#senor flores
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I was thinking about an AU where Isabela never confessed that she didn't want to marry Mariano.
Confess to Mirabel, that is. She admitted it to Dolores at some point.
Dolores, in turn, told her that actually she wanted to marry Mariano.
And instead of doing the natural thing and telling their parents, because the Madrigal family is awful at communicating, they decided to pull a switch. At Isabela's wedding, it would actually be Dolores under the veil, and she wouldn't reveal herself until it was too late. They'd be married, and no matter the reaction of the family, they couldn't do that.
Except, of course, that the ceremony would be invalid, because Dolores would be married under the name Isabela Madrigal.
Unless they got the priest in on it. And he agreed to go along with it. And not tell their family.
A friend of mine suggested that they have Antonio's animals cause a distraction at all the points Isabela's name would be said in the ceremony. They wouldn't tell him what was going on - just "Hey, don't you want your jaguar to be with you when your cousin gets married?" And then said jaguar entering right at the moment Padre Flores says Isabela's name causes a bit of an uproar, so no one hears that he actually said Dolores' name instead.
And then after the wedding everyone realizes what happened.
Meanwhile, poor Mariano is stuck on the middle and has no clue what's going on.
#encanto#isabela madrigal#dolores madrigal#mariano guzman#padre flores#senor flores#encanto au#madrigal family#antonio madrigal
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What are your headcanons about the priest in Encanto?
Ok this has been sitting in drafts for a minute but assuming this is re: Sr. Baldy Flores, lemme make some stuff up real quick since I...don't really have anything!
Juan Flores was a little under four years old when Pedro Madrigal died and is the middle child in a family known for pulls a profession out of a hat raising dairy animals and making cheese. His family are devoutly religious, so it made sense for him to be very present at church. He sung in the choir, was an altar boy and later a general assistant to the Encanto's first priest.
At some point Bruno told him he'd go bald. This was disappointing, as Flores was not immune to the sin of vanity.
Years pass and the first priest aged and Flores became the most obvious choice for a successor (since in my 'verse his chosen heir fucked off to a proper seminary school and didn't come back), so Flores gradually took on more priestly duties to become accepted by the community. With no way to contact the local diocese, whichever one it was, he was ordained ad hoc as an officer of The Church with the blessing of Alma Madrigal. Upon the origina priest's death, Flores became the only game in town.
He takes his role seriously, though it does bother him that he's not recognized and likely never will be by The Church at large. He's a decent politician, knows how to smooth things over but is very, very aware that in absence of the Pope (or even a cardinal or bishop) his boss is Alma. He is very tired. He knows more secrets than Dolores and is better at keeping them.
(My 'verse exclusive: when Jose eventually come back Flores feels that his position is threatened. He's territorial and grumpy about it.)
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The Town Of Encanto
Random tidbits of worldbuilding that (probably) wouldn’t make it in the main story. It also doubles as a reminder for me if I forgot about something for the side stories.
Since most of the people have Pokémon. They don’t really rely too much on the Madrigal’s gifts. Giving them a lot of free time to do whatever they want. Be it a personal project or a hobby.
Alma is chosen as the leader of the town by default because she was blessed by Arceus himself. (Even if she doesn’t want to)
The ‘government’ of the town consists of councils that have their own individual jobs that they govern over, but all final decisions are made by Abuela Alma.
The council consists of The Méndez that works with food and drugs, the Ortiz with agriculture, The Guzmán with trade, the Torres with health and human service, The Moreno with education, and The Madrigal (temporarily) for Justice (Formerly held by the Fernandez).
Even though the town is relatively peaceful due to the isolation from the outside world. There’s still a police-like force that keeps the town safe and upholds the law.
Most of the Madrigals are either in the police force (Felix, Camilo), the council (Julieta, Pepa), or both (Dolores). With the exception of Agustin, Luisa, and Mirabel who constantly rotate their jobs that fit the town's current needs.
Felix is the head captain of the police force with Camilo working directly under him.
Several people had been kicked out of the Encanto by the magic candle after they had grown selfish and entitled and tried to take the magic from the Madrigal.
Modern technology inventions (Such as modern pokeball, healing station, and pokedex) are crudely remade with the information from Agustin books and Rotom phone. Some were more successful than the others.
The town had a community Pokémon. Which are Pokémon that don’t have a human partner but are domesticated and willing to help humans.
Isabela’s and Bruno’s Pokémons are allowed to roam around and help if they desire as they are now considered a community Pokémon.
Isabela’s Pokémons would rather spar with one another or wild Pokémon's to hone their skills and not let it dull in the hopes that when Isabela comes back they can immediately go back to battling together.
Cacturne likes to bully some of the humans and Pokémon in town (Especially Magicarp Lady) and most of the time gets away with it. (He’s very persuasive).
Bruno’s Pokémons spend most of their time pranking the people that had been treating Bruno poorly. Ranging from stealing food to even destroying clothes or furniture.
Raticate likes to steal Senor Flores' toupee because he keeps making her partner sad over something he didn’t do. (Which is stating the obvious because the man was already balding.)
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Broken Glass - A Gus and Andres Drabble
cw: memory loss
Gustavo usually enjoyed his Sunday afternoons. He loved his weekly ritual of spending time with Bruno Madrigal, but on one Sunday in particular, it left a horrible taste in his mouth. It wasn’t Bruno’s company that did it, but rather who approached him after he left.
After Mass earlier that morning, his day started as it had every week. Ozzy kissed him goodbye on the steps outside the church before escorting his sister and her family home for a visit with them. Gustavo accepted the Eucharist from Padre Flores to take home to his sick mother, and then he and Bruno sat in the garden of the church to talk. It was an all around pleasant day, and when Mirabel arrived to walk Bruno home for lunch, Gustavo stood up to start his own journey toward his mother’s house.
His steps were careful, his right leg more tender and susceptible to aches in the cooler months. He had to be careful not to slip on a cobblestone, or catch his cane between cracks, or else he’d never hear the end of it from his loved ones.
The last thing he wanted was for his freedoms to be taken from him. He enjoyed the freedom to come and go throughout the Encanto as he pleased, and he feared one mistake could mean Ozzy going overboard in wanting to make sure he was properly cared for with an escort at all times.
“I promise, I’m fine,” Gustavo would tell him over and over again when he needed to take more frequent stops to sit down. “Just a quick rest that’s all.”
He could tell Ozzy wasn’t buying it, the way he side-eyed him with such worry, but compromising on using his wheelchair at parties where alcohol flowed like a river was enough for him to feel better. Ozzy loved him after all, and the last thing he wanted was to make Gustavo feel like he was crossing a boundary in his independence.
Gustavo couldn’t help but smile to himself at the tender care of his amor, and he knew one day he would need Ozzy when his leg was completely stiff and he’d be unable to walk at all. That day would come in due time, but for now, Gustavo would continue to exercise and hope that day would be far off in the distant future.
Those thoughts were what he focused on when his Sunday took a turn for the worst, and Andres Acosta crossed his path at the intersection of an alley.
“Pardon, Pinheiro.” He held onto a satchel of empty bottles to keep them from hitting the other. “Almost had ourselves an accident there, eh?”
“Heh, right. You were walking so fast around that corner, I didn’t even hear you coming.”
So far so good, which was a rarity for Andres, but of course, the next words out of his mouth were akin to the Andres he knew.
“Would’ve been a shame if I knocked you down and dropped all these bottles around you. Broken glass and all,” he emphasized.
“Yeah, good thing that didn’t happen then. Excuse me, I have something to bring to my mother.”
Gustavo struggled to walk as quickly as he could but Andres moved his body slightly to block his way.
“I’ll say,” he continued. “Imagine how that would look for me to have all our friends and neighbors come out and see poor, old Gustavo Pinheiro on the ground covered in broken glass? And me standing over you as if I’d done it on purpose.”
“I would have assured them it was an accident,” Gustavo said to him. “Please excuse me.”
Once again he attempted to go around, but Andres only blocked him once more.
“Not like your word or anyone else’s would mean a damn.” He cocked his hip to the side, a stance of arrogance as he asserted himself against him. “I already know the people of this village have it out for me, no thanks to you and the rest of that council. So best be careful to avoid me and avoid any more potential accidents, eh, amigo?”
“Is that a threat, Senor?” he asked.
“You would know one, wouldn’t you? You’re no better than me after all.”
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t know what makes you think you’re so innocent, but you, the Madrigals, you’re all just as sinister as you make an outstanding man as myself out to be.”
“The hell are you talking about?” Gustavo’s grip tightened on his cane, hoping for once he did have someone with him, but it was only the two of them in that alley. His eyebrows must have furrowed deep at those accusations because Andres seemed to take joy in making him mad.
Andres smirked. “Because you’re still just as hot-headed and selfish as you were when you were bullying Bruno Madrigal.”
“That was a long time ago - before you even showed up around here. Bruno and I are friends now. I don’t care what stories you’ve heard, but I’ve changed.”
“Not from where I’m standing.”
“I changed,” Gustavo reiterated with a heat rising in his voice. “When I go visit my mother, and I see photos of me as a young man, I have no idea who that is.”
“Maybe on the outside, but not the inside.”
“I don’t have time for this.” Gustavo went to walk away from him, but again, a quick turn of his body, and Andres had stopped him.
“All you have to look at to know the truth is your relationship with Senor Gomez.”
At the mention of Ozzy, Gustavo snapped his head up to stare straight into his eyes. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.
Andres had a playful smile on his face as he continued his taunting. “A little bird told me that fall in 1930 did a lot more damage to you than just your leg. Word is your mind is slipping.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“But it’s Oswaldo’s, and you’re not telling him. Why is that?”
“None of your business,” Gustavo repeated.
“See?” He chuckled. “You’re such a bad guy.”
“No I’m not!” Gustavo stamped the butt of his cane down on a stone and shook as he did his best to remember how to be intimidating. Like second nature to tower over the man smaller than himself - to forget his cane and broaden his shoulders to seem like the strong, fighting, athletic boy he used to be. Not that it worked - Andres only seemed to take more enjoyment in the show.
“You’re really going to say you’re not a villain the way you willingly let that man fall in love with you? Knowing you’re going to forget him one day soon?”
“You’re crossing a line, Andres.” Gustavo’s voice dipped low.
“So?” Andres stepped forward and pressed his face closer to his. With his own voice dropped low to match he said, “You probably won’t even remember this conversation by morning.”
Andres then spat on the ground beside them and sauntered off with his bag back to his home. He didn’t even so much look back at the man he left behind.
Gustavo stood there, panting heavily out of anger before taking a seat on a bench nearby. He rested his head on the handle of his cane, gripping it in trying to calm himself down.
He’s wrong, he told himself.
He’s wrong.
@prismatoons @thebiggestnope
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Their Blood, Her Pain
One day in the Spanish township of Ondasa a young merchant boy named Pepe Vasquez
went walking in the woods one night where he saw something scarred him for life.
He sees an altar and three women chanting and tieing four children from the orphanage to stakes.
The three women were Belladonna, Medea and Morgana Diaconu, gypsies that traveled to Spain from Romania.
Belladonna:" Morgana take this dagger and slit that boy's wrist. Medea collect the blood and set it on the alter and sa the spell"
Morgana:" Dearest Belladonna you look into the spellbook and find the spell to summon demons on the earth"
Medea:" Take this blood as our living sacrifice"
Morgana:" Take there bones as the symbol of flesh"
Belladonna:" We ask you to seek revenge for those who tortured our family"
Pepe steps on a twig and it snaps. The Diaconu sisters saw Pepe. Pepe took off running through the woods backtoward the village. He runs into the village cathedral to tell the priests what he had seen.
The priests sit there around a table and have the following conversation with Pepe Vasquez.Father Miguel Flores sits across froom Pepe. There were five other people there. FatherRyan Gabriel, Reverend Mother Maria Francis, Friar Brian ortega, sister Maria Catherine and Father Diego Santiago. He told them what he saw and they screamed.
Father Flore:" Pepe how many children did you see out in the woods?"
Pepe:" i saw two children from the orhanage a boy about the age of 8 named Raul Chapuis and the girl from the orphanage was about the age of 9 named Ginger Espinoza.
ReverendMother Maria Francis:" Pepe dear child what were the sister's doing to the children?"
Pepe:" They were chanting and one of them had this bowl. There was a girl being tied to a stake and the boy was tortured and his blood was flowing into a bowl"
Friar Ortega:" Where are the bodies and the alter?"
Pepe:" I found them about 200 yards in the woods. I know that the children that were murdered were missing from the orphanage"
Reverend Mother Maria Francis:" I'm going to get the constable to take his statement"
Constable De La Rosa:" Pepe I want you to tell me what you saw in the woods"
Pepe proceeds to tell the constable everything including what Morgana, Belladonna and Medea Diaconu had done which included when they drank the poor children's blood and burned the bodies on their crosses.
The constable was disgusted with the horriffic details of the event of that morning that he ordered that the sisters should be found questioned then tortured to death.
The soilders scoured the village and woods as well as the surrounding villages for the Diaconu sisters.
Three days had past since the events had past when six soilders found them hiding in a marina cave. They were immediately taken to the constable who then held a an Inquistion court.
Judge Cardnial Santiago:" Belladonna tell me exactly what you were doing in the woods with your sisters and those two children were and what you were doing to them."
Belladonna (looks at them all and says):" I was setting up a ritual with my sisters involving the two orphans who would never be missed."
Judge:" Belladonna that is all for now. Constable bring me Medea please."
Constable De La Rosa takes Belladonna to her cell and gets Medea and takes her to the court.
Judge:" Medea I want you to tell us what happened on the day in question."
Medea(Clears her throat and says):" I was asked to collect the orphan children's blood in this ceremonial sacrifice bowl. She then said the spell put the blood on our foreheads. We drank a little of the blood retreated to the cave."
Judge:" Senor Inqusitor make sure you have been writing down all of the testimony that way we can deliberate and choose the punishment that is fit for those three sisters."
Inquisitor:" Your Honor I have been making notes as well as writing down the testimony"
Judge:" Excellent constable take Medea to her cell and make sure she speaks to no one."
The constable took Medea back to her cell making sure that doesn't converse with any of her sisters. He then went to Morgana's cell and took her to go see the judge and the Inquisitor.
Judge:" Morgana we know what you and your sisters have done What will you plead?"
Morgana:" I admit that I kidnapped and tortured to death those two orphan children. I accept what punnishment that you bestow on my weary soul. For i know where Im going. Lucifer is waiting on me."
The judge looks at the Inquisitor and then says :" Morganna Diaconu I hereby state that you and your sisters will first be tortured to death then burned on a stake.
Judge:" Constable have yout men build 3 upside down crosses one per sister. Then take them and pull their skin off of them and then attachthen to the crossesupsidedown. The gather somewood and add their skin to the kindling, Then light the crosses.
Morgana(screaming):" I am not sorry that I did what I did. I curse you and all of your houses. By the Full Moon you all will die. They were lit on fire. Five days later the whole village was found dead.
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Missing
Chapter 3
Sarah Redcloud was mentally preparing her resignation letter for the hundredth time that day while mulling over some paperwork. Sarah was one of only a few non-white detectives (and the only indigenous one) in her department. It meant that not only did she have to put up with a bunch of sexist crap; she also had to deal with a heaping helping of racism as well. The fact that she was still on the force was more a testimony to her spitefulness than actual love for the job.
As she went through the motions of doing her job, she heard the chief call her name. Closing her eyes and shaking her head, she wondered what fresh misery awaited her. Slowly, she got up and walked into his office.
The chief was an I'll proportioned man. His legs were too long, and his arms were too short for his body. His face was fat and round, but the rest of him looked as if he hadn't so much as seen a sandwich since 97. His mouth and eyes were about half the size of what would have been considered aesthetically pleasing with a nose and ears that were twice as much. He was bald on top with a ring of thick, curly, salt and pepper hair around his head.
"Yes?" she asked, irritated that not only had she been interrupted, but that she now had to deal with him.
"We got a missing person case. Fourteen-old girl, the parents are waiting in interrogation room three." He picked up some papers and handed them to her. His speech patterns were always a bit off, like an alien or a computer trying to approximate human speech, coming close, but just not quite there yet.
"Why me?" she asked bluntly, already knowing the answer.
"They're your people," he answered back with a mocking smile.
Sarah just wanted wanted to punch him in his chubby face. "By 'my people', do you mean Lakota or brown?" She didn't even try to hide the bitterness in her voice.
"See for yourself. I can't tell the difference," he smirked.
*If we're ever in a fire fight together, I'm going to shoot you*, she thought to herself, which made her smile, and that made him uncomfortable.
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Sarah entered the room and saw two Hispanic people sitting at the table. The man was a quirky handsome, not traditionally attractive, but his very "offness" gave him a certain attractiveness that was beyond his actual visage. In a lot of ways, he reminded her of Gomez Addams. The woman was pudgy but not overwhelmingly so and would be considered svelte by mid-western standards. She had long, black hair that was tied into a tight bun and wire rimmed glasses. She had scrubs on which told her that she worked in the medical field (a nurse most likely). She quickly gathered two things; these were the parents and they were divorced. They looked worried and scared but took no steps to console one another. This would make things more difficult due to the fact that most divorced couples were more interested in attacking each other than providing useful information.
"Hola, Senor y Senora Flores. Soy Detective Redcloud," Sarah started to say but stopped when the man waved his hand.
"We both speak English. I was born here and she's been her since she was ten." There was a quiet resignation in his voice that said he was so over people just assuming he couldn't or didn't speak English.
"Very well," Sarah said as she sat down. She flipped through some of the papers she had before looking up and talking again. "So, your daughter Lucia is missing. Do you know about when she went missing?"
Elana shook her head. "She was at camp for the summer. I got letters from her and we would text each other for the first month, but then she stopped. I was still getting letters from her, so I thought she had just lost or damaged her phone, Lucia was always doing things like that, so I didn't think any more about it. Then, when I went to pick her up, she wasn't on the bus. I asked some of the other children if they had seen her and they all said no."
Elana stopped to wipe her eyes and compose herself before continuing. "I called the camp, but they said she left on the bus and hung up on me. I called my ex-husband to see if she was with him, but," Elana stopped again, unable to go on.
"And you're dad I take it?" Sarah asked politely but sternly.
"Yes. I don't have much involvement with my ex. I have some visitation rights, but they're rarely enforced. I didn't even know she had gone away to camp."
Elana snapped around and glared at Hector. "Oh! So this is all my fault?" she angrily asked.
"I am merely telling the truth," Hector replied with righteous indignation.
Sarah looked down and rolled her eyes. Here it comes: the yelling, the blaming, it was the same old nonsense. She wondered if it was ever possible for divorced parents to love their kids more than they hated each other.
"Mister and misses Flores, please. This isn't going to find Lucia. Just calm down please." Sarah's voice was flat and firm. She knew she had to get things under control as soon as possible if she ever wanted to have a hope of finding this kid. Luckily the two settled themselves and retreated to their corners, allowing Sarah to begin again.
"Ms. Flores, you said Lucia was supposed to have gone to camp; what was the name of that camp?" Sarah's voice was softer now, more sympathetic.
"It was called Camp Dream Catcher. It was highly recommended to me by Lucia's principal."
"Wait," Hector interrupted angrily. "Why was Lucia's principal suggesting camps for her?"
"Lucia wasn't doing so well," Elana reluctantly answered. "It wasn't anything major! No drugs or anything like that. She was just being disruptive, a little too much day dreaming, just normal teenage stuff, you know, but a little extra. Her grades were falling, the principal was worried, so he recommended this camp."
"I take this is a camp geared for troubled youth, am I right?" Sarah asked, trying to get as many pieces in place as she could before launching her official investigation.
"Si," Elana replied sadly.
"Jesus Christ!" Hector exclaimed, turning away from Elana, rubbing his face with his left hand.
Elana twisted herself around as fast as she could, pointing and wagging her finger at Hector. "Don't you dare judge me Hector Rodriguez Flores! You weren't there! You left us behind. I was doing everything! All by myself!"
"That's because you never wanted me around!" Hector angrily shouted back. "You told me to leave, that you didn't need me!"
"BECAUSE YOU WERE NEVER THERE!"
"I was working! I was building a business, putting food on the table, a roof over our heads,"
"Your dick in any punta that would lay with you!"
Sarah slammed her hand on the table which caused Camilla and Hector to snap out of their argument and look at her. "You two can either yell at and blame each other; which if you do, you both can fuck off right now; or, you can pull your fucking heads out of your asses and actually help me find your daughter!"
Both Flores looked at Sarah like two small children who'd just been yelled at by their mother. They both shrank down in their seats in fear and shame. Sarah gave them both the "death stare" to let them know they were on thin ice, then continued. "I'm going to need screen shots of all your texts with Luz. Also, all the letters she wrote you and the name and contact information of the camp she went to."
"Si," Camilla said and handed over a stack of letters and the brochure for the camp. "I thought you might need them. If you give me your number, I'll send you the screen shots right away."
Sarah took everything Elana handed her and gave them a quick look over before placing them down on the table. "So," Sarah started, "you sent Lucia to this camp. Did you drive her there?"
Elana shook her head. "No, she took the bus."
"Ok. So you took her to the bus stop and saw her get on?"
Elana's face froze in terror.
"Ms. Flores?" Sarah asked, her curiosity piqued.
"I was running late for work, Lucia was dawdling, I kissed her goodbye and told her not to miss her bus."
"So you never actually saw her get on the bus, did you?" This suddenly affected the entire timeline now. If Lucia had disappeared before she even left for camp, that means she had been missing for 3 months now. Then again, if she hadn't made it to camp, who had been writing Elana and why did the camp say she was there?
"N-n-n-no. But she's fourteen; she could be trusted," Camilla sounded like she was pleading for affirmation that she didn't do anything bad.
Hector slapped his face with his palm and cursed.
"Don't Hector! You have no right to judge me!" Camilla snapped back, her right index finger pointed straight between his eyes.
"Ms. Noceda, Camilla, please. Stay focused. Did Lucia actually want to go to this camp?" Sarah quickly asked, trying to keep the interview from going off the rails again.
Camilla looked down in shame. "No. No she didn't," she said softly. She then looked back up with some desperate hope in her eyes. "But I got the letters. And the camp said she was there!"
"Ok. I'll start there, but I have to consider all possible avenues. Now, I just have a few more questions alright?"
Both Nocedas nodded their heads. Over the course of the interview, Sarah learned more about Lucia and her issues. What emerged was a picture of a gifted but emotionally troubled young girl who used fantasy to escape reality. She had problems fitting in and had no actual friends that either parent knew of. Sarah thought to herself that Lucia should have been put in therapy not a camp that looked like it was created solely for the crushing of kid's spirits. Of course Sarah also knew of the cultural taboo around seeking mental health care in poor and marginalized communities. Once Sarah had gotten all the information she wanted for now, she thanked the Nocedas and told them she'd be in touch. She got up to leave when Elana touched her arm.
"Ms. Redcloud, there's one other thing you need to know about Lucia. She's a very . . . , uh, very special girl."
"I'm sure she is Ms. Flores." Sarah replied, trying not to sound like a condescending bitch.
Elana shook her head, knowing that the detective was patronizing her. "No, I mean, she has a special condition. She's transgender. She's on puberty blockers. She had enough to last the summer, but that's it."
Sarah was stunned silent for a minute. This complicated things exponentially. "I see," she mumbled out before she was able to regain herself. "Is she male to female or,"
"She was assigned male at birth," Elana said defensively.
"I see. Thank you for that information Ms. Flores. I'll take that into account." Sarah walked out of the room, leaving only Elana and Hector to glare at each other
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"Baby for sale! Annoying little baby that should've been a girl for sale!" 6 year old Dolores was trying to sell a 10 minute old Camilo
"Gross, who would want a baby boy when they could have a baby girl?" Sra. Pezmuerto said, suspiciously eyeing Dolores as she walked away with her fishbowl.
"Yeah! I'd rather have a gut than a son!" Osvaldo agreed.
"And that baby doesn't even have hair yet! Neither do I! It reminds me of my own hair loss." Sr. Flores crossed his arms and shook his head petulantly. "I'll not have it!"
"But...b-but! AAAAGGGGHHHH!!!" Dolores screeched to the sky before stomping away, into her room, and slamming the door behind her, crying into a pillow.
"So that's how the townspeople conspired to make Dolores accept you as her brother, rather than selling you off or getting rid of you by other means!" Isabela explained to Camilo in the present day, Camilo laughing awkwardly to hide his petrification, Dolores laughing along, only sarcastically and bitterly.
#isabela madrigal#isabela my beloved#isabela is best girl#dolores madrigal#primas-hermanas#camilo madrigal#osma pezmuerto#osvaldo orozco ortiz#senor flores#encanto#encanto headcanons#dolores madrigal is a little shit#dolores madrigal wants a sister#fanfic prompts#encanto fanfic prompts#reesethedndencantolover
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[Warning: Longpost rant/infodump on an obscure background Encanto character I made as a sim for my Encanto save file in the Sims 4]
Apologies in advance, this post is very chaotic with little to no flow or tact LMAO I just wanted to get it out of my brain
Okay so I'm trying to make Osvaldo and his possible family in the Sims 4. I've already finished making him and three children I kind of headcanon to be his, which I'll get to later.
I know it's not exactly picture perfect but it's what I could do within the limits of the Sims 4 lmao
ANYWAY everyone hating Osvaldo as a character is NOT helping my quest to find reference screencaps of him at random points he’s in the movie. I want to find a woman/man he stands around with more than once to give him children in the Sims 4 damn it lmao
In this situation I would usually just make him a single father. But idk he just has a vibe that he would have a significant other, to me anyway, so I'd like to give him one lol. I've also already made Señor Flores (the priest) a single father, I may make another post showing him and his children once I finish that.
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Alright, about the three village kids I headcanon to be his. One of them is the “If I were you, I would be really sad” girl, then Cecelia, then a boy that’s off to the side that I saw wearing a black-and-white hat that I don’t know the name of. If anybody knows what it’s called pls let me know.
With all of the village kids (not just "his") I assigned them brothers and sisters in accordance to the village kids' color schemes in relation to the three main village kids in the Family Madrigal number.
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My family tree is going like this, with each color in the image below representing the child being a part of a separate family than the others, and being in the same family as the ones with the same color.
In yellow- Señor Osvaldo's children
In green- Señor Flores' children
In red- Señora Pezmuerto and Jose's children
Now if I really wanted to make it accurate to the children, ideally if this were a mother/father situation the mother would wear orange/yellow and have blonde hair. Really, the main reason that I grouped those specific children with Osvaldo is because the girl in the hat is just as blunt as he is, and she's wearing yellow and orange, and so are those other two children. But it could be just as possible that Osvaldo adopted these children as a trio, since they're biological siblings, and that would explain why they don't look like him. I'll talk about my reasoning for the others in a separate post if I make one.
All I need is just one person that appears close by to Osvaldo more than once in the movie and I will immediately ship them. That is ALL I want.
(ideally they would look to be around his age and wear yellow/orange but that's just my neurodivergent brain making up rules that don't actually exist-)
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Am I looking too deeply into this? Maybe. Do I care? Slightly. Will I pursue this until I find someone for him? Probably.
Here are his kiddos that I made by the way
Unsurprisingly, the Sims 4 does not have a black and white hat similar to the boy's, so I got the closest thing I could get that still had a black and white pattern.
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If you got this far, thanks for reading my infodump lol and if you have any ideas as to who I could pair Osvaldo with please let me know!! Thanks! <3
#i spent way too long writing this post and making this family#don't ask me why bc i couldn't tell you#my dopamine intake makes the rules not me#sims 4#encanto#osvaldo orozco ortiz#senora pezmuerto#senor flores#mirabel madrigal#encanto sims 4#encanto sims#osvaldo encanto#the priest encanto#the family madrigal#encanto town kids#sims 4 gallery#sims 4 no cc#long post
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EL SEÑOR POLOVSKI
El señor Polovski entra en el parque con los primeros rayos del sol. Se sienta en su banco preferido y se pone a esperar. Por lo general está semivuelto hacia el monumento a Orfelin que creció en la orilla del sendero de grava blanca. El sol naciente hace este paisaje insolitamente hermoso, pero el señor Polovski no está allí por el monumento de formas gráciles ni por el maravilloso juego de la suave luz de la mañana, tampoco por el aire fresco, él esta allí para esperar.
Cuando el sol empieza a brillar con más decisión, aparecen las palomas y un poco después, los ancianos. Los granos dorados atraen la alegría de los pájaros. El gorjeo se muda de las copas de los árboles a los cuadros de las flores. Pero el señor Polovski tampoco está en el parque para alimentar a las palomas como sus contemporáneos. Él está allí para esperar.
Conforme avanza el día, el parque se va llenando. Ahora ya están los niños, los que pasean a sus perros, las parejas de enamorados. Se avivan centenares de cascadas de voces, salpican las gotas centelleantes de la risa. Pero tampoco el desfile de la alegría es importante para el señor Polovski. Él está allí para esperar.
Entonces, después de las diez, un suspiro profundo; el señor Polovski se inquieta. Se vuelve por completo hacia el monumento a Orfelin, alrededor del cual da vueltas incansablemente, lo que él notaba tanto en verano como en invierno, la misma mariposa juguetona. Como cada año, eso lo sorprende por un momento, sin embargo se pone a mirar su reloj cada vez más a menudo, recorre su cabello con los dedos, innecesariamente ajusta las solapas de la chaqueta, pasa la mano por el mentón, endereza las cejas, se pellizca las mejillas y se olvida de parpadear por completo.
El senor Polovski la nota desde lejos, en cuanto aparece detrás de los tilos. Hela aquí, en un traje sastre radiante, color arbusto de ciclamenes, llega hasta el monumento y se dirige por el sendero junto al cual está su banco solitario. Alta, con el pelo suelto, de figura grácil. jDe que manera camina! La falda de tela delgada se introduce entre sus piernas de manera excitante. El viento desenfadado enloquece alrededor de sus mechones. En torno a su cintura, las miradas de los paseantes. Pero ella, ella va directamente hacia él.
!La grava blanca se desmigaja con sus pasos! ¡La grava blanca susurra con sus pasos! ¡Eso es lo que el sefior Polovski espera! Por supuesto, él sabe que esa chica no va a su encuentro. Ni siquiera la conoce. Pero cuando la misteriosa transeúnte pasa a su lado, cada día alrededor de las once, el señor Polovski se levanta del banco y con la expresión satisfecha en su cara y el corazón lleno como el río primaveral nutrido de agua, se dirige hacia la salida del parque. Sí, piensa entonces, es tan, tan bonito esperar a alguien.
- Goran Petrovic, Atlas descrito por el cielo.
SextoPiso. Traducción de Dubravka Suznjevi
- Katrien de Blauwer
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La Palabra Del Viento... es un cuento !
Esta semana he decidido publicar algo un poco mas diferente. Inspirada por el cuento “El Tiovivo’ he escrito un cuento mío para exhibir mi infinito respeto por la Señora Matute a la que hemos dedicado el mes de enero. ¡Qué lo disfrutéis !
Tiovivo - Atracción de feria consistente en una plataforma giratoria sobre la que se instalan reproducciones a pequeña escala de caballos de madera, coches, etc.
El Tiovivo
El tiovivo es una feria. El tiovivo es vida.
Los carros rojos giraban y giraban, gatos azules con bigotes amarillos, unicornios con cuernos relucientes, giraban y parecían un colorido torbellino de flores. El Perrito los estaba mirando y no se cansaba de verlos. Giró alrededor del tiovivo, izquierda, derecha, una vez incluso tratando de subirse, pero un hombre alto y grande lo detuvo y se lo llevó. El Perrito no tenía dinero de todos modos: estaba hecho jirones, desgarrado, sucio. Su posesión más valiosa era una gorra marrón, que nunca se quitó. Miguel, así se llamaba. Lo llamaban el Perrito porque en lugar de dormir en el orfanato, dormía en la calle. Solo volvió a comer allí, aunque probablemente habría recibido más pan si hubiera fingido ser el animal del que le pusieron , siempre a los pies de la gente. A las enfermeras no les agradaba. Estaban cansadas de limpiarlo todos los días, vestirlo con ropas bonitas, levantarlo y sentarlo a la mesa. Ahora, en cambio, le entregaron una bolsita con la comida del día y vieron al Perrito sonreír y empezar a correr de regreso al parque con el carrusel. "Niño loco, niño loco. ¿Quién se lo llevará? ¡Nadie!” Dijeron después, sacudieron la cabeza y se fueron a casa.
El tiovivo estaba girando de nuevo y el Perrito lo estaba mirando de nuevo. Era tan bello. Los adultos lo pasaban como si no estuviera allí, solo los niños se detuvieron. A Miguel le agradaban los niños. Apreciaron el tiovivo. Sin embargo, El Perrito no parecía un niño. Era demasiado alto, incluso tenía dieciséis años, delgado, seco, una barba creciendo en sus mejillas, un ridículo bigote debajo de su nariz. No parecía un niño en absoluto, el Perrito y todos podían verlo, pero no parecía notar su diferencia. Quizás simplemente no le importaba. Las risas de los niños se podían escuchar desde el tiovivo. Miguel tenía tantas ganas de escalar....
Otro día, otro giro. Hoy el Perrito estaba sentado en un banco que no estaba ni cerca ni lejos del tiovivo, perfecto. Estaba tan absorto en el colorido huracán que no notó a nadie sentado a su lado hasta que el hombre le habló: "Espero que no le importe que me siente aquí". El Perrito ni siquiera volvió la cabeza para mirar: "No me importa señor, siempre que no me impida ver el girador". “¿El girador? "Chico, no es así como se llama." El Perrito se congeló por un momento antes de que el enrojecimiento subiera desde su cuello hasta sus orejas. " No lo sabía." Se quedaron en silencio antes de que volviera a hablar al anciano “ Mi nombre es Pedro. Pedro Alonso, y eso de ahí se llama el tiovivo ". El Perrito finalmente apartó la mirada de la atracción y miró a Pedro. "El tiovivo ..." Miró de nuevo a la construcción "... me gusta ... tiovivo". En ese momento Miguel no notó la leve sonrisa, que crispó el rostro del anciano, lo rejuveneció, aunque nunca llegó a sus ojos.
Con el tiempo los dos hicieron amistad. El Perrito ganaba conocimiento común - nuevas palabras, principios, noticias del mundo y comida del Señor Pedro y el Señor Pedro ganaba distracción de lo cotidiano en la cara de Miguel. Sus conversaciones eran cortas con pausas largas,pero coloridas y mucho parecidas al tiovivo dando vueltas frente de ellos...
Pedro Alonso siempre estuvo ahí. Miguel simplemente no había prestado atención. El anciano llegó por la mañana, se sentó en el banco frente al tiovivo y miró. Pero no solo estaba mirando el tiovivo. Pedro miró a la gente - tenían prisa, siempre preocupados, como si cada uno de ellos tuviera personalmente el mundo en la espalda. Había excepciones, por supuesto, pero eran tan raras que probablemente Pedro las contaba con los dedos de la mano. Miguel era una excepción. El gorro marrón que llevaba tenía que cambiar y sus zapatos estaban gastados. Su rostro, con su borrachera, lo hacía parecer enfermo, aunque si alguien lo veía correr, rápidamente cambiaría esa definición. Pero los ojos ... Pedro solo había visto unos ojos así dos veces en su vida. Muy limpio, tan ingenuo que uno siente casi pena por ello. Pero para otro eran cálidos y verdes y le recordaron a Pedro en el patio de su casa en el campo...
Miguel casi no miraba al anciano durante sus citas tan frecuentes. En sus ojos era solo el tiovivo y como siempre los colores y el sonido de las risas. Al anciano Señor no le molestaba ese comportamiento sino que divertía aún más.
Pasaron 6 meses. Un día el Señor Pedro vino silenciosamente y se sentó en el banco a la izquierda del Perrito como siempre. El Perrito pensó que era extraño que el anciano no hablara y volvió a mirarlo. El Señor Pedro no estaba ahí. Ahí estaba un hombre desconocido con cara simpática y ojos azules. “Hola. Tu eres Miguel, no?” Miguel no entendía porque el hombre sabía su nombre pero movía su cabeza afirmando“Quién es usted , Señor? No te conozco, pero no te demores porque este sitio es para otro.” El hombre sonrió a Miguel - una sonrisa triste y empezó a hablar lentamente. Miguel sentia que debia escuchar y por la primera vez en los 3 años desde que había descubierto el tiovivo no lo miraba.
“Miguel, mi nombre es Samuel y soy abogado... ¿Sabes qué hace un abogado, verdad?
“ El Señor Pedro me explico…”
“Muy bien. Algunas veces nosotros los abogados convertimos en carteros y llevamos cartas de una persona a otra, lo sabías?” El Señor Pedro había mencionado algo como así y por eso Miguel dijo que sí lo sabía al abogado.
“ El Señor Pedro me dijo que cuando una persona no puede dar a una carta en persona, el abogado lo da en su sitio.”
“ Te lo ha explicado Senor Alonso?, muy bien muy bien...Pues, ya es el momento de darte una carta del Senor Alonso. Voy a quedarme aquí mientras lo lees, vale? Y voy a....”
~15 años en el futuro~
“¡Papá! ¡Papá! Puedo subir al tiovivo, por favor?”
“Si, claro espera que te doy una moneda.”
Se metió la mano en el bolsillo y sacó una moneda brillante. La dejó caer en la mano pequeña del chico y lo miró mientras el niño corría a la atracción. Se sonrió y cogió la mano de su esposa.
“Antes de ser adoptado…” empezó el “vendria aqui cada dia para ver al tiovivo. Me encantaba muchisimo - los colores de los coches rojas, los gatos con bigotes amarillos, unicornios con cuernos relucientes. Me daban mucha felicidad y aunque nunca podía subir y girar, lo quería con todo mi corazón. Aquí en este mismo parque también encontré a mi padre. Lo conocí durante solo 6 meses pero me sentía que lo conocía de toda la vida. Él murió ,pero se negó a irse de este mundo antes de darme los regalos más grandes en el mundo: un hogar real y una educación . Estos regalos me ayudaron a encontrarte, amarte y abrazarte. Estos regalos entonces nos ayudaron a tener a nuestro hijo.” La pareja miró al tiovivo, al chico riendo sentado en el coche rojo. El niño los miró y les agito con la mano pequeña.
“Mama! ¡Papa! ¡Mirame, mirame que soy un chofer!
“Si, Alonso, te vemos, bien, hijo!”
El tiovivo los miraba y escuchaba, dando vueltas y vueltas llenas de risas y felicidad. El parque nunca apareció tan vivo.
- Elpis
#cuento#cuentos#libros#libro#ana maria matute#palabra de la semana#las amazonas#amazonas#club#clublectoras#texto en tumblr#tumblr en español#texto en español#literatura#literature#amo la lectura#lectura#elpis#safo#pentesilea#tiovivo#merry-go-round#palabras al viento#poesia#belleza#tale
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Hola claro porgue no gue solo paso a saludar estis buenos aigos y amigas y aungue no los conozco pero soy enviado a vosotros y preparado a continuar con vosotros y decirles gue me encanta este lugar y las fotos y las Flores me encanta el jardin pero con sabiduria. Y tambien saludarlos con una bendicion y para mi y el senor jesucristo les guarde y les proteje en donde se encuentra cada uno de vosotros. Porgue no sabemos la hira ni el dia poreso nesecitamos pedir a Dios gue nos guarde de todo peligro y gracias amados amigas y amigos y gue pasen un feliz tarde
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I thought the priest was Flores?
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Somos Familia Ch 8
Chapter 8: New Addition(s)
It was another two months before Ernesto returned to Santa Cecilia to personally review the brand new songs that Héctor had written for him. He sat outside in the courtyard under the shade of the large tree in the corner, sipping on a bottle of mango agua fresca and flipping through the dozen of sheets of paper filled with lilting melodies, toe tapping tempos and, at times, funny lyrics. He hummed out the tunes himself, laughed at the appropriate times and when he finished he happily slapped Héctor on the knee.
“My friend, you have outdone yourself this time! These songs are pure gold! I personally like Flores de la Mente the best, it is hauntingly beautiful. I can imagine singing it while pining for a lost love. Was that your intention?” Ernesto asked.
“Yeah.” Héctor mumbled.
“But Bang Bang Bang y Pop Pop is wonderful too. A real toe tapper and funny to boot! We’re going to need to hire some professional dancers when I perform this in public. In traditional folk garb with lots of color, what do you think?”
“Sounds great.” Héctor murmured.
“Perfecto!” Ernesto pulled out some papers and handed Héctor a pen. “Now if you just sign here to give permission to Barrera Records to produce it… Uh huh, and sign here for residuals and royalties… Sign here… Initial here… Bueno! Congratulations Héctor! I’ll get these to Fredo muy pronto, record them, and personally give you the debut record myself just in time when the baby comes!” Ernesto smiled.
Héctor shuddered and gripped his arms. “G-gracias…”
Ernesto’s cheery demeanor drooped to a pout. He thought that Héctor would be happy that their dreams were coming into fruition, instead the younger man looked like he was about to head to the gallows. “Héctor, I cannot help but feel you’re not as excited as you should be. Is there something on your mind that I should be concerned about?”
“Don’t mind him Ernesto.” Oscar said as he and Felipe walked out into the courtyard carrying a bottle of lime agua fresca each. “He’s just being a worrywart over what the doctor told him this morning.”
“Doctor? Is it about Imelda? I hope everything is alright.” Ernesto said, with genuine concern.
“Tell him, cuñado.” Felipe said, smiling at Héctor.
Héctor wiped a hand over his face and sighed shakily. “W-well,” his voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “I’ve n-noticed the past few weeks that Imelda seemed a bit… bigger… than her last pregnancy. Not in weight gain, but… in here,” he said, gesturing to his stomach. “But I wasn’t going to say anything because I didn’t want to upset her. She’s been so moody lately that anything will set her off. But…” Héctor gulped. “This morning she voiced the same concern that I had… S-so we went to the d-doctor… and he s-said…” he trailed off, shaking his head with wide eyes.
“Go on, amigo.” Ernesto said as he patted Héctor’s back.
Héctor sighed again and closed his eyes. “He said that either it was going to be a big baby, which given how small Coco was when she was born seemed unlikely… Or-…” Héctor’s voice cracked again and he bowed his head into his hands.
“Or?” Ernesto goaded him on; even though he was now sure he knew what was coming next.
Héctor didn’t lift up his head, but instead he raised his hand. With two fingers.
“Two?! Twins?!” Ernesto barked out a hearty laugh and shook Héctor by the shoulders. “Congratulations, hermanito! Ha ha! Ay Dios mio! Twins! I didn’t think you had it in you!”
“I don’t.” Héctor growled and raised his head, glaring as he pointed an accusing finger at Oscar and Felipe. “It’s them! This is their fault!”
Oscar and Felipe just rolled their eyes and sipped their drinks. “And how do you figure that?”
“You infected Imelda with your… doubleness!” Héctor accused, twiddling his fingers at them like they were some contagious disease.
“I don’t think that’s a word, Héctor.” Ernesto pointed out.
“Whatever! They are twins, and because of them, Imelda is having twins. That’s all I know!” Héctor huffed.
“It doesn’t work like that, idiota.” Felipe growled. “It’s passed down the bloodline, not across it. If anything, you should blame our Mamá and Papá.”
“Well, you two are here, so it’s easier to blame you.” Héctor growled, and then winced at his words, immediately regretting them. “I’m sorry…”
Oscar shook his head and smiled. “It’s okay, hermano. We know you’re stressed. Just don’t say things like that in front of Imelda.” He warned. Oscar and Felipe had no memory of their parents, having been far too young when they died. But Imelda did and still held them in high esteem. She would not tolerate such words said against them. Héctor nodded and sighed again.
“Héctor you can’t possibly be worried about not being able to afford two babies, can you?” Ernesto said as he held up the signed papers. “You are about to be a very wealthy man, and Imelda’s business is flourishing! They’ll want for nothing!”
“No, it’s not about the money.” Héctor moaned. “I was so worried about complications back when Imelda was pregnant with Coco, and that was only with one baby! Now that there are two, the risks have literally doubled!” Héctor sighed. “Remember that viejo Senor Bautista?” The other three men nodded in sad remembrance. “They said he was once the happiest man in Santa Cecilia. Had the most beautiful wife and had a booming business as a rancher. He had the perfect life... But then she gave birth to two stillborns and died herself soon after, and he became a bitter, broken man for the rest of his days, living in that decrepit shack on the edge of town.” Héctor shook his head in fear. “If that happens to Imelda, I… I don’t know what I’d do! How could I even go on?!”
“You’d still have Coco, Héctor!” Felipe said and placed a hand on his brother-in-law’s shoulder. “And Oscar and I. We’d never let you go down that path, we’re your family.”
“You’d have me as well, my friend.” Ernesto said, his eyes full of sincerity. “I know I’ve never said this before, but your well-being means more to me than you can possibly imagine.” Ernesto smiled with a hint of sadness and looked down. “You won’t be alone.”
Héctor smiled at his brothers. “Gracias you guys… Gah! What are we talking about?! This is Imelda, for crying out loud!” He laughed and the others joined in. “She’s stronger than all four of us put together!” He raised his own grape agua fresca in a toast. “To Imelda and the new Rivera twins!”
“Salud!”
Héctor, Oscar and Felipe clinked their glasses together and made move to drink, but the crash of shattering glass startled them. Ernesto had dropped his bottle to the ground as it had slipped through deadened fingers. Héctor had just enough time to see the panicked, far-away expression on his friend’s face before, with a quick shake, Ernesto dropped to the ground and started to carefully pick up the shards. “S-sorry, my friends.” He mumbled. “The bottle was too slick and it flew out of my hand. I’ll clean it up pronto!”
“Ernesto, are you alright?” Héctor asked and placed a hand on Ernesto’s back.
“Fine! I’m fine! It’s just… Ha, it’s just too damn hot out!” Ernesto laughed and fanned himself. “Too much condensation on the bottle.”
“Why don’t you roll up your sleeves then, amigo?” Oscar offered as he pointed to Ernesto’s buttoned up cuffs. “It is muy caliente out here.”
“Just the sight of you in long sleeves and a jacket is starting to make me broil.” Felipe added.
Ernesto grinned and chuckled nervously, backing away like a cornered animal. “Seriously, I’m fine, I-“
Suddenly Coco came out to the courtyard frowning. “Shh! Too noisy! Mamá is sleeping.”
Héctor held up a hand towards his daughter. “Careful Coco, stay back. There’s broken glass over here-“
“Oh, our apologies, Coco!” Ernesto butted in and smiled down at the little girl. Good, an easy out and a chance to change the subject! “You are such a considerate child. Say, what do you think about your Mamá having two babies, niña?”
“I’m very happy!” Coco said. “Yesterday it was only one baby, today it is two babies. Maybe tomorrow it will be three babies!” And with that she happily skipped back to her room, not hearing the whine of fear her Papá let out.
As Oscar and Felipe tried to console their brother-in-law again, Ernesto huffed a sigh of relief, placed the signed papers into his jacket and then tugged at his cuffs. He needed to get back to Mexico City, and fast.
---------------------------------
It was a rainy Sunday morning at the beginning of September, and the Rivera shoe shop was closed for the day. Normally this was because the family would head off to Sunday mass and then just laze the rest of the day away and not think of work, or orders that weren’t finished, or shoes at all. But today was different for the Riveras, as well as the town midwife and her two assistants, who were also missing mass. It was a day Coco had been excited about for such a long time, but now that it was here, all she felt was terror.
She clung to her Tío Oscar’s shirt and huddled against his chest as she let him rock her gently, but an ear-piercing shriek caused her to shrink even more in his hold. “Mamá…” she whimpered and watched her parents’ bedroom door with wide, glistening eyes.
“It’s okay, Coco.” Oscar said as he continued his rocking. “This is completely normal. Your Mamá will be fine. Just fi-“ Another scream cut off his words of encouragement, and Coco buried her face in his shirt and trembled.
Felipe came in from the kitchen carrying four steaming cups on a tray. “Okay! Hot chocolates for everyone, including one with extra cinnamon for Héc-… Héctor? Where’d he go?”
Oscar bent his head to the door. “Imelda was screaming for him, and before I had a chance to blink he bolted in there.”
Felipe rolled his eyes and shook his head. “A husband has no place in the birthing room! Everyone knows that!” he handed Oscar a mug. “This one has no cayenne.”
“Since when have those two ever been orthodox?” Oscar took the mug and nodded his thanks to his brother. “C’mon Coco, drink some of this. You’ll feel much better.”
Coco took the mug and sipped the sweet chocolate and let the warmth flow through her. It did make her feel better, but she wished her Papá hadn’t left her so suddenly. However even her small child’s mind knew that he was right where he was needed.
--------------------------------
Imelda sagged against Héctor’s chest as she felt the baby finally slide out of her and gasped out trying to catch her breath. She felt his long arms wrap around her and he kissed her brow, but she wished he didn’t do either. She felt hot, sticky and just plain disgusting, not to mention still in a whole lot of pain. But still Héctor held her close against him, letting her sweat and other fluids soak into his clothes, as he cried and babbled sweet nothings at her.
“Ay, bebé precioso!” he blubbered as hot tears dripped off his face and onto Imelda’s. “Perfecto! Maravilloso! Imelda, it’s so beautiful!”
“What is it?” Imelda panted.
“Oh, right! What is it, senora?” Héctor leaned over Imelda’s head to peer at the baby.
“It’s a girl.” The midwife said as she wiped the newborn’s face off, and at that the baby let out a creaky wail that turned into a full bellied cry, in perfect synch with her Papá’s grito.
“A girl! Oh, diosa!” Héctor peppered Imelda’s face with kisses as they both faintly heard Oscar and Felipe cheering on the other side of the door. “Gracias Imelda! She’s so beautiful!” He bounced excitedly. “Her name! What’s her name?!”
Imelda smiled tiredly and closed her eyes. “Leticia.”
“Leticia…” Héctor sighed and squeezed his wife in a hug. “Leti-ti-ti-ticia, with flowers in her hair…” he sang. “Ha! I love it!” He watched the two other girls in the room clean her off and cut the umbilical cord with a dreamy expression. “Ay Imelda, she’s so beautiful. So tiny.”
“Tiny?” Imelda sat up as much as she could and looked at the small baby. “Ay, dios mio… Mierda! That means there is another one in here!” She said as she glared at her still protruding stomach.
Héctor chuckled. “I thought we already established that, mi amor.”
“I know, but I was hoping that there wasn’t so I wouldn’t have to go through that agaiiiAAAAH!” Imelda surged back onto Héctor’s chest and tensed up in pain. The midwife came back in between her patient’s legs with one of her other helpers, ready for round two. Héctor braced himself behind his wife and held her up to aid her in her pushing. “Héctor…” she moaned. “Héctor, I’m so tired. I can’t do this anymore!”
“Of course you can!” Héctor said in a stern voice that surprised Imelda. “You are a Rivera, and a Rivera never gives up on anything! You’ve shown me that countless times, and succeeded each time! Why do you think I call you diosa?”
“Because you’re a blasphemous idiota?” Imelda smiled and winced.
“That,” Héctor laughed, “and because you are an inspiration Imelda. You inspire me every day! I wouldn’t be anything if it weren’t for you! So you just lean on me and break my hand if you want, but you can do this Imelda!”
Imelda huffed out a sigh “Alright…” And with that she pitched forward and pushed with all her might. She squeezed Héctor’s hand and screamed as the pain grew sharper, but she bore down and fought through it all. Suddenly she felt the same flush of relief and sank into Héctor’s embrace again as another cry filled the room, even louder than the first.
“Ay, Dios mio!” Héctor laughed at the volume of the baby’s cry. “That’s a future trumpet player right there!” Then something caught his eye and he gasped. “Ooh!... Oh, Imelda, it’s a boy! A boy!” He bounced again and jostled his exhausted wife. “We have a son, Imelda.”
Imelda opened one eye and frowned. “If he’s named Pancho, or Tiburcio, or Chucho or any other disgusting-“
“Mateo.” Héctor whispered and Imelda opened both eyes and stared at Héctor with wonder as he smiled down at her. “After Padre Mateo. The man who taught me to read, write and play guitar.”
“Oh, Héctor, he’ll love that when we tell him. That’s so thoughtful.” Imelda sighed. “I just picked Leticia because it was pretty.”
“It’s perfect.” Héctor said and kissed Imelda tenderly on the lips, and they both watched as their two children were bundled in warm blankets. “And it’s good that it’s a boy and a girl. I won’t have trouble telling them apart!”
Imelda laughed. “Héctor, they’re your children! You would know.”
“You can’t even tell your own brothers apart!” Héctor quipped.
“Well!-…” Imelda started to defend herself but then just sat back and glowered. “Maybe if they didn’t dress the same all the time…”
The babies were then presented to their parents and after Imelda was cleaned up the rest of the family was allowed into the room to visit. Coco was content with having a brother as long as she had her sister, so in the end it all worked well. Oscar and Felipe produced two new pairs of infant sized steel toe boots to the babies, and Héctor had to physically restrain Imelda to the bed to keep her from leaping at them. But soon the excitement faded and everyone drifted off to some much needed sleep.
All was right with the world.
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Lo Siento: 1912
Stories of Héctor and Imelda throughout their lives, and, for good measure, their deaths. All featuring some variation of an apology.
For whatever reason, they had to apologize a lot.
(Part 1)
Héctor develops a crush. Or gets crushed. One of the two.
1912
When he next spoke to her, it was in a moment of inevitable and rising panic.
Not panic for him, of course. For him it was more of a light anxiety.
He wasn't sure what compelled him to do it, a smart person would make a practice of avoiding things that caused undue anxiety, and Imelda Rivera was certainly on that list. But, as many an adult was prone to point out: for a smart kid, Héctor did a lot of stupid things.
He saw her running up and down by the train tracks while standing inside Senor Flores' shop across the street. Her dress was a bright purple color, impossible to miss against the burnt orange sunlight filtering through the mountain backdrop outside. He had learned to recognize her from a distance, the way a wise rabbit learned to recognize a coyote as a defensive strategy.
She slowed down at random and began to meander in circles, wringing her hands.
"You gonna pay for that, amigo?" Flores eyed him warily.
Héctor looked down at the brown paper package of processed sugar in his hands. The whole reason he was there in the first place was to fetch them for Señora Gutierrez. He rummaged in his pockets for the pesos she had given him and slapped them on the counter. When Flores shifted to the register for his change, two candies vanished from the front counter into Héctor's pocket. Partly out of spite.
The sun was halfway obscured by the horizon when he left the shop. He deliberated turning down the street and heading straight back through town. The last train ran fifteen minutes ago and most of the crowd had dispersed into the plaza. Gutierrez would expect him back soon and the woman wasn't exactly patient.
Imelda started yelling, just loud enough he could make out, "Óscar!" followed by, "Felipe!" into the distance. Héctor looked down at his bag and sighed. He was always late anyway.
"Señorita!" Héctor called, arriving at the tracks.
Imelda whirled around, the purple skirt actually made a swooshing sound with her turn. A few strands had escaped from her hair ribbons, getting tugged violently through the wind. A curious expression shrouded her face. He had never seen her look frightened before.
Héctor swallowed. He hadn't actually come up with anything to say and Imelda clearly wasn't going to help him out. "Is everything okay?" he finally managed.
He could palpably see the conflict draw over Imelda's face. She looked him up and down, frowning like she wanted very much to loudly and defiantly tell him off right then but she couldn't quite bring herself to.
Just as he was about to back away entirely, she confessed, "I can't find my brothers."
Héctor froze, considering.
"Well, we could split up. I could go that way and look," Héctor pointed south down the track line. "And you could go that way."
Imelda started to nod. "Alright, está bien," she turned north and started walking up the track. After five paces she suddenly turned back around. "Wait, what if you find them and I can't find you?"
"Umm," Héctor looked around. The last rays of the dying sun flashed on the metal rails. Soon it would be dark and almost impossible to find much of anything outside of town.
"Yeah, maybe we should— I'll just follow you." He trudged after her, walking through the dead grass alongside the tracks. Imelda's boots crunched over the layers of rock that made up the track bed. The purple dress actually had a darker purple pattern running through it. Maybe not expensive, but it had to cost some money.
She'd last seen the boys by the train station. The twins were fascinated with machinery, especially ones with moving wheels, and liked to watch the engines come in. She had been talking to one of her school friends at the shop next door when the 5:15 train arrived. After her friend left, she turned around and they were gone. She'd figured they'd be somewhere within eye-shot of the train but after combing the station there was still no sign of them.
"Maybe we should go back and check again," Héctor suggested.
"I already looked."
"But they might've gone back, that's where you were last, sí?"
"Ay! It's getting dark," Imelda twisted her fingers inside the palm of her opposite hand.
"Don't worry, we'll find them," he said, half sure she wasn't listening to him at all. She looked back down the tracks. The brick and adobe station building was a mere dot in the distance, practically invisible in the twilight. Lamps were starting to turn on inside Santa Cecilia.
"Maybe we should go back to the church. Get a search party," Héctor offered.
Imelda cupped her hands and yelled, "Óscar! Felipe!" She sighed, nervous. "Maybe we should go back—" she started.
A tiny noise, something high and faint in the distance, perked up in Héctor's ear. He stopped her. "Do you hear that?"
Imelda stared, first at him, then off into the landscape. The noise came up again, a little louder and then repeated. He saw in her face that she'd heard it too.
"Up there," she pointed to a black, rather square shape, sitting far off in the short grass, just to the left of the tracks. Imelda raced ahead, her skirt hiked up practically to her knees.
The shape turned out to be an old box car, turned onto its side, completely black and ashen. The underbelly of the thing hanging open and vulnerable. The metal looked gnarled and melted in places, one wheel was utterly missing. From inside they could hear the boys shouting for Imelda.
"¡Qué demonios! What are you doing in there?" Imelda shouted at the monolithic black undercarriage of the boxcar.
"We found a cool hideout!" one of the boys replied.
"But now we can't get out!" the other finished.
"It's dark in here."
"And it smells!"
"I swear, I'm gonna bury you two in Veracruz with Santa Anna's leg," Imelda threatened. She climbed onto the car's connection box, careful to avoid the shattered metal piece that was once supposed to latch onto another boxcar. The ladder that had once ran from the bottom of the car to the roof was now turned sideways, parallel to the ground. Imelda set one foot against the long, connecting rod that held the ladder together and used the rungs to boost herself up to the top. Slowly she rose into a standing position, balancing carefully on the sideways ladder. "How did you boys get up here?" she wondered aloud.
"We climbed!"
"On the ladder!"
"Get us out!"
"Just a second," Imelda sat on the front of the boxcar and swung her legs over, standing at last on top of the huge car.
No one asked Héctor to follow her up, but he did so anyway. It was still hot out despite the nightfall, and the cold metal actually felt like a break. It was slippery, though. Hard to balance. Imelda had made the climb almost without thinking. He had to squint in the fading light for the next hand hold, curl his toes on the metal to keep from slipping. By the time he'd made it to the top, Imelda was sitting at the edge of the boxcar's sliding door, mercilessly kicking at it with both boots.
There was a small, pitch black opening in the boxcar, like someone had cracked the huge sliding door open and left it to rust that way. The metal made a loud, painful squeak each time she kicked it, but it obviously wasn't opening any further.
"Um, Imelda—?" he approached cautiously.
"What?"
"I don't think it's going to budge."
She kept kicking, eliciting nothing more than a loud metallic noise that mingled with the voices screaming below.
Héctor sat down, letting his feet dangle into the dark void inside the boxcar. The bag of sugar he sat beside him. The gap was small, about half as wide as the rungs on the ladder had been spaced. But if the boys could fit through it shouldn't be too difficult—
He let both legs vanish into the gap. The door was just far enough to let him slip through without scraping his nose. He held onto the top of the boxcar with both hands and lowered himself down. The metal stopped shaking as Imelda finally noticed what he was doing.
"Héctor, wait!" She shouted just as he let himself drop. The boys yelped.
He landed on what felt like a pile of dried grass or leaves. A ton of the stuff got kicked up into the stifling air inside the boxcar and forced the three of them to cough violently. It smelled like ash.
"What did you do that for?" Imelda yelled down at him. If he squinted just right he could see the outline of her face against the violet sky outside.
"I'm alright," he coughed once, batting flakes away from his face. He looked around. The only available light was coming from the crack in the ceiling but he could just make out a dark silhouette about as tall as his chest with two round, head like features on top. "¿Están ustedes dos bien?" he asked.
"We want to go home!" They said in perfect unison.
"I don't think they're hurt or anything," he shouted back to Imelda.
"Eso es genial," she responded, less enthused than he expected, "now how are you going to get back up?"
He hadn't thought of that.
The distance he'd fallen wasn't exactly far, but the space up to the door was at least twice as tall as he was and there was nothing on the smooth metal walls to climb onto. Compounding that was the surrounding utter darkness. If there was anything around to use for climbing he'd be hard pressed to find it.
"You don't have a match or anything?" he asked Imelda.
"Afraid not."
"I guess— go back and get help?"
"Don't leave us!" one of the boys screamed.
"We're scared!" They scrambled into the available light, two perfectly identical bowl-cut hair little boys, staring up at Imelda with dark, pleading eyes.
"Hey, no, it's alright—" he reached out, kneeling a little so he'd be at their height. The boys just stared at him.
Imelda was less comforting. "Boys, this is Héctor. Since he has literally no choice but to sit with you until I come back, I want you to treat him nicely, comprendes?"
"Sí," they groaned.
"Héctor—" she trailed off. "Just— don't do anything, por favor."
"Sí," he said flatly.
She disappeared from the opening, leaving nothing but sky and a few metallic scraping noises as she made the climb down.
The boxcar was eerily silent for about two seconds.
"Who are you again?" one of the boys asked.
"I'm— Héctor."
"Why is your name Héctor?" the other asked.
"Uhh, it just always has been, I guess."
"I'm named after our grandfather."
"So am I."
"Oh. That's nice."
"He's dead now."
"So is mine."
Héctor didn't know quite what to do with that. "I'm sorry about that. Which of you is—"
"That's Óscar," the one on the left pointed to his brother.
"That's Felipe," the one on the right did the same thing.
"But it's okay if you don't remember."
"Most people don't."
"I'll try, I guess." It could've just been the light, or lack thereof, but there was nothing whatsoever to distinguish one from the other. They were about six years-old. Both dressed in black pants and the button down white shirts Sor Josefina made for all the church kids.
"Can you whistle?"
"Imelda can whistle but we can't."
Héctor tried, only coming up with dry air. "Guess not. I know a magic trick, though." He fished one of the round candy pieces out of his pocket and held it up the dim light. He shut his hand, twisted his wrist and slowly opened each finger in succession to reveal an empty palm. He reached behind one of the boy's ears and pretended to pull the candy out of it.
"Ta da—" the twins just looked confused. Maybe the trick needed more light. He gave them the candy anyway.
"It's too hot in here." Óscar, he thought it was Óscar, pulled at the front of his shirt.
"It smells like something died."
Héctor took a knee and motioned for the kid's arm. He folded over the cuff of the shirt sleeve, creasing it till the fold stayed.
He lost count of the questions after that.
"What is all this stuff?"
"I think it's ash."
"Why does the train carry ash?
"What is ash?"
"It's like the stuff left over after a fire. Try not to breathe too much of it in, huh?" He finished rolling Óscar's sleeve up to his elbow, tucking the fabric in on itself so it wouldn't come undone. Whatever Josefina used on those shirts made them sturdy and thick. He'd roll his up to the shoulder some days, especially in the summer. Óscar looked down curious at Héctor's work and then gave him the other arm.
"Have you ever ridden a train?" Felipe leaned on Héctor's knee.
"Once." He'd gotten as far as San Gerolamo before he got caught and sent back, but he didn't want to give the twins any ideas so he left those details out. "How about you two?"
"We've been on three trains."
"One in Mexico City."
"That was the biggest one."
"And then one in Veracruz."
"And then one to come here. Me next." Héctor finished with Óscar's shirt sleeves and started on the cuff eagerly thrust out in front of his face.
"They let us ride in the engine room for part of it."
"Imelda was muy enojado—"
"She said we were lost."
"She yelled."
"Hmmm—" Héctor glanced meaningfully at the boys. "This happens a lot, then?"
"Oh, yeah."
"Imelda yells all the time."
"She probably wouldn't if you didn't run off." He gave Felipe's sleeve one last tug to make sure everything held. The boxcar was still stuffy and reeked of burnt dust but at least it was something. "You should apologize to your hermana, okay? She yells because you made her worried."
"That's dumb."
"Are you Imelda's boyfriend?"
"Alright, forget I said anything."
He was saved by light scraping noises of someone climbing back onto the ceiling.
When he craned his head up towards the sky, all he saw was dark. The scraping noises had gotten louder and erratic. An animalistic grunting sounded. Metal clacked. There was a loud, violent rip and tiny, near invisible white particles rained from the ceiling.
"What is that—ay!"
Héctor grabbed each child by the back of the collar and yanked them away from the open door. He pushed them back into the far corner, one behind each arm. They huddled behind him. Something flat and cold and blunt poked him in the back, preventing him from pressing any further into the wall.
"Silencio, silencio, it's okay, just be quiet." He fixed his eyes on the band of dim light for the slightest movement, the slightest warning that whatever was up there was trying to enter inside.
The growling noise turned deep and terrifying. He was pretty sure the thing was clawing at the doorway. If they could fit through then—
He lost control of the boys and one started to scream, followed quickly by the other.
"Don't—" he paused, he was never going to get them quiet at this rate.
But if pretending they weren't there wasn't an option then maybe they could pretend to be something worse than what was out there.
"Make it loud!" he changed his mind. "Roar, yell— try to sound scary—"
He pulled on the metal bar at his back and found from the rusty creak it made that it was actually some sort of shelf sticking out of the wall. He boosted himself up and crawled on it. He raised a fist over his head and punched the ceiling as hard as he could, creating a loud, vibrating, metal racket. He yelled.
The twins started to shout along with him. Instead of crying, soon they were roaring. Héctor banged on the door. They blocked out the noise of whatever animal was there. They yelled until their throats scraped.
Something heavy dropped straight down into the boxcar and they all jumped. The shelving unit he was kneeling on groaned and swayed.
"Knock it off, idiotas! It's me!" Imelda shouted at them.
"Imelda!" The twins ran to her. She had dropped a wooden ladder into the boxcar, which explained the large banging noise from that direction. Héctor leaned to get up and the shelf jolted under him. He heard a loud screech and before he could properly react the shelf dropped out and he was thrown forward.
He landed so hard his ears started to ring. His face felt white hot, his nose swollen and running. His mouth stung all over. His lower lip cracked. He tasted blood. There was a spot on his forehead that collided with something sharp, it felt like a nail between his eyes.
Something lifted him up under his arms into a sitting position. Light pierced sensitive eyes and he turned away. When his ears stopped screaming he could make out the echo of Imelda yelling "I'm so sorry, Héctor! I'm so, so sorry," over and over.
She pressed some light fabric into his hand and then guided his hand to his face, holding it there. Her other hand she used to lean his head back a little. She had a lantern on the floor between them, the flickering warm light hit under her chin and nose and brow in manner more eerie than anything. The effect put her eyes all in shadow.
"He's dead! Is he dead?!" one of the twins exclaimed in fascination.
"Look at all the blood!" the other one cried.
"¡Dios mío! Give him some space, you vultures!" Imelda shouted at them. "You've caused enough trouble today." She pushed down a little too hard at the area over his nose and pain flared all the way up through his skull. He tried to get up but she held him in place.
"Mmmp- ppurrts—" he mumbled.
"What?" Imelda leaned in.
"It hurts. Your hand—"
"OH! Oh," she let his hand go, mumbling another apology.
He groaned, tipping his head back. Everything neck up still felt like a bonfire. "You should keep pressure on it," she suggested. "Stop the blood." He reinforced his hold on the light rag she'd given him.
"We thought you were a jaguar," Felipe told her.
"Héctor was trying to save us," Óscar added.
"I think you heard a coyote," Imelda said, "I saw it run off."
"Where'd you get the ladder?" Héctor mumbled with his nose pressed closed.
"I sort of— borrowed it."
"Borrowed?"
"We'll give it back. How's your nose? Let me see."
He pulled the cloth away and tried sitting up. His whole face felt like a giant bruise. One of his nostrils swelled and started to run and he clamped the cloth back on.
"Lo siento mucho. Boys, tell Héctor you're sorry, he got hurt trying to help you."
The boys chorused an apology in unison.
"It's really my fault, I shouldn't have climbed on that thing."
"Oh, I know that," Imelda stood up, knocking ash off her skirt. "But I still feel awful about it. You didn't have to help me with them." She picked up the lantern in one hand and extended the other towards him.
It took a second for Héctor to put it together that she was offering to help him stand. He felt dizzy.
It took awhile to get back into town. Getting the ladder out of the boxcar took a bit of effort, especially since Imelda kept waving off Héctor's assistance on the grounds that he was injured. She finally managed to pull it up and just tossed it over the side of the boxcar so she wouldn't have to bother with it on the climb down.
The boxcar door was littered on the outside with crunchy white particles and the occasional bit of ripped paper. So much for his errand.
They stopped once to return the ladder and the lantern to the side of a small adobe hut on the way back into town. From there they had just enough street light to make their way without fear of getting lost any further. His wounds had stopped actively bleeding, but he was pretty sure he looked like a mess. There were blood droplets on his shirt and his pant legs were covered in dust and grime from kneeling in that boxcar so long.
The twins each held one of Imelda's hands as they walked, monotonously informing her how tired they were every dozen paces or so. At one corner they accidentally bumped as Héctor tried to move left and Imelda tried to lead the boys right.
"Where are you going? The church is—" Imelda pointed right towards the building at the end of the winding cobblestone road, bell tower standing conspicuously over all the low standing red and white houses.
"I know, I just have to take care of something," Héctor passed her.
"Are you kidding? You're still all bloody—"
"I'm already crazy late," Héctor started down the fork's left hand side. "You go home. I'll be fine."
Imelda looked to the church and then back to Héctor. "With your luck, that coyote is going to track you down and devour you in the dark." She marched after him, pulling her brothers along by the hand.
"Imelda!" They whined in unison.
"Hush, consider this penance for your behavior earlier," she scolded them.
"You really don't have to—" Héctor started.
"We don't mind at all," Imelda strode confidently despite the little protests coming from Óscar and Felipe.
Héctor's destination was a little restaurant on the northside of town, only a few blocks from the church. The swinging door out front was painted a very bright green, but it was harder to tell at night. Every window on the first floor was plastered with a sign, too dark to read. A banner reading Gutierrez in bright red script hung over the doorway. Music could faintly be heard from inside and Héctor realized he'd been missing mariachi night.
Instead of walking through the front, Héctor led them behind the building to a plain door in the back. He rapped loudly on it to be heard over the music.
The door flew open. A familiar face in a white dinner jacket and apron stood silhouetted in the active kitchen light.
He took one look at Héctor and crossed himself. "Tía!" His voice boomed over his shoulder.
"Gracias, Ernesto," Héctor said.
The young man chuckled, shaking his head. "I can't wait to see how messed up the other guy is, eh chamaco?" One of Ernesto's large hands came down to affectionately tousle Héctor's hair.
"It wasn't a fight," Héctor said.
"Ay dios, Héctor!" Señora Gutierrez elbowed Ernesto to get out the doorway. "I've had Jorge and Carlos out looking for an hour, ¿Dónde has estado?" She knelt down, hand under Héctor's chin, turning his head this way and that to survey the damage. Her normally round, cheery face was pulled tight and creased, thick eyebrows pulled down. "What happened?"
"He was helping me find them," Imelda explained. "They were hiding in an abandoned boxcar and, well, there was an accident and he fell."
Tía clicked her tongue. "Doesn't always pay to do right, huh, muchacho? Does this hurt?" She touched her index finger to the tip of his nose. He felt a dull ache.
"A little."
"I don't think it's broken." She glanced around at Imelda and the twins, as if noticing them for the first time.
"They ran off?" Tía asked. Imelda nodded. Tía sized them up quickly. "You gemelos should stick closer to your hermana. La Llorona comes at night and steals wandering children to replace the ones she lost," her eyes took on a mischievous glaze. The boys looked at each other, uncomfortable.
"Let's get you cleaned up." She rose on aching knees, gently pushed Héctor by his shoulders into the restaurant. "Ernesto, have José make a few extra plates."
"Sí, Señora."
He took a deep breath. The air stung the little cut on his lip. "Tía, I lost the sugar," Héctor told her.
"I know. It's alright, mijo."
"I didn't know you had a tía," Imelda said.
"Huh? Oh, we're not— she's sort of everyone's tía. We all call her that."
"Oh," Imelda pulled one of her brothers to her side. His head was starting to loll on the back of his chair, eyes lazy and closing. They sat at a small table in the front of the kitchen, just clear of the high traffic of waitstaff heading back and forth over the barrier between the cooking and dining area. Ernesto was taking frequent breaks, the first to give Héctor a spare shirt, and the others to bring them more food and hear the day's story over again.
"Pretty resilient for such a chaparrito," he clapped Héctor's back proudly. Héctor winced. He felt much better now that he was free of bloodstains and Tía only had to bandage the cut on his forehead, but everything above the collar was still awfuly sore.
Imelda watched Ernesto head into the dining area with a tray full of food. "Do you live here or something? Everybody here knows you."
"No, I lived at the church my whole life," he explained. "But Tía lets me eat here whenever I want and I'll do little jobs for her. We've been friends since I was, well, them," he pointed at the twin nodding off on Imelda's shoulder. The other was sprawled out over another chair, head resting on his sister's lap, already fast asleep.
"I used to sneak in to listen to the music, there's a bad lock on the second floor— it's unimportant. Anyway, she caught me once and told me if I swept out the kitchen in the morning I could stay for as long as I wanted and it sort of took off from there."
Imelda nodded in understanding. "So, the guitar—"
"Technically is hers."
Imelda didn't reply, turning instead to look out the kitchen and into the dining room where the band was beginning another set.
Héctor looked down at his hands, still holding onto the torn up bloody rag Imelda had given him. He hadn't noticed it in the dark, but here in the properly lit kitchen he could plainly see, in between the bloodstains, the rich shade of purple in the original fabric. His fingers closed around it.
A/N:
- I'm pretty sure that Oscar and Felipe were younger than Imelda. There is a reason she's functionally parenting them here more than just the expectation of the time period, but we'll get into that later.
-The first rail line in Mexico went up in 1873 from Veracruz to Mexico City after a ton of starts and stops in construction for political reasons. After that most of the rail transport were built by foreign companies, British, French, and American. In 1909 the government created a company to bring the main rail lines under national control, Ferrocarriles Nacionales de México (FNM). Throughout the revolution trains were obviously a valuable target for revolutionaries and for bandits, they made transportation cheaper and the land more valuable. A lot were either neglected or damaged or co-opted by revolutionaries.
-General Santa Anna (yes, the Alamo guy) famously held a funeral with full military honors for his amputated leg after losing it to French grapeshot during the Pastry War (not making this up). The leg was buried in Santa Anna's hacienda in Veracruz in 1838, however he had it dug up and brought to Mexico City in a lavish parade when he assumed the presidency in 1842, after which it was reburied. And then dug up again by angry rioters. His prosthetic leg was captured in 1847 by the 4th Illinois Infantry during the Mexican-American war and brought back to the state where it remains to this very day. Technically the leg was no where near Veracruz in 1912, but "I'm going to bury you in Veracruz then rebury you in Mexico City and then protesters will dig you up and drag you through the streets" doesn't roll off the tongue.
-San Gerolamo is a place I completely made up. Named for Gerolamo Emiliani, the patron saint of orphans.
-I originally started this as a sort of origin story for Héctor's gold tooth (the tooth was the first clue I picked up on in the movie--) but after watching it again, I'm pretty sure Héctor didn't actually have a gold tooth in life. I think his skeleton form has one just because the guitar has one and not the other way around. But I liked everything else happening between Héctor and Imelda and the twins so I kept it and just made it a general face-meet-metal accident.
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Winona Lake, No Winona
Era un conocido hecho y lo había sido durante los últimos años, que el mayor parte del correo recibido en la pequeña oficina postal de Winona en Bass Lake en el Starke Condado por el administrador de correo Cary D. Chapman no era realmente dirigido a ninguna persona que vivía allí. Se pasó una gran cantidad de tiempo de regresar bolsa tras bolsa de cartas a sus remitentes o reenviarlos con desdén a la Oficina de Cartas Muertas. Ni sola una vez se quejo del trabajo extra. Por el contrario, recibió una gran cantidad de placer. “Eso es lo que esos carpetbaggers merecen para huirse con nuestro nombre,” se quejó. Nadie, y menos de todo el irascible Senor Chapman, podría haber previsto la cadena de eventos que él ponía en movimiento para crear sin darse cuenta, unas cuarenta millas de distancia, un nuevo pueblo que reclamaria para sí el orgulloso nombre de Winona Lake.
En algún lugar de Indiana en marzo del 1895, un distinguido hombre en su mediados de 30s caminó rápidamente hacia una estación de tren. Llevaba una cartera de cuero recortada con oro y llevaba un abrigo gris oscuro y un sombrero de fieltro con la signatura abolladura en el medio de la corona. Al entrar en la estación, se acercó al mostrador. Con una sonrisa cautivadora, le dijo al jefe de estación su destino. Habiendo recibido su boleto, se hizo a un lado. Metió la mano dentro del interior de la chaqueta y echó un vistazo a un reloj de bolsillo de oro fino. Volvió el reloj a su lugar y se quedó pensativo. El agobiado viajero dejó escapar un suspiro involuntario, y en un susurro bajo que nadie podía oír, murmuró, “Con qué rapidez nuestra suerte puede cambiar!” Sus pensamientos lo llevaron al enero anterior en ese glorioso domingo cuando el se paró en la nueva iglesia presbiteriana—anteriormente el salón local de baile—y anunció a una delirante multitud sus planes para el establecimiento de un Indiana Chatauqua.
Una multitud considerable de escalofríos presbiterianos pisoteado del frío, golpeando la nieve de sus botas y castañeteando de emoción mientras que compartir lo que poco él o ella había oído del servicio especial del Rev. Dickey. El ministro había hecho el viaje de Indianapolis a encender un fuego debajo de los locales que se quemarían caliente durante todo el invierno y en la primavera.
“Bass Lake ha sido elegido por los presbiterianos de Indiana para ser el hogar de la propia Chatauqua de Indiana!”
Todos en la sala sabían lo que eso significaba y ofreció un aplauso entusiasto. El anuncio incluso generó unos gritos y silbidos. El movimiento de Chatauqua había surgido en Nueva York diez años antes y había extendido a la región central y otras partes del país. En el lago de Chautauqua, los Metodistas ofrecian vacaciones de verano que consistían de entretenimiento cultural y educativo. Los programas incluyeron maestros, músicos, predicadores, showmen, oradores populares y pensadores. Lo que el Rev. Dickey describió esa manana se consideró un Chautauqua muy mejorado, ya que se apartó de las formas liberales de los Metodistas a uno de acuerdo con las creencias representadas entre los reunidos.
“La Winona Asamblea, nuestro nombre Chautauqua aquí en Bass Lake, presentará una conferencia de Biblia además de un programa de la más alta calidad inspirado por la Madre Chautauqua, nuestro predecesor en Nueva York.”
Un rugido de aplausos sacudió las vigas, y el reverendo sintió cerca de bailar.
“Imagina esta humilde estructura transformada en una Hermosa iglesia presbiteriana. Imagina un salón de música, edificios universitarios, y un gimnasio rodeandonos.” Su sonora voz, sonrisa cautivadora y encanto natural combinaron para persuadir.
“Pueden ver unos pocos miles de visitantes dando vueltas sobre jardines de flores impresionantes y disfrutando de la dulce y refrescante brisa del lago?” Hizo un gesto hacía una ventana. Los terrenos pueden haber estado cubiertos de nieve y el lago congelado, pero la gente vio vívidamente lo que pintó con palabras.
“?Pueden Uds. imaginarse a unos pocos miles de personas apresurandose para asistir un concierto? Ellos verterán este verano de todo Indiana para escuchar nada menos que el presidente anterior Benjamin Harrison!”
Sus oyentes jadearon ante la idea de tal espectáculo. Ellos se pusieron de pie como una y aplaudieron de sus manos en una ensordecedor declaración de apoyo.
Al final del servicio, los alegres congregados se quedaron para afirmar el apoyo de este honorable visionario. Ellos brillaron. Profetizaron un gran éxito. Dieron las gracias al reverendo para la selección de Bass Lake para poner en marcha un nuevo tipo de Chautauqua.
Era de marzo, ahora, y si el suelo se había comenzado a descongelar, las negociaciones con los funcionarios del condado se habían congelado. Relaciones heladas pusieron en peligro la gran inauguración de la Winona Asamblea.
Tales eran los pensamientos del preocupado caballero en la estación de tren cuando sintió un suave toque en el hombro. Se dio la vuelta y miró a los ojos de un hombre cercano a él en edad y de considerablemente distinguido porte. Su abrigo negro de doble botonadura tenía botones cubiertos de tela. Una cinta de seda destacó su elegante sombrero de copa negra. Su mano izquierda sostenía un bastón de madera muy pulido con una talla de marfil adornado en su cabeza.
El desconocido extendió su mano. El hombre correspondió.
“?Tengo el honor de conocer al Rev. Dickey?” Él dijo con un agradable y suave acento alemán, y anadió, “Soy J.E. Beyer.”
Ese nombre sonó una campana.
“Señor Beyer, es un placer,” Rev. Dickey respondió con toda la dignidad de un hombre de su estatura.
J.E. Beyer fue uno de un trio de hermanos que habían emigrado de Alemania y se establecieron en Indiana como mayoristas en productos lácteos y aves de corral. Poseían y operaban Spring Fountain Park. En los últimos años, habían cambiado las palabras “el lugar de reunión” para “asamblea” cuando decidieron llevar una versión pequeña de Chautauqua a Indiana.
Los dos hombres entraron en el tren juntos, dirigido por el Sr. Beyer que vio un asiento vacante e invitó a Rev. Dickey unirse a él. El Sr. Beyer no perdió el tiempo en llegar al punto.
“He estado siguiendo su esfuerzo para abrir un Chautauqua presbiteriano en Bass Lake.”
“Entonces, usted es consciente de que ciertos oficiales del condado y del ferrocarril están jugando con nosotros,” respondió el reverendo. “Estamos a la espera de miles de visitantes. Una línea de tren debe venir todo el camino hasta los terrenos de la Asamblea, o de lo contrario los viajeros quedaran varados varias millas de distancia. Sin embargo, los oficiales se niegan a actuar en esta condición no negociable.”
Él casi esperaba al Sr. Beyer hacerle preguntas sobre los detalles y proponer una solución. En cambio, el empresario decidido tomó al reverendo por sorpresa con una oferta.
“Estoy seguro, Rev. Dickey, que Ud. está conciente de nuestras propias instalaciones. Tenemos todo lo que necesita en Spring Fountain Park para abrir su Chautauqua a tiempo, y estamos dispuestos a vender.”
Rev. Dickey se quedó atónito por un momento. El Sr. Beyer dejó que sus palabras trascendentales se hunden mientras que trazar las rañuras delicadas de marfil en su bastón.
Cuando volvió a hablar, el Sr. Beyer describió un hotel de primera clase convenientemente ubicado frente a la estación de trenes. Se jactaba de un auditorio que podía albergar dos mil, meticulosamente cuidadas jardines de flores, varios manantiales naturales, y una oficina de correos. La lista continuó, ya que los hermanos habían pasado diez años y $125,000 desarrollando el parque.
Los otros pasajeros no podían oír lo que pasó entre los dos, ni podían mirar hacía otro lado. El intercambio animado les proporcionó bienvenida entretenimiento. Los hombres iban de episodios de abundante risa a largos tramos de diálogo intenso como si se estaban formulando una gran idea que cambiaría el mundo. “Puede muy bién ser que estamos en presencia de la historia”, un pasajero se le oyó decir.
En la parada del tren, el Rev. Dickey abrazó al Sr. Beyer y partió con un semblante alegre y un jubiloso andar.
La Winona Asamblea inauguró el julio 1 de 1895. Una multitud de comunicados de prensa habló de una maravillosa Chautauqua y Conferencia de Biblia en Eagle Lake a dos millas de Warsaw, Indiana. El inquebrantable liderazgo del Rev. Dickey había visto a la junta y los accionistas a través de una tormenta de crisis; verano trajo la cosecha de luchas recientes. Sin embargo, un problema emergió, un molesto detalle del fallido intento de establecer en Bass Lake.
El nombre de Winona que los presbiterianos habían legalmente asumido por su Chautauqua había venido de un pueblo en Bass Lake y fue también el nombre de la oficina de correos se encuentra allí. Cuando la Asamblea se retiró y se instaló en su lugar en Eagle Lake, residentes de Winona en Bass Lake se indignaron. Y cuando el problema del correo surgió, cavaron y se negaron a ceder ni una pulgada, su fiel administrador de correo a la cabeza.
Mientras el Rev. Dickey anunciaba que la correspondencia se dirigía a Eagle Lake, la gente suponía que la Winona Asamblea estaba ubicada en un lugar llamado Winona, que había sido el plan original. La confusión resultó en cientos y cientos de cartas—no solo al Rev. Dickey, sino también a invitados oradores, músicos, maestros y aquellos que pasaron el verano en los terrenos-- dirigiéndose al Administrador Chapman en Winona en Bass Lake, quien se aseguró de que no llegaron a sus destinatarios.
El problema se volvió crítico en la primavera de 1897 después de que el incipiente Chautauqua se ganó el derecho de organizer la prestigiosa Anual Presbiteriana General Asamblea. La oportunidad fue tanto un honor como una enorme empresa, pero la debacle de correo seriamente los obstaculizó las preparaciones. John Studebaker, un accionista de la Winona Asamblea y fundador de la Studebaker Corporación de Automóviles, escribió una carta al Presidente McKinley insistiendo en que algo se haga. Muchos presumieron que el asunto se resolvería en cuestión de días.
No lo fue.
En enero de 1898, la oficina de correos de la Eagle Lake legalmente cambió su nombre a la Oficina de Correos de Winona Lake. A pesar de este intento de aclarar la confusión, la gente continuó dirigiendose al correo a Winona, Indiana, suministrando un flujo constante de correo imposible de entregar a la oficina de correos de Bass Lake. Rev. Dickey fue hasta el punto de poner un anuncio en los periódicos con la directiva para dirigir la correspondencia a “Winona Lake, no Winona.”
El problema persistió.
Según las leyes del correo, dos oficinas de correo en el mismo estado no podrían compartir el mismo nombre, y la única persona con la autoridad para reparar el desorden era el presidente de los Estados Unidos. Mientras tanto, innumerables cartas destinadas a la oficina de correos de Winona Lake terminaron en las manos del obstinado jefe de correos de la Oficina de Correos en Bass Lake.
El diez de agosto de 1903, el Logansport Daily publicó la historia de los dos Winonas: “Hay millones de personas en el nombre para que una corporación religiosa está luchando contra el jefe de correos en Winona en el Starke County,” comenzó el artículo. Continuaba decir como el jefe del correos de Winona, Cary D. Chapman, caracterizado cómo un patriota y un héroe de las guerras Civil, Indio y Mexicana, estaba defendiendo el derecho de su oficina de correos conservar su nombre.
Según el Daily, el noventa por ciento de las personas que se dirigieron cartas destinados a la Oficina de Correos de Winona Lake dejó la palabra “lake.” Como resultado, su correspondencia fue a Winona en el Starke County, “la única oficina en el estado,” el periódico sostenía, “legalmente reclamando ese nombre.”
El Presidente Theodore Roosevelt, quien cree Chautauqua era la cosa más Americana de America,” envió una carta al Director General de Correos. Él, a su vez, envió investigadores postales a las dos oficinas de correos en guerra. El informe de los investigadores indentificó el Correos de Winona Lake como sirviendo mucho más ciudadanos que el otro Winona, y castigó a su jefe de correos por su parte en frustrar la entrega de correo de los Estados Unidos por un tecnicismo. En abril de 1905, el Sr. Chapman perdió su lucha por el nombre y su trabajo. La oficina de correos en Winona en Bass Lake pasó a llamarse Cobbler Station, llevando el nombre de su nuevo administrador de correos.
Era un establecido hecho a pesar de lo que reportaron los periódicos, que el Rev. Dickey pretende abrir el Chautauqua en las afueras del bucólico Winona en Bass Lake en Starke County. Es por ello que la Winona Asamblea fue legalmente constituda con ese nombre en febrero de 1895. Cuando ciertos funcionarios levantaron obstáculos, J.E. Beyer intervinó con una oferta que nadie más podía igualar. El resultado fue el problema perenne de correo redireccionado a manos de Sr. Chapman que obligaron una confrontación que requiere la intervención de un Presidente. La lucha del Rev. Dickey para traer una Chautauqua a Indiana lo encontró envuelto en un conflicto con una oficina de correos rival, y fue Winona Lake, no Winona, que surgió el vencedor.
Translation by Gail Rogge Merriman
Agradecimiento espcial a: Al Disbro, Winona Lake, IN; Schricker Main Library, Knox, IN; Winona History Center at Grace College, Winona Lake,IN
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Patrícia Abravanel volta a trabalhar um mês após dar à luz, impressiona pela boa forma e revela segredo
Apresentadora Patrícia Abravanel, filha de Silvio Santos (Foto: Reprodução)
Patrícia Abravanel surpreendeu os seus fãs ao voltar a trabalhar um mês após o nascimento do seu terceiro filho, Senor. Mas, o que chamou ainda mais a atenção dos internautas, foi a boa forma da apresentadora, em tão pouco tempo. Vendo a repercussão que causou na web, a filha de Silvio Santos resolveu esclarecer e acabar de vez com a polêmica em torno do seu corpo.
+Mara Maravilha vai no Programa de Catia Fonseca, na Band, critica Ratinho, Chris Flores e dispara: “Não sou homofóbica”
Patrícia revelou qual foi o truque que ela usou para aparecer quase sem barriga nas fotos. Segundo ela, a escolha do figurino foi algo fundamental: ““Nossa apenas 1 mês depois de ter bebê a Patricia já está assim!!” Claro que não!!! Vamos aos truques: para disfarçar a barriguinha e os quilos que ainda estão aqui o Douglas Balsanelli – stylist – escolheu uma calça mais larguinha e uma blusa que abre em baixo tipo uma sainha (peplun). Isso fez toda a diferença para esconder o que não está bom e mostrar o que está. Ah, e claro que a foto pega o melhor ângulo e foi tirada por um profissional Gabriel Cardoso!”, disse.
+Otaviano Costa, Fernando Rocha e outros famosos são demitidos da Globo e maneira como ganham a vida é impressionante
“Sou igual a todo mundo, um mês depois do nascimento do terceiro filho só com truque mesmo”, finalizou a apresentadora a legenda da sua publicação.
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“Nossa apenas 1 mês depois de ter bebê a Patricia já está assim!!” Claro que não!!! Vamos aos truques: Para disfarçar a barriguinha e os kilos que ainda estão aqui o @douglasbalsanelli (#stylist) escolheu uma calça mais larguinha e uma blusa que abre em baixo tipo uma sainha (peplun). Isso fez toda a diferença para esconder o que não está bom e mostrar o que está. Aaahh e claro que a foto pega o melhor ângulo e foi tirada por um profissional @gabrielcardosofoto!! Sou igual a todo mundo, 1 mês depois do nascimento do 3o filho só truque mesmo
. #semcobranças #soalegriaepaciência #tudotemseutempo #LookGravação #JogoDosPontinhos
Uma publicação partilhada por Patricia Abravanel (@patriciaabravanel) a 15 de Mai, 2019 às 10:30 PDT
Filho de Patrícia imita o avô Silvio Santos
A apresentadora Patricia Abravanel resolveu divulgar imagens de um ensaio fotográfico que fez com seu terceiro herdeiro, o pequeno Senor, para comemorar o 1º mês de vida do bebê.
+Claudia Raia vive luto por 40 dias e resolve fazer cerimônia emocionante para sua mãe falecida
O tema das fotos foi inspirado em Silvio Santos e no SBT. A criança apareceu em um dos cliques com aviõezinhos de dinheiro , marca registrada de seu avô, e também com microfone e uma pequena TV com o símbolo da emissora de Silvio, tudo feito em um tipo de tecido delicado.
+Ariana Grande é processada por paparazzi e terá que pagar indenização milionária
No entanto, nem muitos internautas foram de acordo com a “homenagem”. As notas utilizadas na verdade foram confeccionadas em tecidos, exclusivamente para o ensaio fotográfico, mas houve quem não gostasse. Patrícia não ligou para isso e escreveu na legenda: “E para celebrar 1 mês do Senor e minha volta aos trabalhos no Sbt, vai aqui a homenagem mais fofa que você vai ver hoje“, explicando que a homenagem ao pai tinha que ser completa.
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E para celebrar 1 mês do Senor e minha volta aos trabalhos no Sbt, vai aqui a homenagem mais fofa que você vai ver hoje!! #Senor1mês #NãoAguento #AmoTanto Homenagem tinha que ser completa né?!?
(
@danielamargottoestudio) #arrasteparaolado
Uma publicação partilhada por Patricia Abravanel (@patriciaabravanel) a 14 de Mai, 2019 às 12:03 PDT
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