GRITO DE FOGO
A/N: O.0 O.M.F.G! I did not expect instant reviews the day I post the story! Man, you guys must love me! XD Anyway, on to the usual stuff, such as…
O NOEZ TEH DISCLAIMER! (Run for life!) : I don't own anything expect the plot to the story (yet I shall slay the Twin-Head Demon that is Bryke! I promise it!).
CHAPTER TWO: 'ASCENSÃO E BRILHO, SONOLENTO CABEÇA!'
My alarm went off at 0525 (5:25 AM) BRST. Which meant that it went off, for me, at 0325 (3:25 AM) EST, which totally screwed me up because my internal clock forgot to change time zones when I landed in São Paulo yesterday.
But some how I managed to at least open my eyes lift my head from my pillow. When I did, I immediately wanted to put my head back down since I still thought it was nighttime. I even managed to yawn a bit and stretch, but I was still zonked from the flight.
I groggily got out of my bed, groaning about something. About what, I'll never know, but I think it had to do with me finding some Brazilian chick and getting laid with her. (And that, kids, is why we adult males rarely fly outside our country's borders. We're fine with the girls here in the US, thank you very much.)
I trudged over to the bathroom and flicked on the light. After trying to shield my eyes from the sudden change in light, I decided to look in the mirror to see how bad of a bed-head I got.
A pale skinned, amber eyed, black-haired, 23 year-old man stared back at me. I touch the area around my left eye, where my scar was. I still winced at the feeling of the burned tissue brushing against my fingertips, but the initial pain I felt long ago when I got it had ebbed away.
I decided that once I got back home, I was going to see a plastic surgeon to get this taken care of. I was tired of having that scar stick around like a sticky piece of tape.
Anyway, I freshened up and got dressed after I unzipped my suitcase. I checked to see if I still had enough clean underwear to wear (my mom would kill me if I didn't) and clean socks that didn't have big gapping holes in them (my mom was always picky about those, too). After confirming both, I got dressed in a black t-shirt, some green shorts, and flip-flops. (You may now assume that I do have on clean underwear.)
I decided to go explore São Paulo to look around, visit all the monuments, maybe find a bar or two, and score a few Brazilian honeys (what can I say? I'm a guy, so cut me some slack already, will ya?).
So I locked my room and headed towards the elevator. Then I remembered that I left my wallet in my other pants last night, and I quickly rushed back to the room. Unlocking the door, I went inside and grabbed my wallet, stuffing it in my shorts' pocket. I locked my room again and headed back towards the elevator.
The hotel was very…tacky (at least on my floor). They had too many things that I saw in the US. They had floral-print carpet, striped paint jobs on the walls, white doors with gold number plates, the odd table with a vase, and to top it all off, they had vending machines filled with treats from the US (in fact, I went so far as to have believed that they smuggled the vending machines from hotels in Florida).
After I took the elevator down to the main floor, I was surprised to see someone was waiting for me.
Someone who was a girl, and said girl looked like a goddess. She was wearing a blue tube-top, denim jeans, cyan flip-flops, and a jean overcoat. She looked tan, young, and had black hair, as well as blue eyes and a hot looking-body for someone her age (which I think was 22 at the time, about a year younger than me, so she was still dateable without having me arrested for exploitation of a minor). Her hair was in a braided ponytail that stopped midway down her back.
Hold the phone here…blue eyes? That can't be right…I thought all the chicks here had brown or black eyes…something's up, I know it…maybe I can ask her later about those eyes of hers.
"Finalmente, você está aqui!" ('Finally, you are here!') She sighed happily, "Eu estava preocupado que você não iria mostrar-se!" ('I was worried you would not show up!')
I looked at her, confused. Apparently, beautiful as she was (and still is to this day, I swear to God on that), she didn't get the memo that I didn't understand a damn thing that was either written or spoken in Portuguese.
'Avila', thankfully, was on duty at the time (God, does the woman ever think of the concept of SLEEPING?!), and decided to translate for me.
"She says that she's happy you've showed up," she translated for me, her accent still there.
"And why was she waiting for me?" I asked, wanting to get to the point of the mystery girl's purpose of being here.
"God, I don't know. She just walked through the doors and asked if you were here. I said yes, and then she started asking to see you."
"Why was she asking to see me?"
"She kept saying something about 'Seu tio quer vê-lo primeira coisa hoje', and I keep saying 'Por favor, deixem o cara gozar o seu descanso! Ele apenas nove horas arrancou um vôo, mulher!', and then she's like-"
"I get the picture, sister. Just get to the point." I was already getting tired of her rendition of the events that happened while I slumbered (even though I missed one hellva cat-fight, I reckon).
"Well, I think that she wants to take you to your uncle…?"
"What the-?! Ask her about how she knows I have one." I was surprised to find out that this girl knew my uncle. But then again, my uncle did have a lot of friends; I always thought those friends were old and crusty like him.
"Como vocês sabem seu tio?" ('How do you know his uncle?') Avila asked, repeating my question in Portuguese.
"Ele minhas visitas escolares vez em quando," ('He visits my school every now and then') the girl replied, answering the question as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"She says your uncle visits her school every now and then," Avila translated, repeating what the girl had just said, but this time in English.
"Ok, so…what's her name?" I asked; finally ready to know what to call the girl.
"Qual é seu nome?" ('What is you name?') Avila asked, once again repeating my question in Portuguese.
"Meu nome é Katrina Aquãl," ('My name is Katrina Aquãl.') the girl replied, introducing herself, "And I can speak pretty good English." Her accent was Latino, like Avila's, but it was more honey-like.
My eyes widened. I wasn't expecting my uncle's friend to switch tongues so fluently.
"Then why didn't you ask me, in English, mind you, who I was?" I asked, confused.
"Because I knew the minute you got off that elevator that you were who I was looking for," was the reply I got.
"Ok, whatever," I shake my head slightly, trying to dismiss the thought of thinking over her riddle, "What school do you go to?"
Katrina just smiled. The next word out of her mouth was the word I'd spend the rest of my life trying to master and later teach to my students back in the States:
"Capoeira."
