Post by Deleted on Sept 15, 2021 15:27:32 GMT -8
“The world belongs to the bold. If you do not possess the strength, the courage, to reach out and take hold of it, to mold it into paradise, then you have no right wielding power. There is no place at the top for those who fear. Fear is to be conquered, not embraced. The weak will be swept aside so that men, and women, of vision can make this world into a place to be proud of. A proper future awaits them. Do you understand?”
“Yes, papa.”
Philosophy about power and control. From a drug kingpin of all people. That did not make the words any less true, though, did it? The lesson… the lesson is very clear. The powerful should rule and the weak should know their place. The world’s potential should not be squandered. Nothing should hold one back from destiny. But what does a child know of such things? Only that the man before them, a tower of strength, the epitome of class, power and vision, was their world. His word was the Gospel. The voice of all the saints and God above. A link to the divine future that no doubt awaited.
”Don Javier!”
The white-suited man, slick black hair wrapped in a tight ponytail at the center of the back of his head, a glass of clear liquid cradled in one hand, turns slightly. A brief glance over his shoulder. A simple motion of acknowledgement. The girl next to him, in a dress of bright red, turns with a sharp glare, something the messenger endeavors to avoid.
”The Serranos have arrived!”
His shoulders rise and fall with the deep inhale and slow exhale. The glass is lifted to his lips but he does not drink, instead putting it on the railing. From this balcony, the whole of the city could be seen, lit up, sparkling like gemstones. And all around it… darkness, near-impenetrable. At once it gives the feeling of this place being a bastion, a place of peace within the encroaching shadows.
The man places a hand on the girl’s shoulder and she looks up at him with bright, inquisitive eyes.
”Perhaps you should join us this time, mi princesa? After all, it is never too early to learn.”
”Are… are you sure that is a good idea, Don Javier? This meeting is very imp-”
”I am FULLY aware of its importance!”
He does not yell. Truly, there is no need. A little base and the full force of his black stare makes the messenger cower. Snorting irritably at the sight of the cowering fool, Don Javier takes a knee before the child, a curled finger tilting her chin up so that she is properly looking him in the eye. He points his spread index and middle fingers at his eyes, then at hers.
”Right here, mi princesa. Always. Understand?”
“Yes, papa.”
”Only those who are afraid refuse this. And you are not afraid.”
A statement, not a question. The girl squares her shoulders, straightening up a bit, her black hair falling in waves to her shoulders.
“No, I am not.”
”Then come with me. It is time you learned how your father deals with people who betray his trust.”
”Betray? Then-”
There is only a curt nod in response, and that is enough to quiet the messenger… as well as to send him on his way. Don Javier offers his hand to the girl but, after considering a moment, she shakes her head once. She will walk on her own, under her own strength. Javier smiles thinly, yet warmly. And so they re-enter the sprawling estate, following in the messenger’s wake.
The scene dissolves, giving way to a figure dressed predominantly in black and red, standing before the gutted remains of a massive, castle-like home. Picked apart by scavengers, ravaged by time and weather, yet still possessing something of a regal air, the place yet holds some amount of importance. Beneath a knit cap, the figure’s dark hair is tossed wildly with no move made to tuck it back. The back of the sleeveless denim vest bears a familiar red skull and crossbones insignia, a long-sleeved black tee worn beneath. As the view pans around, we see the woman’s face is masked… the lower half anyway.
La Silencia.
Hands stuffed in her jeans pockets, the hard soles of her boots protecting her from the crunch of the rubble beneath them at every step, she walks through what was once the entrance. Dark eyes dart back and forth, looking for something, or someone… or perhaps nothing at all. Maybe a memory, a trigger to a time long lost. Past the ruined passage, her body language betrays tension and her gaze narrows. From the front right pocket of the vest she takes a familiar-looking stuffed rabbit. Worn down by time but, from the looks of it, recently mended. She hugs it closely to her chest, lowering her head. Eventually she, too, lowers, down to her knees on the ruined tile.
Eyes close. Many a moment passes.
And the view shifts again, this time to a banquet hall, to the white-suited Don Javier and the red-adorned girl by his side. Flanked by a dozen men, his most cherished and trusted lieutenants, he sits at the head of the long table, the girl at his side. On the other end, a glowering Carlos Serrano slams his palms flat against the polished surface, causing flatware and glasses alike to rattle. Despite the physical outburst, Don Javier is utterly calm.
”You dare?! In front of my family?!”
”If I am wrong, Don Carlos, tell me so. Look me in the eye,” Don Javier fixes a stare on the graying yet still vital Don Carlos, ”and tell me I am wrong.”
”So you admit my word means nothing, then!”
The older man splutters, nonplussed, already on his feet while his own people stand about, looking tense. Javier’s men are akin to breathing statues. The man himself is calm, almost genial. Until one looks at those dark, glittering eyes. They never move away from Carlos.
”No. You prove that this is so by your inaction.”
”Do not speak so freely with me! You would spit on over a decade of friendship and loyalty on the word of an idiot,” Carlos rants, pointing out a shivering figure standing off to the side, one of Serrano’s own men at his back. ”While presuming to lecture me on protocol?”
”If I am wrong, tell me I am wrong, Carlos.”
The honorific is left off this time. A small detail, but one that is not unnoticed. Serrano’s men tense. Meanwhile, Javier leans back in his seat, briefly touching the girl’s arm. She had stood as still as the rest of his retinue, and at this light caress she moves out of sight with the grace of a shadow. Though not in such a way that Carlos does not see what is happening.
”Where is she going?!”
”None of your concern. Your focus should be on the man you betrayed, Serrano. The man in front of you.”
”Piss on your accusations!”
Out of sight, there is a gunshot and a heavy thump. Serrano’s man moves back to join the others, the so-called traitor no longer in sight. Javier’s eyes shift to the left, where the pair had been standing, then move back to Serrano. He snaps his fingers sharply, making the old man jump despite himself, whereupon the girl brings him what looks like a manila envelope, then disappears again. Javier passes it to one of his lieutenants, who takes it to Carlos. The older man snatches it out of his hands, opens it and looks upon the pictures within.
Dawning realization creeps into the weathered face of Carlos Serrano. Meanwhile, two sharp clicks go unnoticed by any other than Javier and his men. The source of the clicks is shown to be the girl in red, locking the only passages in and out of the room. Back in the hall, Serrano is back on his feet, cursing up a storm… or at least that is what we can assume he is doing. He has the look of a man ranting, unaware as his men draw in around him, hands going into their jackets, that another half-dozen of Javier’s faithful have stepped out of the room’s alcoves, lining up behind Serrano’s entourage, drawing Colt 9mm SMGs. By the time Serrano realizes what is happening, it is far too late.
Immediately the view is changed to a distant one, but there is no masking the flashes of light in some of the windows of the fortress-like home, the pop-pop-pop like muted fireworks… and then, nothing. Nothing but the howls of scavengers in the distance.
“Las ojos...”
Another dissolve, taking us back to the present. It seems that this room used to have some grand purpose, though it is difficult to tell such with the state it is currently in. Bereft of walls, windows or even a way of knowing which doors led in and which led out. Splintered shards of wood, leftovers of once-pristine furniture and home adornments. Some of the wall does remain, though, at least on one side. To this Silencia walks, fingertips brushing against the faint remnants of paint beneath wallpaper, her careful touch finding a hole there and within… a bullet. With a little prodding, it falls into her hand.
She stares at it, a lump of death-inducing metal, dark and misshapen in her palm. Her fingers close tightly around it and beneath the mask as evidenced by the faintest gleam in her eyes, the woman smiles.
“Aquí murió un cobarde. Recuerdo.”
Shards of glass, from a broken mirror, crackle beneath her boots as she steps further into the shattered remnants of the home. Silencia stops, picking up one of the largest pieces and holding it up to her face, staring into it. Into her reflection. Her eyes.
She points at her own eyes, then at the mirror piece.
“Aquí mismo, papá. Te veo.”
The shard falls from her hands, breaking further on the broken stones.
“En los ojos del Rey Demonio, te vi. Recordé tu lección. Es por eso que.”
After a moment, Silencia pockets the bullet as well as the stuffed rabbit. Those eyes, once betraying a bit of emotion, some faint peace perhaps, are now cold all over again. Turning on her heel, she walks out of the ruined home and into the dusty wind blowing without.
Gone, like a shadow.
Like a memory.
Fin.
“Yes, papa.”
Philosophy about power and control. From a drug kingpin of all people. That did not make the words any less true, though, did it? The lesson… the lesson is very clear. The powerful should rule and the weak should know their place. The world’s potential should not be squandered. Nothing should hold one back from destiny. But what does a child know of such things? Only that the man before them, a tower of strength, the epitome of class, power and vision, was their world. His word was the Gospel. The voice of all the saints and God above. A link to the divine future that no doubt awaited.
”Don Javier!”
The white-suited man, slick black hair wrapped in a tight ponytail at the center of the back of his head, a glass of clear liquid cradled in one hand, turns slightly. A brief glance over his shoulder. A simple motion of acknowledgement. The girl next to him, in a dress of bright red, turns with a sharp glare, something the messenger endeavors to avoid.
”The Serranos have arrived!”
His shoulders rise and fall with the deep inhale and slow exhale. The glass is lifted to his lips but he does not drink, instead putting it on the railing. From this balcony, the whole of the city could be seen, lit up, sparkling like gemstones. And all around it… darkness, near-impenetrable. At once it gives the feeling of this place being a bastion, a place of peace within the encroaching shadows.
The man places a hand on the girl’s shoulder and she looks up at him with bright, inquisitive eyes.
”Perhaps you should join us this time, mi princesa? After all, it is never too early to learn.”
”Are… are you sure that is a good idea, Don Javier? This meeting is very imp-”
”I am FULLY aware of its importance!”
He does not yell. Truly, there is no need. A little base and the full force of his black stare makes the messenger cower. Snorting irritably at the sight of the cowering fool, Don Javier takes a knee before the child, a curled finger tilting her chin up so that she is properly looking him in the eye. He points his spread index and middle fingers at his eyes, then at hers.
”Right here, mi princesa. Always. Understand?”
“Yes, papa.”
”Only those who are afraid refuse this. And you are not afraid.”
A statement, not a question. The girl squares her shoulders, straightening up a bit, her black hair falling in waves to her shoulders.
“No, I am not.”
”Then come with me. It is time you learned how your father deals with people who betray his trust.”
”Betray? Then-”
There is only a curt nod in response, and that is enough to quiet the messenger… as well as to send him on his way. Don Javier offers his hand to the girl but, after considering a moment, she shakes her head once. She will walk on her own, under her own strength. Javier smiles thinly, yet warmly. And so they re-enter the sprawling estate, following in the messenger’s wake.
The scene dissolves, giving way to a figure dressed predominantly in black and red, standing before the gutted remains of a massive, castle-like home. Picked apart by scavengers, ravaged by time and weather, yet still possessing something of a regal air, the place yet holds some amount of importance. Beneath a knit cap, the figure’s dark hair is tossed wildly with no move made to tuck it back. The back of the sleeveless denim vest bears a familiar red skull and crossbones insignia, a long-sleeved black tee worn beneath. As the view pans around, we see the woman’s face is masked… the lower half anyway.
La Silencia.
Hands stuffed in her jeans pockets, the hard soles of her boots protecting her from the crunch of the rubble beneath them at every step, she walks through what was once the entrance. Dark eyes dart back and forth, looking for something, or someone… or perhaps nothing at all. Maybe a memory, a trigger to a time long lost. Past the ruined passage, her body language betrays tension and her gaze narrows. From the front right pocket of the vest she takes a familiar-looking stuffed rabbit. Worn down by time but, from the looks of it, recently mended. She hugs it closely to her chest, lowering her head. Eventually she, too, lowers, down to her knees on the ruined tile.
Eyes close. Many a moment passes.
And the view shifts again, this time to a banquet hall, to the white-suited Don Javier and the red-adorned girl by his side. Flanked by a dozen men, his most cherished and trusted lieutenants, he sits at the head of the long table, the girl at his side. On the other end, a glowering Carlos Serrano slams his palms flat against the polished surface, causing flatware and glasses alike to rattle. Despite the physical outburst, Don Javier is utterly calm.
”You dare?! In front of my family?!”
”If I am wrong, Don Carlos, tell me so. Look me in the eye,” Don Javier fixes a stare on the graying yet still vital Don Carlos, ”and tell me I am wrong.”
”So you admit my word means nothing, then!”
The older man splutters, nonplussed, already on his feet while his own people stand about, looking tense. Javier’s men are akin to breathing statues. The man himself is calm, almost genial. Until one looks at those dark, glittering eyes. They never move away from Carlos.
”No. You prove that this is so by your inaction.”
”Do not speak so freely with me! You would spit on over a decade of friendship and loyalty on the word of an idiot,” Carlos rants, pointing out a shivering figure standing off to the side, one of Serrano’s own men at his back. ”While presuming to lecture me on protocol?”
”If I am wrong, tell me I am wrong, Carlos.”
The honorific is left off this time. A small detail, but one that is not unnoticed. Serrano’s men tense. Meanwhile, Javier leans back in his seat, briefly touching the girl’s arm. She had stood as still as the rest of his retinue, and at this light caress she moves out of sight with the grace of a shadow. Though not in such a way that Carlos does not see what is happening.
”Where is she going?!”
”None of your concern. Your focus should be on the man you betrayed, Serrano. The man in front of you.”
”Piss on your accusations!”
Out of sight, there is a gunshot and a heavy thump. Serrano’s man moves back to join the others, the so-called traitor no longer in sight. Javier’s eyes shift to the left, where the pair had been standing, then move back to Serrano. He snaps his fingers sharply, making the old man jump despite himself, whereupon the girl brings him what looks like a manila envelope, then disappears again. Javier passes it to one of his lieutenants, who takes it to Carlos. The older man snatches it out of his hands, opens it and looks upon the pictures within.
Dawning realization creeps into the weathered face of Carlos Serrano. Meanwhile, two sharp clicks go unnoticed by any other than Javier and his men. The source of the clicks is shown to be the girl in red, locking the only passages in and out of the room. Back in the hall, Serrano is back on his feet, cursing up a storm… or at least that is what we can assume he is doing. He has the look of a man ranting, unaware as his men draw in around him, hands going into their jackets, that another half-dozen of Javier’s faithful have stepped out of the room’s alcoves, lining up behind Serrano’s entourage, drawing Colt 9mm SMGs. By the time Serrano realizes what is happening, it is far too late.
Immediately the view is changed to a distant one, but there is no masking the flashes of light in some of the windows of the fortress-like home, the pop-pop-pop like muted fireworks… and then, nothing. Nothing but the howls of scavengers in the distance.
“Las ojos...”
Another dissolve, taking us back to the present. It seems that this room used to have some grand purpose, though it is difficult to tell such with the state it is currently in. Bereft of walls, windows or even a way of knowing which doors led in and which led out. Splintered shards of wood, leftovers of once-pristine furniture and home adornments. Some of the wall does remain, though, at least on one side. To this Silencia walks, fingertips brushing against the faint remnants of paint beneath wallpaper, her careful touch finding a hole there and within… a bullet. With a little prodding, it falls into her hand.
She stares at it, a lump of death-inducing metal, dark and misshapen in her palm. Her fingers close tightly around it and beneath the mask as evidenced by the faintest gleam in her eyes, the woman smiles.
“Aquí murió un cobarde. Recuerdo.”
Shards of glass, from a broken mirror, crackle beneath her boots as she steps further into the shattered remnants of the home. Silencia stops, picking up one of the largest pieces and holding it up to her face, staring into it. Into her reflection. Her eyes.
She points at her own eyes, then at the mirror piece.
“Aquí mismo, papá. Te veo.”
The shard falls from her hands, breaking further on the broken stones.
“En los ojos del Rey Demonio, te vi. Recordé tu lección. Es por eso que.”
After a moment, Silencia pockets the bullet as well as the stuffed rabbit. Those eyes, once betraying a bit of emotion, some faint peace perhaps, are now cold all over again. Turning on her heel, she walks out of the ruined home and into the dusty wind blowing without.
Gone, like a shadow.
Like a memory.
Fin.
