#charroblanco

He’s felt a weight like this before. He’s felt—no, he’s endured—grief he’s spent his entire life convinced could never be worse. Never heavier. Never deeper, wider, more excruciating of a void in his chest. All this time, Magnifico has wondered how that could even be fair: how an emptiness could hurt so much— There’s nothing there. There’s nothing there. So why does it burn him from the inside out and spread an insatiable inferno through every bone—?

Why is he on fire? Why is he— Why is he here?

The thought process was, at the time and even now, nonexistent. He’s been working on impulse ever since opening that book, welcoming in that devastatingly powerful magic despite knowing precisely what that meant: the sacrifices he’d readily make all for the sake of—! 

Enough. Back to the present. That was then, this is now. Here.

He’s here because of so many reasons Magnifico can’t count—and so many more he doesn’t yet understand. He’s here because suddenly, inexplicably, he remembers how to breathe for the first time since that magic took hold of him, because he needs only to meet a world-ending, soft understanding in that gaze to feel his impulses have steered him right. He’s here. Because, by the end of all this, he’ll look back and think to himself, Yes, of course. Where else would I have been?

But in that “here,” and in that “now,” he holds on to even a fragment of what he’ll feel later. It’s enough to get him to stay.

“It’ll do in a pinch,” Magnifico reassures him, and though his voice is low, practically squeezing out with an effort, he spills into it a gratitude that rings there in the undertow. For someone perceptive—someone like Ernesto—it’d be difficult to miss. “The, uhh… accommodations, not the tequila. For the moment.” Clarification, that which he embellishes with a quirk of a smile that doesn’t yet manage to reach his eyes.

"What is the purpose of this pond? Where are the fish?" Gaston gestured to the pool before him. It hardly looked like a decent moat-- it was far too easy to move around. Perhaps it was a show of wealth? From what he'd gathered [despite Ernesto's insistence otherwise] his associate seemed to be some sort of nobility here.

He had servants, maids, and those weird rat things he kept insisting were dogs.

Through the smoky haze of the sparsely populated bar and lounge, a distinct looking gentleman took the stage. His suit was covered in what appeared to be hand-stitched embroidery- From the iconic sombrero crowning his head to the polished leather tips of his boots. A colorful silk tie offset the beige and tan colors of the charro outfit, almost jewel-like in the overhead stage lighting.

A few members of the audience weren't accustomed to such dramatic clothing, snickering amongst themselves as they elbowed one another. Yet rather than cower or falter in the face of such derision, the musician merely began to stomp the heel of his foot in a rhythmic pace. It made a attention-grabbing metronome as he continued, emitting a wild sounding vocalization that instantly shocked the patrons and stunned them into silence.

"Negrita de mis pesares Ojos de papel volando-"

His voice echoed throughout the bar without need of a microphone, rich in timbre and soulful in spirit. Jae-hyo exhaled a snaking plume of smoke as his eyes widened at the performance, eventually forgetting about his cigarette as the man continued to sing. He held his hands up, making a a frame of sorts around the foreign musician- Thumbs and forefingers making the corners of a single cell of faux film reel.

The clarity and purity of his voice was enough on it's own to mesmerize, but the mariachi had the right 'look' about him- Handsome features, an unspoken but noticeable presence, and a subtle yet infectious energy- His passionate song had managed to rouse those deadened by too much drink, after all.

As soon as the musician finished his set, Yoon grabbed his jacket and weaved through the tables and chairs positioned around the stage, eager to find out who his newest project might be. Arguing could be heard in a back room where the young man had disappeared, the subject clearly centered around money- What else?

Emitting a sharp whistle, Jae leaned against the door frame with a confident smirk pulling at the corners of his narrow and fox-like features.

"Forget this guy, all you'll make is chump change playing for some old drunks. Whatever he's paying, I'll double- No, more than triple- the amount if you partner up with me. The future is in film-making and cinema and I can easily make you a star! You'll be a household name in a matter of months, Mister...?" he trailed off, clearly waiting for a name.

@charroblanco said: "Sometimes you worry me."

Serena can already feel the anger bubbling inside of her, building to a peak and ready to burst forth. First, it was this whole situation with the handmaid, then it was the way Rita dared to look at her and now this? She didn’t need to hear it from Ernesto too. Obsessing over what happened earlier in the day wasn’t doing anyone any good. Still, it played on repeat within her mind. Ofernesto’s comments at the baby shower, the way she embarrassed Serena in front of all of her friends. She seemed positively thrilled that the Wife had missed the baby’s first movements, that she could feel them moving inside her and Serena never would. As relieved as the woman was to have her baby home, she wished that wretched girl didn’t have to come along with them. Albeit, the handmaid and her blessed miracle were a package deal until the baby was born.

What could he possibly be worried about? The way she obsessed over what had happened, now angrily knitting another blanket for the baby? Perhaps it was the way she had taken it out on Rita earlier because she couldn’t touch the woman in red. Maybe it was the flowers she had once tenderly cared for now being destroyed by her own hands, jealous of their fruitful bloom. The clicking of the Wife’s knitting needles increases, a harsher noise with each impact. ❛ Well, I don’t know why, I’m fine. ❜ Her tone is as icy as ever, irritation dripping from every word she speaks. Seems she's only one wrong move away from completely blowing up, letting out everything that has been building up inside. Does he feel the way she was seething? Would he fall victim to her anger? What a rarity, being so horrible towards her beloved husband.

Puss thought carefully about Ernesto's words. He wasn't wrong. Life is full of endless possibilities and one must be prepared for whatever is about to happen.

héctor was, admittedly, more than a little concerned at hearing the other's words. he's not sure what brought any of it on, but they'd been drifting further && further apart. it hadn't started like that at first, && it was something that worried héctor. ernesto had always reached higher, up && up until he could touch the stars above them at night. when he thought hard about it, héctor wanted his amigo to have all the chances in the world to make sure that he could achieve all of his dreams && have all of his desires come true. there were just some parts that didn't quite sit well with the other musician. he'd always prided himself on kindness, trying to make sure that he didn't step on anyone else while trying to make his own dreams come true.

ernesto had held onto that, at first. then something changed && he was left staring at something that kind of resembled his friend. the man he loved the man he cared about was fading away && there wasn't a lot that héctor could do to stop it. he could threaten to stop performing && head back to santa cecilia, but he's not sure what ernesto would do. would ernesto do anything? it wasn't something that he could guarantee one way or another, so it was best right now if he didn't do anything. as much as he wanted to, he wasn't sure it was safe. so, its something that he'll have to live with — even if everything is telling him that he can't.