Now (2)
Antonio wakes up with a terrible headache, and the sunlight that hits him straight in the face and the noise coming from the street only make it worse. He groans and covers his face with his hands. When was the last time he was hangover? And why is he hangover in the first place? Scattered memories from last night fly through his mind.
Gilbert.
Explosion.
Francis.
Drinking.
Emma.
His eyes open wide at the last one. Did he…? He scans his surroundings to confirm that he isn't in his room; and he also notices that he's naked under the sheets.
"Fuck…" he mutters.
Just what was he thinking? His first worry is that Vincent doesn't find out— he's perfectly capable of breaking his legs, or even chopping off a certain part of his anatomy. He breathes slowly, trying to calm down. There's no need for Vincent to know: he's not telling him, obviously, and he doesn't think Emma will either. Speaking of— where is she? He comes to the conclusion that she's attending her clients; the sun is high, so it must be past noon already.
Time to move.
He sits up, trying to ignore the sharp pain in his head, and looks around the room, locating all his clothes. With every movement he makes, he feels as if his head is about to explode, and his muscles are sore; he still manages to get dressed, even though he's positive his aspect is terrible. Emma surely has a mirror somewhere in her room, but he doesn't think she'll appreciate it if he starts prying.
"Ah, fuck it," he grunts, combing his hear with his fingers and straightening his clothes. It's not as if he has to make a good impression or something.
He stumbles out of the bedroom and walks to the hall. It's not very busy, so he easily spots Emma, who's cleaning a table on the other end of the room. He walks towards her, not knowing what to say but thinking that he should at least say hi. However, just as he reaches her and she finally notices him, all he gets is a hurt glare.
"Good mor—" he starts, but is immediately cut off.
"Get lost," she almost spits as she moves to the next table.
"What? Hey, what happened?" he asks, ignoring her order and following her.
"So you don't fucking remember. Great."
Antonio is so taken aback by Emma's hostile attitude, which is quite the opposite of how she's been treating him since he arrived. Why is she mad? Just what did he do?
"Look, whatever I did, I'm sorry, Emma, I—"
"Oh, so you do know my name."
And then he understands. His mouth and eyes open wide in realization. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. "Please tell me I didn't call you Alice," he almost whispers.
Emma doesn't reply, but her piercing glare is enough of an answer. She turns her back to him and keeps on cleaning tables, and Antonio feels more ashamed and guiltier than he has ever felt.
"I'm so sorry," he mutters, not sure if Emma is even listening to him. "I was drunk and I'm going through a really tough time, I never meant to hurt you—"
"But you did," she interrupts him, not bothering to look at him.
"I'm sorry," he repeats after a while.
A dense silence falls over them. Antonio knows that Emma doesn't want to talk anymore, and he doesn't feel like it either, so he mumbles one last apology and leaves for his room. Just as he exists the hall, he feels Vincent's cold glare in his back. He tries to ignore it as he walks away.
You fucking idiot, just what were you thinking, useless, dumb, good-for-nothing shithead.
A tirade of insults who are meant just for himself fly through Antonio's mind. He's sat on his bed, his face buried in his hands, and he desperately tries to think how to make it up to Emma.
Deep inside, he knows there's no way he can do that.
Just because your life is crap doesn't mean you can go around ruining everyone else's, fucking bastard.
Maybe he should just leave. Look for another inn, or give up and move with João; even go back home. Anything but staying there— not for him, but for Emma. She deserves better. She deserves to stop seeing him.
Yes, run away, you fucking coward.
He wonders when his own mind became his worst enemy. Many years ago, life was easier: he was happily in love, he… He had a family.
Then comes the feeling. Some sort of alarm in his head, a silent scream that urges him to remember. There's something that doesn't feel right, something that is out of place, but he doesn't know what it is and it's driving him crazy. His mind is spinning, desperately trying to warn him, and he feels dizzy. His breathing becomes irregular, his heartbeat increases wildly, he's falling in a deep, dark pit—
Dark. Night. Last night.
Something happened last night. Not Emma, no, he already knows how he screwed up that one. Before that— the drinking? No, that was nice, he had fun, Francis and Gilbert were good people. After that.
Between the drinking and Emma. What did he—?
Everything stops as suddenly as it started when a pair of unknown voices echo in his mind.
"Alexander, we're going. Come."
"Yes, Papa."
Alexander. He was an odd little boy. It's not him, though, the one that has made Antonio go pale, but his father. He feels a cold sweat slide down his back as the blurry image that was the man's face becomes clearer with every passing second.
Messy blond hair. Thick eyebrows. Bright green eyes. Freckles.
That man looked just like Alice.
He has to find him.
~{§}~
"I need your help."
Gilbert blinks slowly, trying to understand why Antonio is in his front door looking as if he had just escaped from an asylum.
"Gilbert, please, I need you and Francis, this is very important," he insists, almost begging to be let in.
"Is that Antonio I hear?" Francis' voice is heard.
Antonio is relieved to see that he's still there. "Yes!" he exclaims. "Please, Gilbert, please, I think I'm going crazy."
Finally, the albino shrugs and moves aside, letting Antonio in. He's not used to being the one people go for help— he's curious to see how this will turn out.
"Well, are you going to tell us what this scandal is about?"
They're in the small living room, Francis and Gilbert in a small couch and Antonio in a chair in front of them. It almost feels like an interrogatory.
"Don't press him, Gilbert," Francis scolds. "Let him calm down before he starts talking."
Antonio breathes slowly, in and out, in and out, as he tries to think how to tell the story without sounding like a lunatic. Although he wouldn't curse them if they thought he's one— he's starting to question his sanity too.
After a moment, he starts to speak; and he doesn't stop until he's told the whole story. He talks about Alice, about their marriage, about her leaving… and about her male doppelganger from yesterday. When he finishes, both Francis and Gilbert are scowling, intrigued.
"You think I'm crazy, don't you?" he sighs, rubbing his forehead with his fingertips.
"No," Francis answers quietly. "No, I don't think you are."
"What I don't get is what you need us for," Gilbert says. "Did you need someone who'd listen?"
"I—"
"You want to find that man, don't you," Francis says before Antonio can speak. It's not even a question. "You want to find out who he is and if he's in any way related to your ex-wi— to Alice."
Antonio nods slowly. "Maybe he knows where she is," he adds.
"I see."
Gilbert is about to say something when he's interrupted by a knock on the door. He sighs as he stands up and walks to the hall. "You know, everything sounds so weird. You might be getting into something dange—Who the fuck are you?"
From the angle they're in, Antonio and Francis can't see the person who's standing on the doorstep, but they do hear a quiet voice replying to Gilbert's greeting:
"I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm looking for my brother and I've been told he was seen with you last night."
"Mathieu!" Francis exclaims, recognizing the voice. "I'm here, petit, come in!"
Despite the invitation, Antonio hears a shy "May I?" before Gilbert moves and makes way for Francis' brother to come inside.
"You had me so worried, Francis!" he says the moment he sees him. "I went to your house and it was completely wrecked!"
"Ah, yes, funny story…" he chuckles.
While Francis explains the events of last night, Antonio watches Mathieu, curious: he has wavy, blond hair, not as long as Francis' but pretty close, and his eyes are a strange shade of violet. He looks at his brother with a disapproving face, but his features are soft, like they're not used to frown. He looks like a nice guy.
"… and then Gilbert took me in," Francis finishes. "Oh! I didn't introduce you! Mathieu, these are Gilbert and Antonio; guys, my brother, Mathieu."
"Nice to meet you."
"Pleasure."
"The pleasure's mine."
"Okay, now that we're done with that, can we please go back to this man?" Antonio urges. "I can't waste more time!"
"Sure," Gilbert nods, sitting back on the couch.
Francis quickly explains to Mathieu what they're talking about, and he instantly offers to help, if he can and it's not a bother. When Antonio happily accepts, he sits on the couch next to Gilbert, ready to listen; however, just as he sits, he feels something pricking him and he jumps, startled.
"Auch! What the—?" He moves to pillows to find a small, yellow bird right where he had sat. "Oh, I'm sorry, little one!" he apologizes, taking it carefully and sitting again.
"So that's where you were, Gilbird!" the albino exclaims, petting the bird with a finger. "You had me worried!"
The bird tweets and flies out of Mathieu's hands and onto Gilbert's head, where it huddles. He laughs and pets it again, ignoring his friends' quizzical glances.
"Alright, then, Antonio. What did the mysterious man look like?"
The question reminds Antonio that he has more important matters to think about than a cute bird on a dork's head. He focuses his thoughts on the man's face and describes his appearance from what he can remember. As he speaks, he doesn't miss how Francis' face become darker, and how he and Mathieu share a worried look; when he finishes, he's quick to ask: "Francis, do you know this man?"
The blond looks at him, his brow furrowed, and takes his time to nod. "His name is Arthur. He's a loner, and someone you don't want to meet."
"He's a bit scary, sometimes," Mathieu adds, "although he's not as bad as Francis wants to make you believe."
"Do you know where he lives?" Antonio asks, hopefully.
"Yes," Francis answers, glaring at his brother. "But really, Antonio, you should stay away from him. He's troublesome, he doesn't like people."
"I don't care! Dammit, Francis, can't you see how important this is to me?!"
Francis looks at him more seriously than Antonio has ever believed him capable of. Still, he holds his gaze with a determined scowl. Now that he knows that Francis can help him, he's not leaving that house until he gets him to do it. Or until Mathieu does, but he doubts he'll do it if Francis is against it.
"Francis, tell him."
They stop their staring game and look at Gilbert, surprised; Francis offended and Antonio grateful.
"Can't you tell how stubborn he is?" the albino goes on. "If he wants to find this Arthur guy, he will, whether you help him or not. So be a good friend— or drinking buddy, whatever you want your status to be— and help him."
The tense atmosphere dissolves: Francis sighs and sinks in the couch, feeling Antonio's hopeful gaze on him. "Oh, alright," he groans after a while. "But don't say that I didn't warn you if anything bad happens to you."
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Antonio cries out happily, launching himself over Francis and hugging him.
He hears Francis yelling something about him being too heavy and uncomfortable; and he also hears Gilbert's loud laugh and Mathieu's quiet chuckle. Gilbird, who clearly doesn't like all the commotion, flies back to Mathieu's hands.
"Look at that," Gilbert winks at him, "he likes you!"
And suddenly Mathieu's cheeks turn red, to everyone else's amusement.
"I like him too," he mutters.
Gilbert laughs much less obnoxiously than usual, and Antonio and Francis share a knowing smile.
The foursome soon leaves Gilbert's house. Francis wants to guide Antonio to Arthur's place and be done with it as soon as possible, but his friend insists on going first to his inn. There, he picks up all of his stuff and checks out. Luckily, he doesn't meet Emma, but when he's about to leave, Vincent grabs his arm and with a deadly voice warns him not to go near his sister ever again. Antonio gulps, nods and leaves hurriedly.
Afterwards, they all follow Francis as he guides them out of town. Antonio is curious, he wants to know why Francis knows Arthur, but his friend ignores his questions and he soon gives up. He doesn't want to mess up his only chance of finding Arthur by prying too much. Since Francis doesn't want to talk, he entertains himself eavesdropping Gilbert and Mathieu's chat. They have hit it off right away, both of them seem to be comfortable in each other's presence, and he feels a wave of nostalgia hit him. Alice and him used to have the same bond. Hi silently wishes both of them a better luck than he had.
Francis stops when they reach the forest's edge and indicates Antonio how to go on.
"Follow that path. It should take you straight to Arthur's house."
Antonio looks carefully at the path Francis is pointing to. It's narrow and it doesn't seem to be easy to follow through the forest. Then again, he doesn't have another option.
"It looks so trustworthy, yes," Gilbert mumbles, and Mathieu elbows him.
"Are you sure you want to go?"
"Yes, Francis. I've never been surer of anything in my life."
"We can go with you, if you want," the albino offers, ignoring Francis when he yells that there's no way he's going.
"Thanks, Gilbert, but I'd rather go alone," Antonio smiles. He then takes a deep breath, straightens, and walks into the woods without looking back.
~{§}~
Francis said he'd arrive at Arthur's house. From Antonio's point of view, calling that a house is a bit of a stretch, although he can't help but feel impressed.
It's a giant tree whose trunk has been carved, by the looks of it. He spots what appears to be a chimney, and based on the steep mountain that's behind the tree, he imagines that there must be a cave added to the trunk.
He's so busy looking at the strange "building" that he doesn't hear the footsteps approaching; and he flinches, startled, when someone speaks behind him.
"I hoped that you wouldn't find us. Just my luck."
He already knows who he's going to meet when he turns, but that doesn't lessen the shock of seeing Arthur. He looks like Alice so much that it hurts, even more in the daylight.
"I even hoped that you'd be way too drunk to even remember us," Arthur adds, sighing. "I guess it was too much to ask for."
"Who are you?" Antonio mutters.
"My name's Arthur."
"I know that."
"Then why do you ask?"
"I asked who you are, not your name."
Before Arthur can reply, the door opens and Alexander comes running from inside the tree, happily calling his Papa, and Arthur kneels so they can hug. It's a tender scene, but it only makes Antonio's heart ache.
"What are you doing here?" the boy asks him, noticing him at last and looking at him with curious big eyes.
Antonio returns his gaze. "I just came to see your dad," he answers.
"Papa doesn't like strangers."
"This one's fine, Alexander," Arthur reassures him.
"It's Alex," the kid pouts.
Antonio takes this moment to study the kid's features. He has his father's big eyebrows and green eyes; and there are faint freckles on his cheeks too. His hair is darker, though; Antonio can't decide whether it's dark blond or light brunet. He's a cute kid, and he can tell that, when he grows up, he'll be gorgeous.
"I'll call you as I please," Arthur teases, ruffling his hair. "You can go play, as long as you don't go too far, yes? I'll stay here with Antonio."
"Okay!"
Alex laughs as he runs back into the house, immediately coming out with some wooden toys in his hands. Arthur watches him with a soft smile in his lips, which turns into a scowl the moment he looks back at Antonio: the brunet is looking at him with distrusting eyes, tense.
"What?"
"Why do you know my name?"
Arthur stares at him for a moment; then, he sighs and shrugs. "I should know it. You were my sister's husband, after all."
The words float over them. Antonio hears and understands them; he has a hard time believing them. Arthur is Alice's brother? That would explain why they look so much alike, but—
"She never mentioned a brother," he mutters.
"There are many things she never mentioned," Arthur replies.
Antonio is so confused. He wants to yell, to ask what he means, to demand answers to all his questions. But he doesn't, and when Arthur walks to his home and motions for him to follow, he obeys.
"Would you like some tea?"
"No, thank you."
Tea reminds him too much of Alice; and apples too. Although there's nothing that reminds him more of Alice than the man in front of him, to be fair.
Antonio sits at a table while Arthur makes some tea for himself. He has questions, many questions, but he knows —hopes— that he'll be getting his answers soon.
"How did you find us?" the blond asks while he sets the kettle over the fire.
"A friend told me how to find you."
"Is that so? There aren't many people who know where I live," he frowns. "May I know his name?"
"Uh— it's Francis."
Antonio flinches when Arthur drops a mug, and wonders a bit too late if he shouldn't have given him any names.
"Oh, the bloody frog…" Arthur grunts. "Of course it was him."
"Why do you two know each other anyway?"
He's really curious, but the blond shuts his mouth tightly and doesn't give him an answer, all his attention focused on making his tea. When he finally finishes, he sits across Antonio, a steamy mug in his hands, and looks him in the eye before speaking.
"About that you asked before," he starts, "I'm Alice's brother. Twin brother, to be precise."
"You said before that there are many things she never mentioned. Like what?"
"I thought you already knew it," he says, raising an eyebrow.
"Well I don't," he scowls. "Do you know where she is now?"
"Where she is now?" Arthur repeats. He sounds surprised. "That depends on—" he trails off.
"Depends on what?"
Antonio doesn't get an answer. Arthur looks a bit shocked, and he can almost see the gears in his head moving. He just assumes he doesn't know Alice's whereabouts, although he can't understand why he reacts like that to such a simple question.
"May I ask you something?"
"You already have," he points out, slightly mad. It should be the other way around; he should be the one making the questions. But he's the guest in Arthur's house, and maybe he has to earn his answers, so he waves his hand in a gesture that presses Arthur to go on.
"Can you tell me what happened that day?"
He doesn't need to be more precise. Antonio knows perfectly which day he's talking about. The brunet moves nervously in his chair, his chest suddenly in pain.
"I thought you already knew it," he reuses Arthur's words from before.
"I do," he admits. "But I'd like to hear it from your lips."
Antonio stares at him, barely blinking. He doesn't understand why he's asking that all of a sudden. It's obvious that it hurts him to remember anything that has to do with Alice, why can't Arthur see that? Why does he have to ask that of him? Antonio has some great memories with Alice, and he wouldn't mind sharing some of those. But no, Arthur has asked about a day in particular, and Antonio doesn't know if he's strong enough to revisit it.
"Please," Arthur says softly. "I can't help you if you don't do this."
Antonio swallows. He crosses his arms before his chest, more in a self-hug than in a defiant pose, and his gaze gets fixed somewhere in the table. He takes some deep breaths before he starts speaking.
"She got pregnant. We both were ecstatic, you know? We were happily married, lived together in our own house, and now we were going to have a baby. I used to think that it was too good to be true." He snorts. "That day was the day she gave birth.
"It happened a bit earlier than we expected, so we didn't have time to call the midwife. Alice did great and I helped and assisted her in all I could, but—" he takes a deep breath again, "despite all our efforts, the child was born dead."
Arthur narrows his eyes at that, but doesn't interrupt him; instead, he patiently waits for Antonio to go on.
"It was quite a shock. We were both so affected, and we had an argument. I don't even remember why it started, but it was a bad, bad argument." He lets out a sad laugh. "In a moment like that, we were supposed to support each other, not fight, don't you think? Yet we did fight. I— don't really remember much of it, it's a bit blurry. I was mad, and at some point, I don't know exactly how, I turned too fast and hit my head against the wall. I fell unconscious.
"When I woke up a few hours later, she was gone.
"And she never came back."
When he finishes speaking, there's only silence between them. Antonio is not sure how he's managed to tell the whole story without crying, although he feels a knot in his throat. His eyes leave the table to focus on Arthur, who has leaned back on his chair and is looking at him in a very weird way. He doesn't like the way those green eyes —so, so similar to Alice's— seem to read him.
"That's interesting," Arthur mutters, whether to himself or to be heard, Antonio doesn't know. "That's very, very interesting."
"What's interesting?" Antonio frowns.
"You ask way too much," Arthur says matter-of-factly, standing up. "I need to take care of something; you'll have your answers tomorrow. Can you wait?"
"Tomorrow? Why not now?" he protests, even though he knows it's futile.
"You can stay here for the night, as long as you can promise me you won't be a bother."
Arthur doesn't add anything else; he simply walks away and gets into a room. Antonio remains where he is, dumbfounded, unable to believe what's just happened. He can't help but feel that Arthur is playing with him, testing his patience, maybe trying to make him leave by evading his questions. He frowns. If he knows one thing for sure, it's that he's not leaving until he gets his answers.
It's been a long time since Arthur left him when Antonio finally moves. The inactivity makes him think, and his thoughts are all full of Alice. There's only so much he can take of it.
He goes out. His initial intention is to go for a walk, run, distract his mind. However, just as he steps out, he sees Alex playing with his toys. The child sees him too and waves at him. Antonio doesn't know why, but he walks to him.
"Hello."
"Hi! Did you finish talking with Papa?"
Not really. "Apparently, yes."
"Then you can play with me!"
Before Antonio can refuse, the boy has jumped to his feet and is shoving a wooden soldier into his hands.
"Take this one! His name is Blas, and mine is called Edward. They're rivals."
"Why did you give me the bad one?" Antonio protests, looking at his toy: one of its legs seems to have fallen and it's weirdly stuck back with what looks like resin, it has one arm crushed and burnt, and half of his face has been erased, so it only has one eye. The one Alex has, on the other hand, is brand new. "It's not fair!"
"Why do you call it the bad one? Blas is just as good as Edward; even better, because he's seen more stuff."
"But if they fight face to face, your soldier would destroy mine."
"That's why Blas doesn't fight— he's a strategist," he whispers, as if he were telling him a secret.
"And Edward is a warrior?"
"No, he's a strategist too, but compared to Blas, he's a better fighter and a worse strategist."
Antonio nods, understanding. He decides that he likes Alex: he's well-mannered, cheerful— and too cute. He finds himself smiling, his thoughts about Alice completely forgotten.
"If they're both strategists, they should have an army to command," he points out. "Where are their armies?"
"Here," Alex smiles mischievously, pressing his finger against his temple.
They're so into the game that they only hear Arthur calling them when he comes fuming out of the house. He scolds them harshly, complaining about how he's been yelling for them for over five minutes, and about how the dinner he's put so much effort in making is going to get cold and he doesn't even care because they deserve it for irresponsible.
"Sorry, Papa," the boy apologizes, downcast. "Antonio and I were playing and having so much fun and we didn't hear you."
Those words seem to appease Arthur, who sighs and tells them to come inside.
The dinner turns out to be burnt bread, overcooked meat and undercooked vegetables. So Alice's awful cooking skills were a family trait, after all. Antonio doesn't eat much, since it's been too long since he last ate something like that; Arthur and Alex, on the other hand, eat to the point of repeating.
Later, Antonio tries to ignore the yearning of his heart as he watches Arthur putting his son to sleep. He tucks him in bed while the boy relates everything that Antonio and him have done, and Arthur listens carefully, from time to time commenting something; then, he sings to him until Alex falls asleep. Arthur kisses his forehead before exiting the room.
"You can sleep over there," he says to Antonio in a low voice, not wanting to awaken the kid. "It's not very comfortable, but it's better than nothing."
"Will I get answers tomorrow?"
"Yes."
That's all Antonio needs to go lay down. He falls asleep as soon as he closes his eyes, and he dreams with strategists and warriors.
~{§}~
The next morning, he's woken up by a pair of tiny arms that shake him mercilessly. He groggily opens his eyes to see Alex leaning over him.
"Good morning!" he greets happily. "Did you sleep well?"
"Yes," he yawns, "I did."
"Get up," Arthur orders from somewhere Antonio can't see. "Breakfast's ready."
They eat burnt toasts and salty biscuits, and Antonio seriously starts to fear for Alex's health.
"Papa, what are you going to teach me today?"
"We're not having class today, Alexander," Arthur answer, tiredly. "I still have some things to talk about with Antonio, you can go play."
"Okay!"
Once they have finished breakfast and Alex has gone outside, Antonio looks at Arthur and waits for him to speak. The blond, however, asks him to hold on a minute and gets into the room from yesterday; when he comes back, he's holding a glass filled with a weird drink.
"What's that?" Antonio asks, puzzled.
"You know, I found your story so curious," Arthur says, apparently ignoring his questions. "It had me thinking what could have possibly happened, and I reached the conclusion that you were so affected by the trauma—"
"I don't have a trauma!"
"— that your mind came up with a fake memory to help you cope with it."
Antonio swallows his protests, taken aback by those words. Fake memory. Is that even possible? And if it were, what could have possibly happened? He doesn't know if he wants to find out. Arthur keeps talking, not giving him time to let his words sink in.
"I stood up all night preparing this," he says, rising the cup. "It will make you remember exactly what happened." He stretches his arm and offers the cup to Antonio. "Are you willing to drink it? Don't worry, I'm much better at making potions than I am at cooking."
If that last line was supposed to be a joke, it crosses Antonio's mind unnoticed. His brain is too busy trying to process all that he's been told to care for a lame joke. He looks into Arthur's eyes, which are framed by heavy dark circles —he didn't seem to be exaggerating when he said he had been awake all night—, and slowly reaches for the cup. He doesn't drink it, though; he looks at it instead, thinking, and then returns his gaze to Arthur.
"Will I like the memories?"
"No," Arthur answers, so direct and honest that it shocks him. "But you came to me for answers, and there you have them."
Antonio looks back at the cup, then at Arthur, then at the cup again. And then he drinks it all at once.
AN: now what could have possibly happened? :O Mystery. Also, random PruCan is random. And why do Francis and Arthur know each other? Well... I'll leave that to your imagination ;)
History lesson time! If you knew after whom Alex's toys are named, kudos! If not, here's the explanation: they're named after Blas de Lezo and Edward Vernon, almirants of the Spanish and English navies back in 1741. What the hell happened in 1741? The English sent a huge fleet— huge, ginormous, the biggest mankind had ever seen until Normandy, 180 ships (the oh-so-famous Armada Invencible "only" had 126) commanded by Vernon to take Cartagena de Indias, knowing that, if it fell, the whole Spanish Empire fell with it. And Blas de Lezo, who was missing an arm, a leng and an eye, defended the city with only six ships, outnumbered in soldiers by eight to one, and basically humiliated the English navy. Lezo died barely weeks after having defeated the English, and his last will was to place on the walls of Cartagena de Indias the following placard: Before this walls, England and its colonies were humiliated. Yet everyone remembers 1588 and the "defeat" (which can't be considered that, but I'm not going to get into it) of the Great Armada (it wasn't even called "Invincible", for starters), and nobody bothers to even mention 1741 and Blas de Lezo. And that's why I wanted to have them make a cameo *ends rant*
Anyway, thanks for reading! And, as always, reviews are appreciated :3
