the catle ship’s system only to see the interior of the place. No paladins, no Allura, no Coran. 

- Lotor laughed maniacally as Lance’s tears flowed down his cheeks. Amidst Lotor’s full bellied laugh, Lance’s thoughts whispered in his mind: “Maybe what Lotor said was true.” 

-”Oh my little Blue, dont you see? They don’t care about you. They don’t need you. You’re useless and they would rather lose a limb than to endure another second of your presence. Why do you fight for ungrateful people when you can give in, give in to me. With me, you will never be hurt again. With me, you will never question your worth. With me, you are needed. So what do you say, my little Blue?”

- Lance knew the consequences of his next words. He knew that Lotor will hurt him with pain beyond his imagination. Still he turned to Lotor and said “Fuck you.”

I wanted to hurt the team too mehehe… 

Oh I also made a Part 3 if you’re interested :D

[kitsukyouno]

Here the translation from the side history:’‘Interview with Swim Swim’‘

http://pastebin.com/dfVgB3Ub

Swim Swim is fully of Ruler in the

Knowing that maybe this link will died in some moment I pasted the novel aboved

Part 1

“Today we’ll be conducting an interview with the newly active Magical Girl Swim Swim. Swim Swim-san, pleased to meet you.”

“Pleased to meet you.”

“For our first question. What do you think of your Magical Girl form, Swim Swim-san?”

“A failure.”

“--Eh?”

“A failure.”

“By that you mean…?”

“There’s too many accessories so I keep getting stuck in narrow passages. I spent a long time adding wings, but I can’t fly. My body’s too big, so my sense of balance is poor. White is very obvious even at night, so it’s hard to hide.”

“Quite the in-depth assessment… It must have been hard on you.”

“People have said that before.”

“Is that so… Then, on the other hand, what parts of your Magical Girl form do you like, Swim Swim-san?”

“It’s cute.”

“Could you please go into more detail?”

“What kinds of details?”

“Like say, it has soft hair, or a cute smile.”

“It has soft hair and a cute smile.”

“--Eh? Ah, alright, then. So you like those points.”

“Yes.”

“--I see. Alright, thank you for your answer.”

“You’re welcome.”

Part 2

“Now then, let’s change the topic. I’m sure everyone wants to know some basic things about you.”

“Mm.”

“In that case, can you tell us how you became a Magical Girl?”

“The Magical Girl Raising Project.”

“The Magical Girl Raising Project?”

“A game.”

“Ah, so it was a game.”

“I played Magical Girl Raising Project, then Fav popped out and I became a Magical Girl.”

“So after playing the game, a mascot appeared and Swim Swim became a Magical Girl… is that what you meant? You skipped over a lot of important points.”

“Playing Magical Girl Raising Project let me become a Magical Girl.”

“Ahhh, alright. Then let’s continue on this topic. You began playing Magical Girl Raising Project, because you were interested in Magical Girls, right?”

“Not really.”

“Huh? Don’t you like Magical Girls?”

“I like the princess types.”

“Ahh, that sort fo thing.”

“The ads said I could make anything I wanted with my avatar and costume, be it a murderer, race queen, potter or a princess. Also, it was free.”

“Indeed, princesses are nice.”

“Mm.”

“They’re pretty and cute.”

“Mmmm.”

“Huh? But your costume doesn’t resemble a princess’ at all.”

“My original game avatar looked like that.”

“Oh, I see… huh? But you were attracted to Magical Girl Raising Project by the fact that you could play a princess, right? In that case, you could have made your avatar look like a princess, couldn’t you?”

“There were reasons.”

“What kind of reasons were they?”

“White is a princess’ color, so I chose the whitest costume.”

“I see, so that’s the secret of how that striking costume of yours was born.”

“I was also very interested in the way it could raise my party’s magical defense.”

“Ah, so you thought about its game effects as well.”

“Always-on buffs are strong.”

Part 3

“I, I see… then, onto our next question. Could you tell me what a Magical Girl needs to pay attention to under normal circumstances?

“Listening to the leader’s orders.”

“A leader? You’ve formed a team already?”

“Mm.”

“I heard that most Magical Girls work alone and that teams are rare.”

“If we work hard and combine our strength, we can defeat strong enemies.:

“I see, that matches the mindset of a girl who became a Magical Girl from a game.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Everyone in the team gets along, right?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Eh? So you don’t get along?”

“Mm.”

“I, I see… no, but, it’s pretty amazing that you managed to form a team even if you don’t get along, at least that’s what I think. After all, people who don’t get along don’t group up into teams.”

“It’s all thanks to our leader.”

“The leader from just now seems to have very strong appeal.”

“Her name is Ruler.”

“Uh, is it really alright to say her name?”

“I was ordered to spread her name whenever I had the chance.”

“Ah, yes.”

“If I was interviewed, I would have to spread our leader’s name and let everyone know how appealing she was.”

“Did Ruler-san order you to do that?”

“Mm.”

“No, wouldn’t it be better to respond with silence?”

“That’s true.”

“It’s too late now… then, what other members are there in your team?”

“Twin angels and a dog.

“They feel like the team from the final chapter of the Dog of Flanders. What are your teammates like?”

“They’re all useless dummies.”

“Eh?”

“That’s what Ruler said.”

“Ehhhh… did Ruler order you to say that too?”

“No.”

“Maybe it would be better not to say that… then, let’s put Ruler-san’s opinions aside for a while. Swim Swim-san, what do you think of them?”

“They’re all good girls.”

Part 4

“That sounds really fake… let’s change our topic a little. Now then, has your mental state changed ever since you became a Magical Girl?”

“Yes, it has.”

“You can talk about trivial things if you want.”

“Mm… my Magic is to swim into anything.”

“Ohhh, that’s a handy Magic.”

“When I became a Magical Girl, I used my Magic to swim into all sorts of places.”

“That’s nice, it sounds like you had fun.”

“After swimming into all sorts of places, and then I thought of swimming into a mountain.”

“Oh, a mountain.”

“I thought that it would be fun to swim in there.”

“It does seem like the right size to swim around in.”

“I swam inside the mountain, round and round, but I could not swim out no matter what I tried. The mountain was much bigger than I imagined.”

“Then, were you alright?”

“Not really.”

“Huh.”

“I thought that I could not swim along the ground inside the mountain, so I swam upwards. It was very painful and I couldn’t breathe. I got dizzy, my chest ached, and my eyes went dark.”

“That’s terrible, wasn’t it?”

“I’m not sure what happened then, but after I checked, I realized that it was called passing out. That was the change in my mental state.”

“No, that’s not what I meant by an altered mental state. Then, what happened after that, Swim Swim-san? The fact that you’re here means that you were rescued.”

“I emerged in a hole dug halfway inside the mountain.”

“Ahh, is that so? That’s wonderful.”

“I was saved, but I don’t ever want to swim into a mountain again.”

“I think that’s a good idea. You shouldn’t do dangerous things again.”

“Mm.”

“On the flip side, can you tell us what uses your Magic has?”

“I can scare people on Halloween.”

“I see, is there anything else?”

“If I want to take a shortcut, I can go through a wall and scare the nearby people.”

“Ah… some productive uses, perhaps?”

“I can scare away people gathered inside the temple.”

“I’m sorry, but could you tell me something that isn’t related to scaring people?”

“I figured out what passing out means now.”

“That was what we were discussing just now. It’s not what I meant; I’m talking about how your power can help people. Have you done nothing dramatic like saving people in the nick of time and so on?

“I’ll work hard on that from now on.”

“Ahhh… er, that’s good, I’ll be cheering you on.”

“Thank you.:

Part 5

“Then let’s move on to our next question. COuld you tell me if you have any special skills aside from your Magic?”

“I’m learning how to swim.”

“Oh, you’re learning it because you’re Swim Swim.”

“I was confused about which was better between swimming and English, but in the end I chose swimming.”

“A good choice.”

“I’m also good at running, I’m the fastest in my class.”

“You’re surprisingly athletic, Swim Swim.”

“My punches and kicks are strong too.”

“Ohhh.”

“When Tanaka-kun said princesses shouldn’t be violent, I beat him until he shut up.”

“Surprisingly enough, I feel Tanaka-kun was in the right.”

“The royal family must be prepared to fight in order to protect the country. It is the duty of royalty, at least that’s what the book said. Princesses are royalty too, aren’t they?”

“Well, uh, it might be.”

“So I beat up Miyazawa-san when he told Sensei about how I kicked Tanaka-kun.”

“Please don’t do that, it’ll only propagate the cycle of violence.”

“Ruler said so too.”

“This is the first good thing Ive heard from Ruler-san.”

“Princesses not like knights and generals, so there’s no need for them to fight directly. When the court is in chaos, a princess survives by Machiavellian principles… at least, that’s what Ruler said.”

Part 6

“I take my previous words back. Then, onto the next question. Tell me about the Magical Girls you admire.”

“Ruler.”

“Well, I didn’t expect to hear that name. I think someone whose name comes up so often should be quite amazing.”

“Ruler.”

“I heard it. I’m listening.”

“Ruler is the leader that I respect.”

“Ahh, I see. By any chance, did Ruler-san order you to say that?”

“No.”

“Alright, so it is. Let’s move on. Swim Swim-san, what part of Ruler-san do you like best?”

“She’s strong, kind, cool, cute, beautiful, knows everything, and taught me everything.”

“And did Ruler-san order you to say that as well...?”

“No.”

“Ahhh, alright. Please, continue.”

“Also, she is like a princess.”

“Ruler-san is like a princess?”

“Very much.”

“Very much, huh. Speaking of which, you’ve been quite eager to talk about Ruler since just now, Swim Swim-san.”

“Because she’s a princess.”

“You seem quite interested in princesses. Is there any special reason for that?”

“When I was very small, Mama would read stories from a picture book to me. I liked the stories about princesses very much.”

“I see, so it was because of a picture book’s stories. Do you prefer princesses to Magical Girls in animated films? Things like Snow White, Cinderella, and so on.”

“I’ve seen them all.”

“As I thought. Ah, but there are some Magical Girls who are also princesses. Magical Daisy is the princess of the Land of Flowers, after all.”

“Magical Daisy… Don’t know her.”

“Then you’ll have to watch her. Magical Daisy’s very interesting. I recommend it very highly.”

“When and on which day is her show?”

“The season’s finished airing, so you’ll need to rent the DVDs…”

“I can’t.”

“Eh? Why not?”

“I can’t get a membership.”

“Is that so… well, that’s quite troubling.”

“Lend it to me.”

“Eh? Are you talking to me?”

“Lend it to me.”

“Uh… I think PR Department ought to have the full series, but--”

“Lend it to me.”

“Aren’t we being forceful. Well, alright. Magical Daisy would be happy to have more fans. I’ll send it over after the interview.

“Thank you.”

Part 7

“Then, our last question. What does a being Magical Girl mean to you?”

“Ruler.”

“Ah, yes. Ruler-san. The leader of your team.”

“Mm. “

“And did Ruler-san order you to say--”

´´No’‘

“Koff, alright, so it is.”

“Mm.”

“How shall I put this…. This interview gives me a better sense of how Ruler-san is rather than yourself, Swim Swim-san. Is that not true?”

“Make Ruler look good.”

“No, well, I wasn’t planning to badmouth her.”

“Ruler says she has a lawyer friend.”

“No, I really won’t say bad things about her… Although, after this Magical Girl Interview goes through editing, it’s possible that interviews like this won’t pass muster at all… I’ll do my best to take care of it.”

“Thank you.”

Part 8

“Now then. Swim Swim-san, let’s end by saying a few words to everyone.”

“Team Ruler is looking for new members. Experience not required, rookies welcome, interviews conducted during office hours. Since we are Magical Girls, there will be no wages given. We can help you improve your skills, so to all Magical Girls seek a place to shine, why not join Team Ruler to move on to the next stage?”

“Why are you reading off a memo pad? Was it all written there?”

“Mm.”

“Did Ruler-san ask you to promote her with that?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve worked hard.”

“There’s more.”

“There’s more?”

“I let Swim Swim handle this because this interview is for newbie Magical Girls. However, next time, you should interview the most capable Magical Girl of them all, Ruler.”

“Haaaah.”

“If there is a need to conduct another interview, please contact me, Ruler said.”

“Alright, thank you very much for all your hard work.”

“Not at all.”

“Swim Swim-san, thank you for today.”

“Thank you.”

Part 9

“Good evening, Musician of the Forest Clamberry-san.”

“Good evening. I heard that you were interviewing promising new Magical Girls for a Land of Magic publicity magazine, am I right?”

“Yes.”

“What a surprise. I was not informed of anything like that despite being the supervisor.”

“Is there a problem?”

“Oh yes, there is. Come to think of it, she--Swim Swim--is just a Magical Girl candidate, so she’s not interview material until she properly passes her test. She might have excellent potential, but for now she’s just a temp.”

“Huh, so that’s how it is.”

“Yes.”

“I do apologize for that. Something must have gone wrong somewhere…”

“A mascot character must have been meddling around and doing unnecessary things. You can’t rely on them at all. Now then, just leave all the information about this matter with us. It’s over. If you keep forcing your way into this, it’ll cause me a lot of trouble. This is a top-secret project by Human Resources, so… are you listening to me?”

“Well, if she’s a temp, then it can’t be helped. It was an interesting interview…”

“Is that all of it?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

“If you’re hiding anything…”

“I’m not hiding anything. I’ve never been good at hiding things.”

“That’s good.”

“Then, there’s something I’d like to ask.”

“What is it?”

“There’ll be a blank space in our magazine if the newbie Magical Girl interview ges taken down. Therefore, I was thinking that it would be good to replace it with an article along the lines of, ‘Listen To A Capable Examiner! Important Things About Being A Magical Girl!’ or something like that. So, Clamberry-san, I hope you’ll.. Hang on, Clamberry-san. We’re not finished yet, Clamberry-san…”