-You're Forgettable-
The walk to Shantytown is quieter than the walk to the warehouse was. There's this awkwardness between then, they're not entirely sure how much Miguel picks up on it, but the feeling in the air is stifling. The weight of the information that they inadvertently revealed. It lies heavy on their shoulders like the straps of their pack and they find themself slowing down. Hanging back as they grow closer and closer to Shantytown.
The contrast with the bright colours and vibrancy of the world over their heads is stark.
Striking. It goes from bright and colourful, a kind of artificial celebration to the world, to duller. More drab and dreary, toned down and with this subtle blue that evokes a feeling in their chest, a kind of mourning nostalgia. It's also distantly artificial, but more real than the bright lights and loud colours. A more reserved feeling, that just feels more fitting.
It's rest in comparison.
But still they know it doesn't fit, as the cobbles below their feet become more chipped, and there's a moistness to the air, a kind of damp that sinks into them. Still they're going lower, and they nervously listen as the conversation finally creeps back in.
"Why the heck would you wanna be a musician?" and apparently it's going to be more or less the canon one, they're not sure if they're relieved or disappointed by that, but to be fair, they're not sure they want it to be different.
"My great-great grandpa was a musician." Miguel's answer is almost cheerful, and then the boy's looking over to them. "What about you Milk?"
"Huh, me?" they stumble slightly, nearly toppling down the rickety wooden stairs, but just barely catching themself with Obi darting ahead down past their feet. "Eh, I don't really want to be a musician, it's more... performing for myself, for my family... having fun y'know?" they wave one hand in a circle not sure how to explain.
"But-"
"I mean does it really matter, music isn't about attracting a crowd to you, not really..." they plough on ahead, overtop of Miguel's attempt to object. "I mean music is... music is a language all of its own, universal..." they let out a grumble waving their hands and sticking out their tongue. "But what would I know, I'm not the real musician here, nah I'll leave that explanation to Hector..."
"Ehh?" Said skeleton looks back to them, narrowing his eyes in suspicion before shaking his head, turning around and flashing a far too cheery grin. "We're almost there!" he says, spinning around and just casually jumping right over the sheer drop edge. They join Miguel in staring down and watching him reform himself.
"Whuff..." they mumble, because that's still impressive. As it is, they have to take the stairs, for safety's sake. They fail the final step instead slamming into the ground. Which causes Miguel to freeze, awkwardly pausing, even as Hector ahead of them whistles. An action that their foggy mind takes as some kind of greeting.
They wave away Miguel's attempt to help them, instead stumbling to their feet on their own. A shake of the head, as one hand rubs their chin, before they're stepping forwards and following through the arch. Only pausing for a moment to consider the mural painted on the side.
Skeletons with wings of marigold.
Reaching, reaching...
"Los Olvidados" they whisper, the words barely a breath from their lips. "The forgotten ones, you're forgettable..." it's terrifying really. Even as they enter the actual place. Rickety wooden walkways, and the cheer of those there is in such contrast. They don't listen as Hector explains things, not really, instead feeling an uncomfortable twist in their stomach as they look around, and they find themself glancing to their revealed bones in their hands.
Almost subconsciously they find their mind making a comparison.
Miguel's are brighter, a purer white.
"Heh... you can be forgotten while still alive..." they mumble, shaking their head, a nervous chew on their lips. This just feels like the proof.
"Huh?" Miguel looks back at them. "Hey Milk, what's wrong?" They flinch at the boy's question, before plastering on a grin.
"Nothing Miguel!" it's an obvious lie, especially as they shove their hands into their pockets and try to ignore the prickling feeling at their back. They wouldn't belong here either, even if they are destined to be forgotten quickly. If they die at the end of all this, well they wouldn't be coming here into this space.
They don't belong.
Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, OI, OI, OI! Not a Mexican.
But more, there's this worry that they have sneaking into their bones, at that small difference in the shade. To be forgotten while they're still alive, they might just disappear at the end. If they fail to get uncursed... They're not sure that they would even still be around to come down here again.
They're not sure that they would be-
They shudder slightly, recoiling at the thought.
Again, Miguel's looking back at them. And they can feel their false grin cracking, they can feel the ragged edges of the lie bite at them, they can.
"It's... It's not anything you need to worry about!" they blurt, shaking their head and pulling out one hand to wave in a dismissive fashion. "It's a grown up thing! Like, like..." they can't come up with anything that grownups do that children don't aside sex, and they are not going to blurt that out. Even kids get involved somewhat in politics after all, despite their parents not wanting them to. "Like... you know... stuff! Just don't worry about it! M'kay?"
"Okay..." Miguel sounds like he really doesn't believe them. Ahead of them Hector's already interacting with the trio of ladies, asking after Chicharron, so that they can get the guitar but...
But they're struck by a realization all of a sudden, freezing as Miguel and Hector both look towards the bungalow. One of the ladies, notices whatever expression they're wearing and offers them a glass. Which they awkwardly wave away.
They're not really one for alcohol, even though they are legally able to drink now. And besides, a drink won't help, it could be a huge risk. They've never been drunk, so they have no way of telling how they'd react. Although if it's anything like the time that they got placebo drunk off portello...
They'd be shooting out spoilers left, front, and center.
As it is, they're very nervous, not sure if they should say anything. Not sure if they should do anything. It's a simple thought, a simple calculation. The altered conversations, albeit subtly, the change of timing. There is a very, very high chance that, when they get inside, Cheech might not even be there.
Or he might be already experiencing the Final Death on entry.
A second glass is offered to them, and they again refuse, a strained forced grin finding its way to their face as Hector completely disregard's the statement of warning. He's not in the mood for visitors. And who could blame him?
"Who doesn't like a visit from Cousin Héctor?" Hector's too loudly, too cheerfully spouting his line. He grimaces as he enters the bungalow, followed quickly by Miguel and Dante and they just sigh. Obi stops them from immediately entering, letting out a whine, and they pause. They look down at their companion, before sighing. Taking a deep breath, peering at their hands, and just. They have to do this.
They have to face this.
"I know... Obi... I know..." their voice is barely a breath, and they close their eyes for just a moment. Only a moment. Their hands curl, they open their eyes, huff and step into the bungalow. It's dark, but there's an amber-gold flash, and they freeze. Their feet speed up without thinking and they soon see Hector there staring with an expression that they can't quite place.
Part horror, part realization, part absolute sadness.
They delayed them just enough that... He's still there, but barely. That was the first gold flash. That was the initial flash, and it aches. A twist in the chest, especially because they have a sinking feeling. Did Hector even ask, but-
"Whoa, whoa... You okay, amigo?" Hector's voice drags them back to the present, it's so soft, genuinely worried. And they understand.
"I'm fading, Hector. I can feel it." They look over to where Miguel is the, kid looks so confused so lost. But they're not, they understand, they know what's going on. But the dialogue stops, and they feel an uncomfortable twist in their stomach, that's a sure sign that the delay created by their presence altered events, but this moment still has to happen.
"Is... is there anything we can do to help..?" they find that their mouth is running ahead without them. "To make it easier on you?" The weak skeleton in the hammock finally looks over at them, finally seeming to notice them and Miguel. And they feel an uncomfortable twist, something in his gaze.
When he looks at them, it's almost like he's seeing right through them, seeing past the surface, as if he can see, as if he can tell.
"Por favor, Señor... I would just like to know if there's anything..." He lets out a weak sound, almost like a laugh and they frown, as his gaze returns to Hector. Who's eyes are darting slightly, and they want to glare at him. He looks like he's about to make a bad decision, he looks like he's about to-
"Any requests?" There's a record scratch in their head, as Hector takes the guitar, begins to tune it and settles himself down. The absent almost notes as he tunes wash over them, but they can only stare, because what? They weren't expecting that... Not with the interrupted course of events...
"You know my favourite, Hector" there's a weak laugh, and they can only stare. Amazed as the tune begins. Soft and lilting and they just can't quite believe...
"Well, everyone knows Juanita!
Her eyes each a different colour
Her teeth go out and her chin goes in
And her..." Hector pauses, and they honestly can't resist, because really Miguel's twelve. And they have heard much much worse from eight year olds.
"Knockers they drag on the floor!" The look that they get from Hector, and the small laugh from Miguel. They can only give a sweet smile in return, after all, it's not like it's the worst euphemism that there is.
"Her hair is like a briar
She stands in a bow-legged stance
And if I weren't so ugly, she'd possibly give me a chance" Hector finishes the song anyway, a slight glow to his markings, almost like a flush in the cheeks. So that's how skeletons blush. Still, this is a sombre moment, and they know what's coming as Chicharron weakly shifts, letting out a small almost chuckle.
"Brings back memories." his hat is in his hands, and the glow is beginning "Gracias..." The way that it overtakes him. They can't look away, they force themself to watch. Eyes going wide as it shines. Lighting up his markings first, then creeping into the gaps between his bones, before flooding over them and... he just dissolves afterwards.
Gone.
And oh boy, even with Hector's moment of mourning, he's looking straight at them with that one look that every parent seems to wear if you say something vulgar around kids. But again, they can't see that it's that bad, they've heard way worse. But, they're going to have to deal with it anyway...
"I..." they find their mouth opening again, once more without their permission. "I'm sorry..." they know that the apology isn't for the use of the 'actual' lyrics to Everyone Knowns Juanita, and so does he. But his eyes still flicker to them, before he looks away. He takes one of the glasses, and they watch, hands moving to the straps on their pack as he raises it up, before downing it in one go.
"Wait... what happened?" And, oh right... there's still Miguel, who doesn't know what the glow meant. Hector's focus turns from them to him. Their hands move into their pockets again, and their eyes flicker from Hector to Miguel, and there's this huge weight on their shoulders. A weight that sinks through them, because they're the one who caused the dely. They're the only variable here, and their presence is making the time run thin. Obi whines, slightly.
"He's been forgotten." Hector's voice is soft, sad, and they flinch. "When there's no one left in the living world who remembers you, you disappear from this world. We call it the 'Final Death.'"
"Where did he go?"
"No one knows..." They breath the words even as Hector speaks them and his eyes drift over to them for a moment. They shift, nervously, a shrug in their shoulders. And they can see Miguel thinking, considering things, but how much of a conversation was there? A few moments, a couple of sentences?
"But I've met him... I could remember him, when I go back..."
"Doesn't work like that kid..." they're the one cutting in, leaving Hector to look morose. "Memories, tales of people, they have to be passed down by those who knew you in life. At least at first y'know, stories, legends, they don't just come from nowhere, but, there's no one left who can tell his stories... No one left who knew him..." and they pull their hands out again, because they know it's a bit more complicated than that.
"Hey, it happens to everyone eventually." Hector's shaken himself off, overly cheerily finishing their explanation. Putting a single hand on Miguel's back. And they sigh, their eyes drifting to the guitar.
They have no idea if Hector even asked if they could borrow it. They have no idea, and the look on his face, they have a sneaking suspicion that he didn't get to ask the question. Still, their eyes drift back to Miguel, the knowledge, the understanding that he needs it weighs heavy on their back.
But-
They close their eyes, they can't even offer the suggestion, it feels wrong. What are you? A grave-robber? No, they can't.
"So... anywhere else we can get the instruments that we need?" they ask instead, not looking at anyone but instead focusing on Obi and Dante where the two canines are sniffing around the piles of stuff. Abruptly their colourful companion snaps her head up, nose in the air, and she sniffs for a moment, before letting out an almost howl and takes off, Dante right after her. "Whoa, Wait you two!"
"Dante!"
"Hold on!" Hector's call is ignored as they race after the canines, it doesn't feel fair that Miguel is faster than them. Keeping up that much easier with the two while they're lagging behind a little bit. There are skeletons ahead of them on the walkways who're forced to move out of the way of the two dogs, and they can only yell hasty apologies. Only offer apologies, that are echoed by Hector who's right behind them.
They want to look back, to see how he's following them, but they can't. They have to keep Miguel's red hood in sight. And even ahead of Miguel, they have to keep the bright colours of Obi in sight. And the happy barks of Dante even further ahead. It's kind of hard to keep their balance as they run.
Sharp turns, on rickety and loose boards, and yet they somehow manage.
They somehow manage, even catching up with Miguel. As he slows down, the canines finally seeming to come close to where they want to lead them. They find themself coughing as they finally get the chance to take a break, a grimace crossing their face for a moment, before they take a deep breath.
They're about to scold Obi, when someone crashes right into them.
Hector, who's not quite able to stop unlike them. They only barely manage to avoid toppling over, and give Hector a quick look. Which is then repeated because he is still carrying Cheech's guitar. He looks somewhat awkward with it, holding it between them, but he's still got it. It makes them stare, because they're not quite able to comprehend why he would have it.
Does that mean he got to ask after all?
The way that the dialogue went earlier didn't seem to hint at that. But the way he's holding the guitar. They decide that discretion is the better part of valour, and choose not to ask about it. Or point it out. He might have just, not noticed that he was still holding it. Everything did kind of happen quickly after all.
Besides there's a more pressing issue to deal with.
This place that they're in, seems even more run down than the rest of the Shantytown. And they can feel the damp even through their sneakers, the wooden walkway they're standing on partially sunk. Just enough that it laps at their shoes and soaks through. They hate having wet socks, they're the absolute worst. They grimace at the feeling.
But also, there's something, a bit darker, a bit more ominous feeling about this area, and there's a prickling feeling at their back, a feeling of eyes on them. Unfriendly eyes that makes them shudder, bringing their arms around to hug themself, and rubbing their upper arms slightly.
"M-Miguel!" they call, eyes darting to the boy, where he's moved forwards, closer to their two animal companions. "Could you come back here, I... I don't think that we-"
"Ay! Dios mío!" Hector's exclamation catches their attention and their head snaps around. "Ch-chamaco... get back here!"
"Miguel! That's not safe!" they shout at the same time, one hand moving to the side of their head, tangling in their curls almost ready to pull on them in frustration. "Miguel!" they call again, there's a horrible twisting feeling in their stomach, a sickness in their bones. And Miguel's just ahead of them, balancing precariously on an outjutting piece of the walkway, trying to get even closer to their canine companions. He could fall, he could fall and really hurt himself.
There's something weird about it, and it prickles. But mostly they're just worried. Miguel needs to get back, he needs to-
Obi jumps, and their heart feels like it stops when Miguel and Dante follow without a second of hesitation.
But before either they, or Hector could rush forwards, there's a shift. Footsteps behind them, and a low, ominous sounding laugh from right behind them. And that voice...
"Well, well, well, look at what we have here..." their throat feels like it's locking up, and they suddenly struggle to breathe, feeling the strong need to swallow. "You really, really shouldn't be here!"