Title: Of Sugary Marigolds and Glossy Tar
Summary: Reconciliation is a wondrous process but certainly not always easy. As both the rulers of the Land of the Remembered and Land of the Forgotten will learn, it will take two hearts to beat to fix a dysfunctional relationship. However, perhaps, it is the very same haphazard nature of their newfound love that makes it all exciting. This is a collection of stories concerning the turbulent but consistently heartfelt devotion shared by La Muerte and Xibalba.
Genre: Romance
Rated: T but there will be times when this barrier will be pushed. I shall forewarn in case of anyone who are squeamish over such matters.
A/N: I finally crawled out from under the rock that is my university life and am back into the business. So, I celebrated by watching Book of Life and am completely head over hills with Grave Painters! They made that movie so good! They are such a flamboyant reincarnation of Persephone and Hades and how Xibalba practically melts at her touch is pure adorableness.
Chapter 1
Buried Treasure
"What do you see in him?"
The goddess of Death posed that question to herself as her golden pupils surveyed the festivities of the Day of the Dead. She glided across the ground, a majestic creation of sugar, licorice and resplendent red silk adorned with marigolds as the mortal children darted around her, completely unaware of the celestial presence amongst them. It was useful really to be able to choose when and where a deity wished to show herself. La Muerte knew the people of San Angel worshipped the very soil on which she gracefully levitated over now and feared the sordid manifestation that was her lover.
Ah yes, the very same person that her mind had been heavily weighed down with. Ever since she had won the wager and Maria chose to marry the compassionate guitarist Manolo, Xibalba and her had, for lack of better words, decided to get back together and make things work again. All those years of their separation when she had banished him to the Land of the Forgotten out of raw fury after he had cheated on their last wager had been undeniably agonizing. Yes, fiestas perpetually surrounded her, loving citizens who treated her with utmost respect and glorious hordes of children she could indulge her maternal instincts on but still there had been something missing. When he left, and unceremoniously too like the sore loser he was, La Muerte felt incomplete.
As though for those centuries apart, she had been working on autopilot. Her emotions had condensed into simply kind obligations to her people and ensuring the realm ran smoothly. Outside of her duties as a ruler, she had to get accustomed to the hard truth that without him, she felt as though something essential to her happiness, her sanity was gone. She chuckled a little to herself at that last fragment of her thoughts. If anything, Xibalba knew how to drive her completely mad with rage without even trying. All he had to do was open his mouth and spew something vile about humanity and she would have to restrain every fiber of her being to not slap him.
She paused in her gliding as she stopped at a lone, unadorned grave. It was insignificant, a simple stone slab sticking out of the ground, cracked and eroded due to the harsh treatment of the natural elements. La Muerte's normally jubilant eyes shadowed over and she reached out a hand to touch the tombstone.
And yet, in spite of all their prior quarrels to his banishment, how he infuriated her with his condescension of the mortals and his wicked sense of humor, it was futile to deny that when she was finally spared of all his irritating pessimistic immaturity, she missed it almost immediately. She stared intently at the plot that the stone slab marked and a grip of anxious impatience seized her.
"Where is he? He's normally here around the same time I'm here." His absence brought her back to the same question she had earlier burdened herself with and, deciding she needed a quieter place to ponder it over, she transformed into a flurry of delicate marigold petals and floated up on the roof of a nearby house. Settling herself comfortably on the straw material, she placed her hands under her chin and carried on with her musings.
No one else approved of Xibalba; she knew that. Why, she would place a very safe wager and place her very heart on the line on the fact that only she was the one that bothered to understand and get along with him. The Candle Maker was of neutral and diplomatic personality and normally just let Xibalba do his thing but they were far from compatriots. None of her people found him amusing or intriguing as she did; they all thought him vile and ruthless. She was certain none of his people enjoyed his presence much like he was extremely disenchanted by them. She switched her attention from the festivities below to a workman rolling a wheelbarrow carrying barrels of tar. No doubt to prepare for a hard day's labor tomorrow. The sticky, sickly ebony substance sent shivers of longing through her. While she was composed of confectionary delicacies, Xibalba was a pillar of tar and other disgusting components. La Muerte frowned as she remembered once hearing, as Mary Beth, a couple of adolescents commenting on how "that hot La Muerte chick could do so much better than that old pile of black snot" after she had finished her daily tour guide duties. However, that was another aspect to her question that she needed to contend with.
To her, he was the most attractive man she could ever hope for. She was never a shallow woman to begin with but though he was certainly not conventionally handsome, he possessed an irresistible devilish charm that she found absolutely endearing. The way he waggled his silver eyebrows when he was attempting to flirt with her never failed to make her break into a tiny grin, as hard as she tried to show that she was clearly not in the mood. Strange as it may sound, his tar skin felt lovely and smooth under her fingers whenever she caressed his cheek. While most other people would have rather die again than touch Xibalba, she found herself enjoying the way he melted like hot ghee for frying churros under her hands. Still, they definitely did not click instantly at first sight as a couple. She was this radiant goddess that her people praised far too generously for her gorgeous appearance while her lover was shunned publicly and privately due to his questionable, reviling composition. She knew he didn't really care what other people thought but she knew he was self-conscious as much as he tried to mask it with his trickster, raconteur behavior. He never wanted to show weakness, even with her. To Xibalba, pity was a waste, as it never fixed anything. If only he knew just how much she adored every inch of him, not like she casually admitted it. She removed one of the huge marigolds that she used to decorate her hair and fiddled with the petals, sighing as she realized though she had won the wager, Xibalba had achieved a greater victory.
He had won her heart and will continue to do so regardless of how many times she had heard the far too tiresome phrase: "you deserve better than him." She stared intently into the center of the marigold, searching for an unreachable response as to why her lover was so late to meet her when right now; she could really use his presence.
"That flower looks pretty lonely all by itself now, does it not, mi amor?" La Muerte straightened up, gasping upon hearing that familiar silken voice that she had missed all those lonely centuries ago. She turned, still cradling the forlorn marigold in her hand to see the same annoying person her mind would not cease thinking about carrying a bouquet of what used to be vibrant, orange flowers. They were limp and wilted now but she didn't care. The gesture was absolutely unexpected and she rose to accept them.
"Ay, Balby, is this why you were late? Because I was beginning to believe you had nearly forgotten about tonight," She playfully chided though the relief coursing through her was not easily disguised. Xibalba noticed it right away and smirked, gently running his fingers through her long raven locks of hair.
"Ah, my sweet, did you miss me already? I thought it would have been a relief for you to not have to deal with me all the time," La Muerte rolled her eyes and replied by running her gentle fingers along his cheek and reveling with giggles at how he transformed into a giant puppy in her hands, panting with dazed affection.
"No, Balby. I was taking the time to remember just how lucky I am. That I was the only one blessed with the ability to see just how much of a blessing you are to me."