@drslcg
Mausoleums, grass, graves, stone-made crosses and walking trails; the old creature finds himself walking around the old cemetery in Tepotzotlán; his legs carrying him around the place without missing a beat, as though he knows where he's going. But — he doesn't, and that's the thing. It was supposed to be a short work trip, a powerful hero meeting others to inspire them, negotiate with them, and bring hope to tiny places like this one where it's needed the most.
But he's managed to get some free, alone time amid all the niceties, some time to enjoy the peace and quiet, and get to know the city as best as he possibly can! Something's been bothering him, however. Some corners look familiar, the scent of the place is familiar, the trees and their leafs moving in tandem with the wind is familiar, and it all sure spikes his curiosity.
The language here hasn't really been a barrier — White Hat is very fluent in Spanish, and he does sort of remember why that is. But that was a long time ago, and he doesn't often get to speak in said language as often where he lives, now. It makes him a bit sad, a bit nostalgic, but it's okay, he supposes, it's how things worked out, and he's happy with the way things are.
Or is he?
One grave in particular catches his eye at some point, and he stops to watch it from a distance before deciding to approach it. It's old, covered in mold and plants, and the stone is even a little crooked to one side. But the name can be read clearly, and suddenly — Suddenly, a cold wave washes over his whole being, and he can't help but freeze in the spot in front of the grave.
Oh. Right. Of course.
It hurts. And he wants to leave — Which he does, eventually. But it's after a long time, and after tears have welled up in his good eye and traced down his pale cheek, that he does. He feels empty, feels angry, feels... a whole lot of things as he makes his way back to where they're staying the night: a small posada called Posada del Fraile. Ironically enough, it's been painted light blue, which happens to be one of his favorite colors.
But the color doesn't help to cheer him up at all when he arrives, unusually enough, and he only has the energy to sit down on his bed once he's in his room. He pulls out his mobile phone, takes his gloves off, and stares at the screen for several moments. Then, he starts typing. He's tired — very emotionally exhausted.
Hello. :)
Where are you, if it's OK to ask?
