A Fine Line Runs Through Seville
By Hippy Gypsy (with the assistance of Avena)
Disclaimer: I do not own The Road to El Dorado, Tulio, Miguel, Chel, Elton John, Seville, Andalucia, or any part of Spain for that matter, although I wouldn't mind owning any of them. I do however own this plot and the villains, and I own Brian, who is kinda based on a teacher I had this semester. Most especially I own Isabella and Meg. Hopefully I can get some pictures up of what they look like soon, but you'll just have to cross your fingers on that one. The busy life of a college student I lead. But either way, yeah, not making any money off of this, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Anyways, off on the trail…that we blaze…like you haven't heard that one before. Enjoy!
Chapter 1: Although I Must Leave Her
Tulio sat and watched the sea that night. It had always reminded him of her. It had to be her hair, and the way it ebbed and flowed in the wind. But that sea had dried up. The same could not be said for his emotions. He was ready to move.
Chel had died in the early morning a month before, victim to the foreign diseases befallen upon her. They had brought her back with them to Spain. She did not last long. In the end, she had said it was her own doing, but Tulio continually blamed himself. He could do nothing but bury her and recall that for once in he had loved something, no, someone more than gold. He kept her earrings as a momento, and though no one knew it, not even Miguel, Tulio carried it in his vest pocket, day in, day out.
Miguel sat plucking his mandolin on one of the steps behind him, when he finally spoke.
"Let's get the hell out of here."
Miguel's playing didn't stop. "Are you ready to move on then?" he asked carefully.
"Not move on, but…" Tulio chose his words wisely. "Just move." He looked to the sky at the stars, trying to make sense, but not seem weak in front of his partner in crime. "I can't sit still any longer. We've been here for too long. I have to move. You know I'm never in the same place twice too long."
"So when will we leave?"
"Tomorrow morning. As soon as possible."
"And where will we go?"
"Andalucia somewhere to start. I don't know. Anywhere."
"What will we do when we get there?"
"I don't know. I don't care." He got up and headed to bed in a huff. Miguel caught him one last time.
"Tulio…what about Chel? Her memory?"
Tulio stopped dead for a moment. Dammit, the man had pushed his buttons. Slowly, Tulio's hand went to his vest pocket, but he stopped himself. He let his hand drop to his side, and with a deep breath, he went inside, leaving Miguel to ponder the obvious about his emotions.
Miguel sighed. His best friend had lost his true love: a woman just as cunning and obsessive with gold as he was. Now, it was killing himself from the inside out. Tulio had never shown defeat before. Panic, yes. Defeat, never. Miguel had not known Chel as well as him, but knowing Tulio's feeling just the same broke his heart. And he knew as much of a friend as he could be, a brother, nothing could be done to repair Tulio's heart.
So he sat for that last night and played for another hour before he himself retired. He merely sat singing to himself that night:
"I know I must leave her, or she'll be the death of me…"
