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goldsainz · 5 months ago

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# CS55 — UN BRINDIS POR LA NAVIDAD !

MASTERLIST !

SERIES MASTERLIST !

001. SUMMARY !

✯ carlos surprises you with a romantic christmas getaway to a family friend’s vineyard.

002. WARNINGS !

✯ drinking (kinda). mainly just fluff.

003. NOTE !

✯ and so it begins! i’m actually so excited for this and i hope you guys are too, i plan to be consistent with this so pls appreciate my commitment. i don’t plan for these to be long, for there to be second parts, just some cute christmas fluff and that’s it.

word count : 2,1k

The winter sun cast a golden glow over the vineyard on the outskirts of Madrid, the crisp air carrying the faint scent of pine and ripe grapes lingering from the last harvest. Carlos had been unusually secretive for weeks, dropping hints about a surprise. Now, as you stood at the entrance of a sprawling estate surrounded by rows of leafless vines dusted with frost, you realized just how much thought he’d put into this moment.

“Welcome to the vineyard,” he said, grinning as he opened the car door for you. His excitement was contagious, and you couldn’t help but mirror his smile.

A warm greeting from one of the Sainz family’s longtime friends set the start of your holiday getaway. The gentleman, a jovial man with an easy smile and a thick Castilian accent, waved you both in like family. “Ah, Carlos, it’s been far too long! And you,” he said, turning to you, “must be the reason he’s been glowing lately.”

Carlos blushed but didn’t deny it, instead taking your hand and squeezing it. “Come on, I want to show you everything,” he said, his excitement bubbling over.

The estate felt like stepping into a postcard of rustic elegance. The old stone bodega stood proudly at the center, its weathered façade draped with ivy and adorned with hand-carved wooden doors. Inside, the smell of aged oak barrels and fermenting wine filled the air. Barrels were stacked floor-to-ceiling, their dark wood polished smooth with time. Carlos ran his hand over one, explaining how his family had often come here to learn about the winemaking process.

“You can tell a lot about a vineyard by its barrels,” he said, his voice taking on an almost reverent tone. “Each one has a story.”

Next, you moved to the tasting room, a cozy sanctuary with a roaring fireplace and walls lined with bottles of wine. Soft Spanish guitar music played in the background, blending seamlessly with the crackle of the fire. Carlos’s friend poured samples of the vineyard’s best offerings—crisp whites, bold reds, and a rosé that tasted like summer in a glass.

Carlos, ever the storyteller, was in his element. “I was probably seven the first time I came here,” he said, swirling a deep crimson wine in his glass. “I remember running through the vines, thinking they went on forever.”

He paused, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “And once, my nonna caught me trying to sneak a sip of wine. She didn’t yell—she just poured me the tiniest drop into a glass and said, ‘Taste it properly or not at all.’” He laughed at the memory, his eyes crinkling in the way that always made your heart skip a beat.

As the hours passed, you found yourself utterly immersed in the world of the vineyard. The family friend led you both through the cellar, and out to a terrace overlooking the countryside. The panoramic view was breathtaking: rows of vines fading into the horizon, hills dusted with snow, and the soft winter sun casting long shadows over the land.

Carlos stood close beside you, his arm brushing against yours as he pointed out landmarks from his childhood. “See that little chapel on the hill? We used to race to the top. I always lost,” he admitted, laughing.

“Hard to imagine you losing a race,” you teased, earning a playful nudge.

The magic of the place wasn’t just in its beauty but in the way Carlos brought it to life with his stories. He wasn’t just showing you the vineyard; he was sharing a part of himself. The way he spoke about his childhood, his family, and the land made you see him in a new light—more grounded, more tender, and impossibly more captivating.

“Do you know what makes this place even better in winter?” Carlos asked, his voice teasing yet warm as the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long golden shadows across the vineyard.

“What’s that?” You replied, curiosity lighting up your face.

“Rosquillas de vino,” he announced, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Wine donuts?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not just wine donuts,” he corrected, grinning. “The best wine donuts you’ll ever taste. And today, I’m going to teach you how to make them.”

Before you could protest—though you had no intention of doing so—he took your hand and led you into a charming little kitchen tucked away in the bodega. The space was as inviting as the rest of the estate, with wooden beams overhead, copper pots hanging from the walls, and a large farmhouse table set with everything you’d need: flour, sugar, olive oil, and, naturally, a bottle of the vineyard’s finest wine.

Carlos wasted no time, rolling up his sleeves with the confidence of someone who had done this a hundred times before. “Right,” he said, clapping his hands together. “First, we mix the dry ingredients.”

You tried to follow his instructions, but it quickly became apparent that Carlos was in his element. His hands moved deftly, measuring and mixing with practiced ease. Meanwhile, you struggled to keep up, spilling flour on the table and accidentally adding too much sugar to your bowl.

“Hey, it’s not a competition,” Carlos teased, nudging you with his elbow as he began to knead the dough.

“Good thing,” you shot back, laughing. “You’d win by a mile.”

The banter continued as you both worked side by side. Carlos’ dough seemed to come together effortlessly, forming smooth, perfect rings that he laid neatly on a tray. Yours, on the other hand, looked more like abstract art.

He glanced over and tried to stifle a laugh. “Are you sure you’ve never done this before? Because these… are unique.”

You rolled your eyes, playfully swiping a handful of flour and tossing it at him. It landed squarely on his shoulder, leaving a white streak on his dark sweater.

“Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be?” he said, raising an eyebrow and scooping up his own handful of flour.

Before you could react, he dusted it lightly over your hair. You gasped in mock outrage, grabbing another handful, and within moments, a full-blown flour war broke out. Laughter echoed through the kitchen as flour flew in every direction, covering both of you in a fine white powder.

“You’re doing this on purpose!” you accused, giggling as he reached over and smudged a streak of flour across your cheek.

“Maybe,” he admitted, grinning. “But look how cute you are with flour on your face.”

Despite the chaos, the rosquillas made it into the oven. As they baked, filling the kitchen with a warm, sweet aroma, you both took a moment to catch your breath. The table was a disaster zone, and your clothes were beyond saving, but none of it mattered.

Carlos leaned against the counter, his hair dusted with flour and his smile softer now. “See? Told you this would make the place even better.”

You shook your head, still laughing as you brushed a bit of flour off his sleeve. “I don’t know if it’s the donuts or you, but I think you might be right.”

When the sweet treats were finally done, you pulled them out of the oven together, their golden edges glistening with a light dusting of sugar. Carlos took one, broke it in half, and handed you a piece.

“Moment of truth,” he said, watching as you took a bite.

The donut was warm, tender, and subtly sweet with the faintest hint of wine. It was perfect.

“You’re a genius,” you said, savoring the flavor.

“Don’t let my nonna hear you say that,” he replied, laughing. “She’d take all the credit.”

The warmth of the rosquillas, the mess in the kitchen, and the way Carlos looked at you—it all felt incredibly perfect. In that moment, you realized that the donuts were more than just a treat; they were a memory, a piece of Carlos’s life that he was sharing with you. And you couldn’t imagine anything sweeter than that.

The magic of that moment lingered as night fell, casting the vineyard in twilight hues. Carlos took your hand, guiding you outside with a knowing smile. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine, frost, and the rich aroma of wine still clinging to the evening.

What awaited outside took your breath away. Twinkling Christmas lights adorned the trees, their soft glow reflected in the freshly fallen snow. Under the largest tree stood a small table draped in linens, set with two glasses, a bottle of wine, and blankets invitingly draped over the chairs.

“Carlos,” you whispered, touched by the magic he had created.

He smiled, his eyes warm and reflecting the golden light around you. “I wanted tonight to be unforgettable,” he said softly, pulling you closer as the two of you approached the table.

As you settled onto the blanket-draped bench, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his warmth. The glow of the lights, the stillness of the vineyard, and the presence of the man beside you created a serenity you hadn’t known you needed.

“You know,” he began, his voice low and thoughtful, “when I brought you here, I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it. This place means a lot to me, but I wanted it to mean something to us.”

“It already does,” you replied, turning to meet his gaze. “Carlos, this is… it’s perfect. Every part of today.”

His face softened, a mixture of relief and adoration. “Good. Because I’ve been planning this for months. Do you have any idea how hard it was not to let anything slip? My friends started betting on how long I’d last before ruining the surprise.”

You laughed, imagining his determination—and struggle—to keep his plans a secret. “Well, I think you deserve all the praise for pulling this off. Today has been more perfect than I could have ever imagined.”

Then, Carlos set his glass down and turned to you, his expression shifting to something more serious. “There’s one more thing I wanted to say,” he murmured, his voice steady but laced with emotion.

You tilted your head, curiosity sparking again. “What is it?”

He hesitated for a moment, as though gathering his thoughts. Then, with a small smile playing on his lips, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, elegantly wrapped box. The golden vineyard lights danced across the delicate wrapping. He held it out to you, his fingers brushing against yours as you took it.

“This isn’t what you might be thinking,” he began quickly, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. “I’m not proposing—yet. But this,” he gestured to the box, “is a promise. A promise that wherever life takes us, you’ll always have a piece of me, just like I’ll always carry a piece of you.”

Your heart raced as you opened the box, revealing a delicate gold necklace nestled inside. The pendant, shaped like a tiny vine leaf, was intricate, it's fine details capturing the beauty of the vineyard that surrounded you. It glinted in the soft light, shinier than the stars and the moon.

Your breath caught, emotion welling up as you took the necklace from his hands. “Carlos…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He clasped it around your neck, his fingers brushing your skin gently. “I want this to be the beginning of something. Not just for tonight, but for every Christmas, every memory, every part of our story.”

Tears filled your eyes as you touched the pendant, feeling the intricate details. “It’s beautiful.” you said, smiling through the tears.

Carlos cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the stray tears. “I love you,” he said simply, the weight of the words wrapping around you like a blanket.

“I love you too,” you replied, leaning into his touch as his lips met yours in a soft, lingering kiss that carried every promise his words had left unsaid.

When you finally pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours. As you sat together under the lights, the rosquillas, the wine, the necklace, and the man beside you made the night feel infinite.

Raising your glasses, you toasted to the moment.

“To many more Christmases like this,” you said, your voice filled with hope and love.

“And to us,” Carlos added, his eyes never leaving yours.

The clink of your glasses echoed softly through the still night, a sound that would forever remind you of the Christmas when forever began.

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rhactividades · 15 days ago

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EL CARNAVAL DE PRIMAVERA: CIERRE DE ACTIVIDAD.

Contra todo pronóstico, la celebración transcurrió sin sobresaltos. Las calles del centro de Lautersee brillaron con luces doradas hasta bien entrada la madrugada. El desfile principal, encabezado por bailarines vestidos de blanco y dorado, recorrió la avenida principal entre pétalos de flores y música acorde. Las carrozas, adornadas con motivos florales y símbolos antiguos, cruzaron la plaza principal como en tiempos mejores.

A las diez de la noche, los fuegos artificiales iluminaron el cielo como una promesa. Las cenizas cayeron como la última nieve, y el aroma a flores aún persistía en las plazas cuando todo concluyó.

Pero, obviamente, no todo estaba bien en Lautersee.

Las luces del carnaval no podían iluminar las sombras que se escondían detrás de los muros del Club. La sala de reuniones —esa sala privada forrada en madera oscura y alfombras persas, donde tantas decisiones habían dado forma al curso de generaciones—, La Sociedad se encontraba reunida. No todos, claro. Pero sí aquellos que alguna vez forjaron las reglas, y que ahora debatían sobre cómo sostener lo que se tambaleaba ante sus ojos.

Por primera vez en años, no hubo cortesías. No hubo saludos ni brindis. Solo miradas afiladas y posiciones claras. Lo que comenzó como una conversación privada se convirtió rápidamente en una confrontación.

—Esto es una injusticia, y lo saben —dijo William Thompson, rompiendo el silencio con su voz áspera y autoritaria—. Hyun Seok y Li Zhou no asesinaron a Astor.

—La evidencia es circunstancial —añadió Baek Jiwook, apoyando su bastón con fuerza en el suelo—. Y la respuesta ha sido desmedida. ¿Detenerlos así? ¿Con un informe policial lleno de huecos?

David Bauer asintió, sus dedos tamborileando suavemente sobre el apoyabrazos de su sillón. —Las familias Zhou, Seok, Yuh, Baek, Lindström… todas bajo sospecha, todas castigadas sin juicio alguno. ¿Desde cuándo permitimos que algo así suceda?

Karl Lindström bufó, cruzado de brazos. —Desde que algunos creen que es mejor sacrificar aliados para mantener el espectáculo. Astor está muerto, pero la verdadera tragedia es lo que están haciendo con el legado que construimos.

Henri Lemoine, más callado que de costumbre, dejó el vaso sobre la mesa con un leve clac. —Estamos jugando con fuego. Y en este juego, nadie es intocable.

Berat Volkan levantó la voz. —No olviden quiénes somos. No somos piezas. Somos quienes mueven el tablero. ¿Y ahora vamos a aceptar decisiones tomadas fuera de este círculo?

Kang Seojin miró alrededor con una expresión de desaprobación apenas disimulada. —Nuestros nombres están en boca de periodistas. Esto no es prudencia. Es una purga.

Johan Heijen, siempre contenido, dejó escapar una risa seca. —Y lo peor es que ni siquiera sabemos quién está detrás de todo esto. Ese sobre del laberinto, los mensajes. Nuestras familias corren un peligro real...

Del otro lado de la sala, la oposición ya no intentaba suavizar nada. Han Doyun, firme, replicó: —No hace falta saber quién lo hizo. Lo que sabemos es que la muerte de Astor desató algo más grande que no podemos controlar, y Hyun y Li estaban demasiado cerca del fuego.

—¿Y eso basta para declararlos culpables? —preguntó Edvard Ødegård, con una calma peligrosa.

—No son inocentes por cercanía —intervino Mehmet Özkurt, apoyándose en la lógica—. No cuando hay intereses ocultos, errores encubiertos, y cuando las consecuencias afectan a todos.

Nakamura Hiroshi añadió, sin levantar la voz: —La Sociedad sobrevive porque elimina sus debilidades. Si no lo hacemos nosotros, alguien más lo hará. Si se pierde el control, se pierde todo. Y en este momento, algunos aquí representan un riesgo.

—¿Riesgo o diferencia de opinión? —preguntó Giovanni Moretti, irónico.

—No hay espacio para las dos cosas —respondió Emilio Valente—. No cuando estamos en la mira del mundo.

La sala, lo que alguna vez fue un símbolo de unidad, parecía ahora el eco hueco de algo que se rompía con cada palabra. Los rostros conocidos se miraban como si ya no se reconocieran del todo. No quedaba lealtad. Solo estrategia. Solo intereses.

La Sociedad, por primera vez desde su fundación, no era un círculo cerrado ni un pacto secreto. Era un campo de batalla. Y lo más inquietante era que nadie parecía tener la intención de detener la guerra que se avecinaba.

¡Hola, cuervos! Con esto damos por finalizada la decima actividad del grupal. Esperamos que haya sido de su agrado y que hayan disfrutado de rolearla.

El carnaval terminó de la mejor manera, sin ninguna situación que escalara a algo grave. Lo único fuera de lo normal fueron los archivos que recibieron los personajes durante la intervención. Les recordamos que esta información solo la conocen ellos y los personajes con quienes hayan decidido compartirla. Hacemos una breve petición por aquí: sabemos que, en el mensaje de la intervención, el Búho los invita a hacer algo con los archivos. Sin embargo, les solicitamos que, por ahora, sus personajes no los hagan llegar a la prensa ni a la policía, por favor.

La conversación mencionada arriba no fue presenciada por ningún personaje. Se trata únicamente de una escena entre todos los fundadores/abuelos de La Sociedad.

Como puede notarse, comienzan a dividirse en sus opiniones y decisiones. Para darles más contexto al momento de rolear, les dejamos aquí una lista de los abuelos que consideran que Hyun Seok y Li Zhou son inocentes: William Thompson, Baek Jiwook, David Bauer, Henri Lemoine, Karl Lindström, Berat Volkan, Kang Seojin, Edvard Ødegård, Giovanni Moretti y Johan Heijen. Por otro lado, estos son los que creen que sí son culpables de la muerte de Astor: Han Doyun, Mehmet Özkurt, Nakamura Hiroshi, Francis Cox, Yuh Sanghoon, Emiliano Márquez, Rachit Chanthawong y Antonio Valente. Obviamente, sus personajes pueden tener opiniones distintas a las de su familia; no buscamos imponer ninguna postura.

Les daremos más información sobre las investigaciones y los arrestos con la nueva actividad. Pero, les adelantamos que las cuentas de las familias expuestas en San Valentín y de los dos detenidos (Seok y Zhou) han sido congeladas, por lo que no tienen acceso a estos recursos. Además, el time skip para la nueva actividad será de dos semanas, con la opción de que sus personajes hayan podido dejar Lautersee en ese periodo. Mencionamos esto por si desean crear headcanons relacionados con ese detalle.

Son libres de seguir respondiendo sus threads y utilizando los chats hasta que publiquemos la nueva actividad.

Cualquier duda o pregunta, nuestro buzón y chat privado por Discord están disponibles. ¡Gracias por su atención!

#actividad 010.#cierre de actividad.

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