Someone to Call Home
A peaceful, star-studded night has fallen over the sleeping town of San Lorenzo.
...ah, well, in actuality, that fact is slightly inaccurate.
A sliver of pale moonlight spills down onto the polished floor of the Treasure House as its antique door creaks open. A shadow falls and ever lengthens as the intruder of the silent chamber walks forward, the leather soles of his boots gracefully gliding over the sparkling marble. Glints of gold wink at him as he passes through, and he notices how the dark chamber seems to slowly come to life—the light that fills the Treasure House seems to come from everywhere, he could not fathom what exactly had illuminated it all so suddenly, and certainly, it is not the opened door.
Ha. Well. Magic.
He takes one last step before stopping to look up. He stands respectfully before the statue of the esteemed Great Mage himself, that one who he has had heard so much about from passionate accounts from Dulcinea herself. Sino's one eye glinted so malevolently red, just like it had since the day he'd first arrived here.
He chuckles to himself as he remembers how arrogantly he's declared it to Dulcinea earlier, whilst whining about how wrongly he treated the children by lying to them about the horse race.
Puss in Boots does not make mistakes.
The longer he thinks about it, the more uncertain he becomes if that is actually something to laugh about.
After all, he has made the mistake of stealing that one fateful coin of 1829, a date so far off into the future that it boggles his meagre mortal mind. (Truly, who could blame him for wanting that sweet baby as a souvenir, right?)
However.
Is it really a mistake if that one fateful 'mistake' led to him leading a life such as…this?
He walks forward, softly, gingerly, the tap-tapping of his boots echoing crisply across the chamber.
Hesitantly at first, he rests a paw over the stone of Sino's statue.
He spreads his fingers over the cool surface, the chill travelling from the soft pads of his paws and up through his arm, then down his spine.
This very mage is the creator of the town his heart has now grown so much to love.
San Lorenzo makes it possible for him live a life he's never dared think he'd ever have. He's never dared, for fear of having his greatest desire rejected by the fates themselves. Oh, but now, how kind the fates have been to him. They have given him a life where he is accepted, where he felt like he belonged, for once. Today, for example. Today is just one of those days. San Lorenzo had just held its Annual Horse Race, and, Felina, how flattered he felt when he later realized how the two competing teams of the competition actually wanted him to race for them. His ego would say, well of course they picked ME, I AM the greatest of all time after all, but in his heart, he truly does appreciate that fact that they do acknowledge him, like an actual part of a real family.
And he would do everything for this large family, he realizes, as he draws his paw away from the stone. He would move mountains, skies, Heaven and Earth—no.
He would move whole, entire realities only to make them happy.
(...Well, there is always an exception to the rule, and of course, that exception is Eames.)
Heh, if he could slice himself into two, into three, into innumerable numbers of himself, he would so happily do so, if it meant that each San Lorenzan needed someone—needed him. He had quite literally accomplished that today with Artephius' help in the creation of Puss Dos, he laughingly reminisces, only if to fulfil the call of his code of honour to Artephius and to make the children happy, both at the same time.
Puss Dos, his mind echoes back at him.
He never should have expected for someone to be able to perfectly copy him. He is Puss in Boots, after all—there is nobody, and he meant nobody, in this world or any other, who could ever rival his skills, his charm, his utter devotion to his code of honour, and his impressive expertise on women. Puss Dos is his own person—stupid, stupidly happy, and perhaps losing a few number of screws in his head, but he is nonetheless his own person, and that is all that mattered—just as Puss in Boots is. Puss in Boots, irreplaceable, unique, one-of-a-kind, in all his handsome glory.
Pride swells in his chest at the thought.
I have indeed become an indispensable member of this entire family, the proud gato thinks in a rare moment of tenderness, giving the statue of Sino one last look before respectfully backing away. And for making me experience how that felt like, San Lorenzo...
I am eternally grateful to you.
When he finally turns on his heel—
"Hello."
Squeaking a not-exactly-manly squeak, Puss, quick as a cat, flashes out his sword and points it at the thief—
Dulcinea sighs and rolls her eyes at the dramatic flair, and she touches the blade of his sword with a paw to bring it away from her chin. "Really, Puss? It's just me. Stop being so jumpy all the time."
He could have sworn that the skin under his ginger fur is blushing a malevolent shade of red with the embarrassment that he suddenly feels eating at him. He sheathes his sword, an apology on his lips, his eyes not quite meeting hers as he bows slightly before her. "I am...sorry, señorita." He lifts his head to look at her now, though a slowly growing smirk has made his rich, avocado eyes sparkle with mischief. "But, fear not. My highly-strung nerves are not without reason. I just thought that the thieves we have fought earlier at the fiesta were back for revenge." He puts his sword back in its place on his belt, then pats its hilt appreciatively while lifting his head and puffing out his chest. "I do have to stay alert."
Dulcinea rolls her eyes again at his noble gentleman antics. Oh, Puss, she thinks, inwardly giggling. Don't ever change. She decides to play along, though. "Oh, but of course, señor," she enunciates as toploftily as she could, holding out a paw for him to take like a princess on a ball, "I completely understand the nature of your highly-strung nerves, since our humble little town indeed has so much money."
They both burst into laughter at that, that oh so golden memory of how they had first met—how naïve she had been, declaring her possession of money in front of all thieves! Well, she still is naïve, but Felina, he thinks with pride, she has learned so much over the past few months, grew ever so much stronger. Puss takes the paw she has offered him to twirl her into the air, then yanks her back to him so that she collides against his chest before they spin, and then he gracefully dips her halfway to the floor so that he could look into her bright, sky blue eyes.
"You know," Puss says after a moment of silence, and he feels her hold onto his shoulder tighten, "you have come a long way since we have first met."
She cocks her head to the side with an impish smile. "Only me?"
Puss sways his head side-to-side as if hesitating to give an answer. "Ehh…well." Then he indulges her one of his rich, charming smirks. "I guess we have come a long way."
They smile at each other for that one moment, letting his words sink into the suddenly warm air.
We have come a long way.
We.
You. Me.
Us.
They suddenly realize how awkward it must have been, staying in that position for more than fifteen seconds, so they scramble to stand up back on their feet, clearing their throats and doing all they could to stare at everywhere except each other.
"Ah, s-so." Dulcinea is fiddling with her fingers, and she has started to walk her way to the door. Automatically, Puss follows her lead. "So," she begins again, "uh..."
That seems to be as far as she got.
"Well," interjects Puss, taking over the rein of the conversation, "what brings you here?"
Embarrassment now long gone, she turns to him and deadpans, "I think I'm the one who should be asking you that."
"Of course you do," he says sarcastically, giving her a sidelong glance. Then he exhales a sigh. "I was merely...lost in thought," he shrugs. Both feel the chill of the cool night air as they finally emerge out of the Treasure House to greet the starlit dark. Puss produces the key from his left boot and he works on closing the doors and locking the chains he'd long ago secured onto the Treasure House's gates, and Dulcinea patiently waits for him to be done. "Tell me," he says in the space of silence as he worked, "how far back has San Lorenzo's Annual Horse Race been established?"
Dulcinea is struck by the question. What is this sudden interest in the history of the town? He only snored whenever Dulcinea passionately rambled on and on to him the history of San Lorenzo, usually denying that he ever snored because apparently, that is an act of such disgrace that would never befit a hero such as himself.
"Well...let me think." She looks at the sky as Puss finally secures the locks, and he joins her when she begins to walk down the steps of the patio, her heels clicking against the furnished marble. "We've actually been doing the Annual Horse Race ever since I can remember. It was first established about a century ago, by a man named...yes, that's it!" Her eyes light up as she snaps her fingers, the details rushing back to her brain. "His name is Miguel Igualdemontijo, and I think he's Señor Igualdemontijo's great-grandfather. Adoptive, of course," she adds immediately, since Puss has long ago learned that every citizen of the town is orphaned at one point of their life before they ever came to San Lorenzo. He nods and prods her to continue.
"Once, the story goes, a boy is brought home and raised in that very house," she points towards one of San Lorenzo's warm dwellings, and Puss recognizes it immediately as Señor y Señora Igualdemontijo's, "and he loved books. So very much. Because his father—adoptive father, the former manager of the orphanage—feared that his beloved son might develop a desire to escape this town to explore the outside world and never return, well, he himself set out with his mare to bring lots and lots of books into San Lorenzo. That's where most of the books in the orphanage's classroom library came from!" She has a distant, dreamy look in her eyes, full of warmth for this man from long ago who brought home the books that she herself has grown to love. It is a sight to behold, Puss thinks to himself, and he decides then and there that he could get used to this.
"But then," Dulcinea continues, "then, when he returned, he was not alone. His mare had...wait for it!...a young foal with her. Another foal. A baby stallion!" She squeaks and twirls around happily as Puss incredulously looks on. This story has happened centuries ago, why is she so irrationally passionate about it? It is one of the many mysteries of Dulcinea that he has resigned to accept are impossible to decode. "It seems her mare was impregnated while he was away, and young Miguel was soooo excited to learn that he now had a lifetime of books to go out on adventures to...and that he also had a baby horse to ride on, like a true adventurer! That day, Miguel immediately mounted the horse he has named Melindre, because of the honey colour of his mane. Miguel challenged his father into a horse race, to fulfil the adventure fantasies that has risen out of his love of adventure stories, and his father indulged him, of course."
Puss and Dulcinea approach the fountain and sit together onto the baluster so they could look down at their reflections onto the clear, rippling water.
"And that's when it began," Dulcinea says, looking at Puss' reflection. "To celebrate the day that Miguel felt a sense of freedom because his father brought the books that made him experience what it was like to be in the outside world, San Lorenzo has made it an official date worth commemorating...supposedly as a reminder to everyone else that we can feel just as happy and free and adventurous here in town...as we could in the outside world."
She looks up from her reflection in the water to meet Puss' glowing chartreuse eyes, green tinged with rich golden yellow.
We could feel just as happy here in town as we could in the outside world.
She suddenly wonders if Puss in Boots, all his life a wandering, swashbuckling adventurer, is as happy living a settled life in San Lorenzo as he claims he is living outside.
He breaks from her gaze with a chuckle.
"You should tell this story to the children," he states matter-of-factly. "It says much, considering it is that one single piece of the history of San Lorenzo that has managed to keep me awake till the end."
Dulcinea pouts at that—he had practically just admitted to snoozing through most of her stories! She punches him playfully on his arm. It is only supposed to be a playful punch, not really something she put much force into, so why—why is Puss suddenly clutching his arm like that?
"Oh, oh no!" gasps Dulcinea, all playfulness suddenly replaced by guilt and concern. "Did—did that hurt? I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it, here, let me take a look at it, I'm so sorry—"
Puss starts and immediately inches away from her. "No! No, do not worry. I will be fine."
Dulcinea is unconvinced, but she backs away. She takes a mental note to lessen the force the next time she decides to playfully punch him on the arm again.
"I—I thought you are supposed to be asleep," Puss reboots the conversation, though he is still very much trying to run soothing caresses up and down his punched arm. Darn it.
"Ah, that. Well...I heard the door to the Treasure House creak, so I went to check on it. Just…in case it was a thief."
Guilt strikes his eyes. "I...apologize for waking you, then."
"No, no!" Dulcinea amends, "It's alright. I couldn't sleep anyway."
The guilt is swept away by relief. "You seem to have slept so lightly that such a little thing could wake you, despite all the work you had to do today."
It is true. She—and everyone else—must've been tired after having helped Pajuna clear the plaza after the little fiesta that concluded their Annual Horse Race. To Uli's chagrin, of course—oh, how so utterly furious Uli was the rest of the afternoon. He still couldn't come to accept that his brilliant scheme of food poisoning had ultimately failed to fulfil its purpose. The irritated goat had kept clopping around them for the rest of the day as Puss, Dulcinea, and the kids helped Pajuna clear the table of the dishes to bring them to the cantina where they can be washed. He had become more irritated still when his further attempts at executing his evil misdeeds never seemed to draw the cry of despair that he so craved to hear. Such attempts included maleficently waxing the floor of the cantina, or wickedly playing the role of the evil wizard in the children's bedtime story as Dulcinea enthusiastically narrated it.
It had all been very amusing, if Puss is to be honest, listening to Uli rant about how 'zat littul cow has done the trickeries on me!' until it got old and he had to thank the thieves who arrived at the town afterwards for giving him a reason to finally leave the snivelling goat to his life frustrations.
"I could say the same to you," huffed the female feline, "we all worked hard today. Why aren't you asleep yet?"
He thinks for a moment to compose his answer.
"I am...waiting for my exhaustion to catch up to me, I think that is how I should put it. Perhaps I shall patrol to spend the time. You go ahead and sleep for tonight."
Dulcinea does not answer. After a few more moments of pause, she stands, and wordlessly leaves Puss to his own.
He is surprised to feel the disappointment that blooms in his heart as he watches her leave and walk towards the orphanage.
Well.
It cannot be helped.
He sighs, stares up at the moon, lost in thought. Then he decides that he should probably begin his patrolling rounds for the night, indulge himself a dose of solitude, as usual.
But when he hears the steps of someone approach him from behind...
His ears perk, and suddenly he turns on his heel, flashes out his sword—
And it strikes metal.
"D-Dulcinea?" He lowers his blade. Takes a look back at the orphanage door. "How come I did not notice—"
Dulcinea laughs, swings her too-big-for-her-sword, and then strikes its point to the ground so she could lean on it. "Did you really think I'd just leave you like that? I brought my sword. I thought maybe we could...pick up where we left off on my fencing lessons?"
Puss' eyes brighten at the opportunity to show off, immediately liking the idea of spending the entire night with her a thousand times more than spending it in solitude.
"Ah." He smirks. "Of course."
He advances towards her, striking at her two, four, six times with Dulcinea barely able to quickly pull up a defence of parries, and Puss makes a brief note of how she definitely needed a lighter sword, she could be quicker than this—and to the mind of the master swordsman, she leaves too many openings, too many—
He exploits one of them and he flashes the tip of his foil to her before she could make her offence.
What she has in strength and endurance, she lacks in technique.
"Is this all you can do?" he taunts, wiggling his eyebrows.
Dulcinea feels a vein throb in her forehead, suddenly thoroughly annoyed of his spark of ego. Well, she is the one who asked him to teach her, so perhaps she does not have the right to complain; Puss is very well in the position of authority here.
There is…another feeling, though. It blossoms in her chest, and she realizes a moment later that her heart is swelling with something. With pride.
He acknowledges me as a capable fighter. Not as a delicate piece of china that needs to be handled with too much sickly care—no. He deems her worthy as someone to clash swords with.
Well, well, well. An actual improvement.
She brandishes a smirk of her own, not at all discouraged by her failure to properly attack—she would force him to teach her some techniques, oh yes that's her plan.
"Just in case you forgot, I did kick your butt once, oh great Puss in Boots. And I can do it again!"
And so, as the two struck and blocked and parried through the night, only pausing occasionally so that Puss could take note of her mistakes or so that Dulcinea could punch him whenever he became too narcissistic, Puss thinks fondly to himself:
Whatever this is, it is something I can call home.
A/N: Puss and Dulcinea sparring during their free time is now one of my official headcanons, and I have jose21cena to thank for the original idea. Gracias, and keep writing for our Sweet Ginger. They definitely need your passion and love! X)
WELL, I wrote this thing originally as a one-shot to give some depth to the history of San Lorenzo—I mean, we barely see the series giving explanations as to how such a secluded place grew into a self-sustaining town with actual citizens who didn't dare venture to the outside world to get their food, water, etc., and lived luxurious enough lives that they could hold traditions and fiestas. Well, sure, magic, but I needed more depth than that. Therefore the little backstory about a young boy named Miguel Igualdemontijo and his father. This was originally just a short one-shot, and that last line is supposed to be the end of it. But then, to my utter absolute horror, my brain began to automatically plot the events of the next chapters all while I'm in the middle of school stress AND of writing For San Lorenzo.
My imagination is 1% a blessing and 99% a curse.
So this thing is marked 'complete' for now, because it works as a one-shot. I'll get back to this once I get done dealing with another unfinished business with these cats, because apparently I'm juggling too many of them felines for my own good.
Thanks for reading! ^^'