Suzu: Merry Christmas! This chapter's a drabble, but we're getting places.

I'm also trying to include some Mexican history. If anything looks suspect, do be a dear and let me know.


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What Color is the Sky?

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The first time she'd sung in the plaza, she had written her name down in the performance roster without a second thought. It was unlike the fourteen-year old Imelda to perform for anyone other than her closest friends, but that year, the war was over and the economy was roaring back. Her papá's illness was receding, and her mamá's heartbreak was healing. That was a year to celebrate. In her heart of hearts, there was a swelling joyous tune – bursting forth, waiting to be sung.

So Imelda sang.

That's the same reason she's here today. To sing her joy, for her family and friends, for the food on her table, for Pépita safely giving birth to kittens.

She's never been on the other end.

Starstruck, to just listen.

Joy. A grito with such energy, she's nearly bowled over. Then, clear, unadulterated tones, radiant as the first break of spring over the mountains after a hard winter in Santa Cecilia.

This man sings with his heart in his throat, and for some reason, it isn't clogging up his vocal nodes – rather, it's ushering forth a medley she's never heard. It's almost preposterous.

"Who is thi—y-you hearin' this, 'Melda?"

She sticks a finger on Rodrigo's wagging tongue, never turning her head away.

It's not the best voice she's ever heard. Nor the most brilliant instrumental. But in her heart of hearts, she hears it – the music of the people. Alegre, the swelling joyous tune, bursting forth, sung out over the plaza because to not would be to die, and to live is tonight.

It stirs a longing inside to know the kind of life he—Héctor— has led. She wants to taste a vestige of the tarred roads he wanders over; the star pieces he sleeps under. These things she'll never see, because her life is consistent and bound to this place. But his song—his song sets her aflame for new heights and depths.

So Imelda claps.

(And if she sees his head turn, after, she thinks it's because they've just called her name.)

She's up next.

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