These are Aztec ruins. On the surface, they seem abandoned. And in reality, they are. Alas, there are portals concealed within these ruins. They all lead to the same place; a city/pocket world where the dead and the living live in the same neighborhoods... A city/pocket world where people sleep in beds of oil, wood, and fire... A city/pocket world where the Chi is seen as an omen of benevolence...if it isn't seen as that in today's Mexican States.
Much of what's in this pocket world is ancient-fashioned. Much else is very advanced. The legal system is often a work-in-progress. Wherever it may be in the process, though, it sets the golden standard for excellence...and might, yet, set the blonde standard, as well...
This is the great city of Maderohulan. It was once a lost (and mostly unknown) heaven of the Aztec nation. To an extent, it still is. The city seldom shines...but pillars of smoke often rise from spots within it.
Yurei (i.e. ghosts), werebeasts, shinigamis (i.e. grim reapers), nøkken (i.e. Gothic merfolk), kuntilanaks (i.e. white laides), cocos (i.e. changelings), cait-shìth (i.e. black cat/jaguarondi morphs), ahuizotls (i.e. water wereopossums), and various undead beings are denizens of this city. They share this city with Nahuatl inhumans and magi. Purity, it seems, runs deep within the matrilines of this race. The red howlers here are sapient...as are the jaguars and the harpy eagles. The howlers, jaguars, and eagles often wear purple-and-gold robes, as they wander here and there. By the time this tale ends, some of them might just trade the purple-and-gold for pink-and-blonde...
Other city fauna are sapient, too. They're just as likely to be the fauna they appear to be...plus sapience, of course...as they are to be local Nahuatl who can animal-morph. These beasts include hognose snakes (some of whom are also quetzalcoatls), opossums (some of whom are also ahuizotls), tarantulas, earthworms, ants, bears, wetas (i.e. crickets), ambling lungfish, and burrowing frogs. Most of them are either necromancers, death magi, or both. Half of them are yurei (i.e. ghosts), werebeasts, and/or cocos (i.e. changelings).
Over and between the city's many towers, pyramids, and smoke pillars, birdfolk fly. Their plumage is often very colorful. Many have tails; many of these tails are long, flashy, and dashy. A few of them have beaks, too; although most of them don't.
Boas slither within certain spots of this city. Every now and then, one of them matures, and begins yielding plumage...and hence, become quetzalcoatls. They, too, tend to take flight...and often fly alongside the city's birdfolk.
Within the top of a bell tower, a birdwoman perches. Her plumage is pink, and her hair is blonde. Her long tail has no shortage of plumage; it is, in fact, one of the most impressive birdfellow tails in Maderohulan. She might not know it yet...but someday soon, she just might start feeling comfortable using legal jargon in everyday life...
This is a shrine. A smoke pillar often rises from this spot, too... It's even taller and thicker on Sundays...popular though the clergy of this shrine often don't wish their own shrine was.
This shrine's main feature is a stepped pool. It's full of divine water...and that's no metaphor. Many revolutions and rebirths happen to those who bathe/swim in this pool. When/if they come out, they're never the same. (That isn't always good news...)
In the rectory, there's a fire pit. It takes the shape of a great copper bowl. Within it, heaps of a weed are piled. They've been lit. Trails of smoke stream up from them, and rise, and vanish through the open skylight, aloft...
Nearby, atop an end table, a jade idol sits. It's of the head of a chonchon; a mystical Mapuche (i.e. Chilean) bird with oneiromancy powers. Its eyes are of beryl jewel; some would be surprised it's not portrayed wearing shaded goggles. Its incisors are big...and just as jade as the rest of itself.
Atop a lectern, a grimoire rests. It's often open. Its bookmark, which is a long strip of cloth, is made of a silver weave. The book's title, across the cover, is in Aztec runes.
Across a nearby cot, a woman lies. She chants softly, as she does. She often wears a rag around her eyes. She's this shrine's resident seer.
The cot that the woman lies across is, in fact, an altar. Beneath her, hot coals burn. And yet, somehow, the woman remains intact as she rests atop them. This, among other deathly phenomena, is a very common sight in Maderohulan.
Across a rug near the footboard of her bedstead, a Xolo dog lies. She's a hairless...but she's certainly not a careless...albeit she doesn't look as good in pink as some Chis.
In a small water basin, a plumed basilisk basks on a piece of wood. She's not a snake; she's a lizard. In some circumstances, she can run across water. As things are, though, she's merely a familiar for her host.
Across a rug, a ringtail lies. She's akin to raccoons and coatis. Her tail is longer than a raccoon's, though...but still just as striped, hence her species' name. Unlike a raccoon, her face bears no mask...although she's just as nocturnal. In this role, though, she's merely one of Mere-I-Am's many familiars.
Near a wall, a paca sits. She's a large rodent. Her nose is hog-like. Concealment, it seems, is her gift. She has a telepathic relationship with nightjars.
Slightly speaking of nightjars, a pair of oilbirds perch, just as virtually concealed against the floor, on either side of the paca. They're both gay male...and yes, mates. They'll never lay a lot of eggs...but they'll sure drink a lot of ayahuasca. Oilbirds are not nightjars in the taxonomic sense of the concept...but the two kinds of birds have many traits in common.
Standing like a table near another wall, a brocket deer poses. She's a doe. She's smaller than Bambi's Mother...and hence, has been known to double as an end table for Mere-I-Am. This, at least, the doe would prefer over doubling as a stuffed-and-mounted head on the wall of a cantina.
In a corner, a collared peccary sits. She's a sow. Aside from the fur around her neck, she also wears an actual collar. The collar is made of metallic links; they're silver-forged. The collar also bears a pendant, also of silver; it's a small sculpture of William Jennings Bryan, having been crucified on a cross of silver. (His most famous speech was actually about a Cross of Gold; but then, he was, in fact, a bimetallist in life...)
In a bathtub, a capybara basks. With luck, it'd take more than that water to get her pregnant. When capybaras get pregnant, after all, the breeding never stops. They're like rabbits...only bigger, semiaquatic, and with smaller ears. But at least they still require male sperm to reproduce just as much as she-rabbits do.
Across the bottom of another water basin, a spike-topped apple snail crawls...leaving a trail of slime in her wake as she does. Her eyestalks often move...albeit they don't move around as quickly as some would expect them to. But then, it's never always this snail's mere surroundings that she's every trying to get a big sight of... (A snail's eyes are at the tips of their eyestalks, for those who wouldn't know.)
In a tank, a few suckermouth catfish bask. Every now and then, they adjust positions. They've got very big fins and long whiskers. One almost wouldn't believe that most of them are female. (Two of them are gay male.)
In another basin of water, an archerfish swims. For Mere-I-Am, she's a natural insecticide. All she's ever got to do is wait for a bug to start crawling across the ceiling... She might or might not stand a bigger chance of killing said bug, though, if she were a male of her species.
On a perch, a white bellbird is at-roost. Or rather, the males of her species are white. As a female, she's brown. The wattles that hang from her beak are shorter and less fleshy, too...
On a perch, a little blue heron is at-roost. As her species name suggests, she's not as big as her greater, more-birdwatched kin. And as a female, her plumage isn't blue; it's brown, and hence, she looks more like a bittern.
In the same basin as the basilisk lizard, a smoky jungle frog sits atop a pad. She's got ears for croaks...although they're not visible. She's certainly not deaf, though.
Through the windows, a brief storm blows. It douses the incense in the fire pit.
The Xolo dog leaps to her feet and starts barking. Her barking, it seems, isn't too different from that of a Chi's... Which is remarkable, considering that a Xolo looks more like Xolotl, the Aztec angel of death, than it does a Chi...
Mere-I-am, the seer, gasps, and starts to sit up, on her bedside. Some of her many familiars look her way...
On the end table, the idol still sits. The chonchon head's beryl eyes glow with bright yellow light.
All over the city, certain monks, nuns, and seers in general stop and double over, as some of them begin to have headaches. One of them is a chonchon hen/birdwoman hybrid; she falls from the sky and starts shrieking, as she starts getting her power's headaches. Whatever Mere-I-Am is about to experience, they are, too.
This is it; Mere-I-Am has a vision. And the monks, nuns, and seers who live in this city are about to witness the recitation of her prophecy...whether they'd rather or not. In the grand scheme of things, though, they'd always rather; it's just that they have a tendency to witness prophecies...or otherwise receive prophecies themselves...when they're in the middle of an affair in the real world that wouldn't be as patient as them. Plus, a lot of Maderohulan seers have been killed this way...by certain circumstances in the real world, if not by their own power.
Through a window, a Chi leaps. She wears a pink Chi-blouse. She lands atop an end table, stands, wags her tail, and listens to what the prophet spouts next...
Near a wall, there's a stove. A kettle sits atop it. Its spout, too, is venting...and whistling, too...with a whistle that the bellbird almost wishes she could match...volume-wise, that is...
Between gasps, the panicking seer recites her vision. "The white one with gold hair approaches. She will be born to red parents. A blight of terror will plague the nation, as she grows. Hence, a doom will be upon her. The only hope for her salvation will come from afar. He will bear the branding of the Great Uncle. He will ride a Chi in pink..."
The Chi, who still stands in the window, licks her chops, and wags her tail...
"She will save many," she continues. "He will save one. He will long for a Jackie...but in the end, a Marilyn will be his destiny!"
Informed, the Chi takes heed of this info, departs through the window, and begins her long quest to become the Chi in the prophecy. She's got an idea, it seems, about where she can look for this "one who bears the Great Uncle's branding..." It...might take a while for him to arrive, though...
Elsewhere in the city, there are halls of healing. Here, many more fire pits of weed burn; hence, many pillars of smoke rise from here. Here, snake plants grow in great pots...and are sometimes more sapient than the same plants outside of Maderohulan. Here, the stepped wells of mineral water almost never run dry...as don't the stepped wells of bubbly, steamy spring water. There's also never a shortage of sheets or towels.
In spots between columns throughout the halls, bronze poles stand. Atop them, sculptures of bronze snakes sit...curled around the top, with their heads rested atop. This snake, it seems, was inspired by a hog-nosed snake... That makes sense; not only are sapient hognose snakes (and ghosts of the same) denizens of this city, but there are also Nahuatl inhumans who can morph into hognose snakes.
In a room in the tertiary healthcare (i.e. specialist medicine) wing, a shinigami (i.e. a grim reaper) does surgery. Shinigamis, in general, are gifted with cutlery; a lot of them, even, are blacksmiths who forge and/or weld it. Plus, this particular patient, which this shinigami healer works on, is a likely lost cause. As a shinigami, hence, he could potentially do the patient two favors; attempted surgery, and passage to the afterlife if they die.
In a room in the primary healthcare (i.e. everyday, non-urgent medicine) wing, a hoopoe cock/birdman hybrid, who's also a healer, sees one of his patients, for one of their regular appointments. This birdman is Jewish; unclear, as to how he ever ended up here... Either way, he's a good healer, and his patients seem to think so too. His workplaces also have a reputation for being so sterile, they're kosher.
Within a hallway, the ghost of a nurse lingers... She's been here for several generations. In this regard, she has become a mentor to today's healers. In life, she would've worked here. Alas, she had a tendency to dream outside of reality's means...especially sexually. But then, who can turn down the infinity of the human imagination?
Down the hallway, one of the healers approaches. He's a fresh sight for a lonely female's sore eyes; he's very popular among his female and gay male coworkers. And thankfully, he is, in fact, straight. Even so, some healers are better with patients than they are with marriages...and that demographic would, in fact, extend to this case.
The healer walks right past la Planchada, the nurse-ghost, without acknowledging her. It's just as likely that that's because he can't see her as it is because he's already rejected her advances once. Either way, la Planchada doesn't bother to give chase. She simply acknowledges her crush's butt, covers her mouth with her hand, giggles, and levitates away to other prospects. She is an actual nurse here, after all, as well as the ghost of one.
Where one of the healing halls lets out, a great slide begins. It's as big as a road, and plummets down a nearby stepped incline, twisting and turning as it goes. In ways, it's akin to a bobsledding track. And to think that there are still some critics of Disney/Buena Vista who'd dare still go around saying that a Jamaican bobsled team is impossible...
In a room in the secondary healthcare (i.e. emergency medicine) wing, a red woman prepares to go into labor. Her baby bump has no shortage of girth. If one didn't know better, they'd expect her to give birth to Leo, the MGM lion...if Leo was going through his puberty. Ms. Moreno might not know it yet...but she will soon become a kuntilanak (i.e. a white lady).
The sickbed that she lies atop is an altar. Its flames burn a bit brighter than the ones that burn from Mere-I-Am's altar. There's more fuel on it, too... Much of it is still bound within bundles... (The fuel would be kindling, BTW.) And yet, as it is with Mere-I-Am's altar/bed, Ms. Moreno isn't smoking herself. Again, it's very common, in Maderohulan, for people to sleep on burning altars as if they were simple bedsteads. And sickbeds, specifically, have a tendency to generate more flame, due to the constant need to sterilize everything.
Both of her hands are cuffed. They hang from ropes. They help her channel her energy, as she attempts to deliver. She never hesitates to attempt to shatter the surrounding walls with her screams. Better thing, then, that the windows aren't made of glass.
Medical staffers attend to her. It'd pay them more, alas, if she'd scream less loudly. Of the medical staffers, a few are yurei (i.e. ghosts), one is a shinigami (i.e. a grim reaper), and one is an ahuizotl.
By and by, Ms. Moreno just can't take it anymore. She requires gravity's aid...and there's only one way she's getting it...
She screams again. And this time, it's a sonic scream. Much comes unraveled all around her. Via her newfound scream, she propels herself backwards...and right into a chute within the wall behind her.
Backwards and down the chute, she slides. She falls through a gutter, lands in the mega-slide outside, and becomes her own bobsled, and she goes on her thrill-ride all over the city.
Down ahead, some sapient bears linger on either side of the slide. Most of them are spectacled bears, and some of them are New Mexican black bears. They're all either necromancers or death magi.
One of these bears clutches a partially-drunken Mexican-made Coca-Cola bottle. Like Willie Nelson's angel, alas...they're holding it a little too close to the slide surface...
Still screaming, Ms. Moreno speeds past. While passing the bears, she inadvertently takes the Coke bottle from the one bear's paw. The bear is startled...but is otherwise a good sport about what's just happened.
The slide finally lets out across a vast flooding table. Ms. Moreno slides across its surface...and finally comes to a stop. She looks around, acknowledges the Coke bottle in her hand, and takes a long swig. Ah; nothing hits the spot as well...
Within her ex-trajectory, her newborn daughter lies. Hence, the labor was a success. Ms. Moreno still can't see her baby very well...but she can tell that it's writhing...
All around the flood table, vomitoriums open. As they do, water pours through them. The table, it seems, is being flooded...
The infant is submerged. Ms. Moreno gets a brief post-labor bath. This, she thinks, feels better than the Mexican Coke just did...
As the flood recedes, medical staffers rush across the table, and accommodate for both mother and child. Three of them arrive, offering three kinds of blankets to bundle the infant in: one mono-pink, one mono-blue, and one bi-pink-and-blue. The mother points at the pink one; the other two staffers scurry away with the two non-chosen options.
Soon, the infant is wrapped. For a very brief moment, mother basks in the presence of her newborn child. For a moment, all is peaceful in her world...
Alas, she soon opens her eyes...and beholds what she's just given birth to. Her infant daughter isn't red; she's white. And nor is her very little pelage raven; it's blonde!
"Mama mía," she exclaims. "Ella es rubia!"
And so, it seems that the seer's prophecy has partially come true. Its "white girl with golden hair" has been born to red parents...and a very red pedigree in general. She'll grow up to become a fashionista...and, after that, local legal counsel. Someday soon, she just might start using legal jargon in everyday life...
Alas, blights will spread as she grows; one of them could one day kill her. Not to worry, though; her savior is on the way. Without luck, he hasn't even been born yet. With even less luck, he won't be born or raised in the Mexican States...
This is a hall of childcare. It's where little Marisa...as she has so been named...will be spending the first part of her life. Good thing, then, that she doesn't get bigoted against by all of her relatively red, darker-haired peers...or worse, this hall's staffers...
In a room within the hall, a spectacled bear leans with his back against a wall. He's surrounded by very young children. A lot of them are male. They...might not all be straight... But then, at their age, that wouldn't matter. Better thing, then, that the bear is just as aware of that as the rest of the staff ought to be...
Werebeasts are staffers here...both ones in their human form and ones in their beast form. They're allowed to work here on the condition that their beast form doesn't pose a threat to the kids. For most of them, though, it doesn't...although every now and then, a werebeast has chosen not to work here with respectable reason.
In another room, an ambling lungfish lies. She's bigger than most actual lungfish; bigger than an arapaima, in fact. As if she was an arapaima, though, shares her udder with some Nahuatl toddlers, who suckle from it. As she does, she breathes heavily...and uses her psi powers to keep the toddlers emotionally stable. Illusions, too, she casts for them, via her illusion control powers.
In another room, a hummingbird hen/birdwoman hybrid attends to many of the other children. She's a lot more popular among the children than some of the halls' other staffers... That's likely because she's a lot better at getting the kids to drink their milk than most other mothers would be.
This is the room where Marisa will be staying. In the midst of it, there's an elevated table. There's also a window...one which shades itself whenever the baby must sleep. The window can also cast illusions, if it must.
As it is with other bedsteads in Maderohulan, this room's crib is an altar. And by the looks of it, its coals have already been lit. A hag would love this setup, if she was going to roast a baby before eating it. But then, it should be acknowledged by some that not a single hag works in these halls of childcare. Egalitarian though this city often prides itself in being, most hags have a psychological...and also possibly a genetic...reason for not being qualified to do this sort of work.
From the ceiling above the crib, a mobile hangs. Model muscicapoid birds hang from it, via their own respective tethers. The mobile sports all of the basic muscicapoids: a mockingbird, a thrasher, an Old World flycatcher, a chat, a thrush, a starling, a rhabdorni, an oxpecker (this one's styled to look like a chupa-cu variant), a dipper, and a spotted elachura. And yes, they're all portrayed with their wings spread, as if they were flying. They will all surely inspire little Marisa as she outgrows this room's crib and starts sleeping in a cot...or whichever kind of bed it is that kids start sleeping in once the crib won't hold them.
On a shelf nearby, jade idols sit. There are eight of them; each one is of a face expressing one of the eight basic emotions: rage, vigilance, ecstasy, admiration, terror, amazement, grief, and loathing. Each idol also has jewel eyes, with jewels whose colors match said emotions; ruby eyes for rage, citrine eyes for vigilance, beryl eyes for ecstasy, peridot eyes for admiration, emerald eyes for terror, aquamarine eyes for amazement, sapphire eyes for grief, and amethyst eyes for loathing. Hopefully, they'll all do their part in teaching Marisa how to express her emotions as she grows. (A lot of parents would prefer it if their babies had more subtle influences, of course; but then, subtlety is never the first lesson a child learns.)
Within the sill, a weta lies. Others like her are among the halls' staff. As crickets, they're gifted at singing lullabies for the children. Their music has been known to be a bit Gothic... But then, of course, most of the wetas in this city are death magi, necromancers, or both. Many are werebeasts. None are cocos, though; cocos, like hags, can't work here. They would...except parents keep suing these halls because their kids grow up here thinking that there are bogeyfolk here. (As changelings, cocos are often mistaken for bogeyfolk by those who wouldn't understand their methods...or, more likely, their virtually involuntary shapeshifting powers.)
A staffer comes in, with little Marisa bundled in her arms...still in pink, as she was when she first turned up on the flooding table. She sets the baby on the main table within the room, leaves a stuffed spectacled bear doll on the crib-table with her, and takes her leave.
As she does, a Chi, a member of the halls' staff, scurries in...also dressed in pink, and perches atop an end table next to Marisa's crib. She stands watch...and acts as little Marisa's companion as she braves the potential terrors of solitude; mostly imaginary, but still potent enough to plague a child with long-term issues.
And so, Marisa has been quartered and accommodated for. She will now begin her long journey to her prime...and beyond. (Her prime will surely happen first, though...) Decades of it will initially drag on, and keep making her miserable... As that crucible endures, though, she'll be very well cared for. And someday soon, she'll start using legal jargon in everyday life...sometime after she becomes a helpless and hopeless fashionista.
Almost three decades pass. Crooks break laws. If they don't hire lawyers to defend them in court, the court appoints lawyers to them. In retaliation, the state hires DAs to prosecute crooks. Meanwhile, at law schools all over the country, the youth trains to one day succeed today's lawyers...or to otherwise become their staffers. In some decades, the schools' candidates get discriminated against; in later ones, this happens less often.
On the way to law school, alas, bumps in the road have been known to crop up. They can make a man drunk. They can break a man's heart. Some, even, crop up because he'd break a woman's heart. He'd leave a Marilyn for a Jackie...and end up getting dumped by the Jackie. And sometimes, even, his father would become a racist politician and accurse the names of his descendants...for he and they, in one case, would have the exact same name...
This is Aburrita, a commuter town in Darkest Mexico. A railroad runs through it; its trains are very slow and very noisy; some of the very few denizens would prefer a white bellbird's cat-call. And as it so happens, cat-calling seems to be a local pastime among the male youth here...however big that never is...as is never the town's population. At least, though, there's never a shortage of car parks.
This is the town hall. It's not very big...but then, it seldom needs to be. This commuter town is lucky to have a government at all. It's even luckier that anyone still lives here.
Before the hall entrance, there's a facade. Within it, there are columns. Rising from the front stairs, there's a brick pedestal. Atop it, a white sculpture of a lion sits perched. This lion might very well be Leo, the MGM lion... Most who'd work at MGM, though, might or might not want to live in a Mexican commuter town such as this... Not even to mimic a down-and-out Humphrey Bogart still in his prime...
This is a cantina. Inside, a TV plays. On TV, the US Senate Majority Leader makes a speech. He seems very racist against Mexican Latinx...and bears the likeness of Donald Trump. Despite this, the big shot's name is Warner Huntington Jr. As one might expect, he intends to run for the forking PUS...and surely turn the US into a white supremacist state, if he succeeds...
Off the roadside just out of town, a billboard stands. Across half of it, there's a flashy photo of Daniella Riva's bust. Ms. Riva, it seems, is running for Mexican president... She's recently testified against an entire cartel, making the Mexican underworld weaker than it's ever been. The other half of the billboard is filled by a caption: "Quien dijo 'el naranja está el nuevo rosa' estaba seriamente perturbado. Whoever said, 'orange is the new pink' was seriously disturbed."
Through a water garden in town, a gay male couple goes on a leisurely stroll among stepped pools, fountains, and artesian wells. Their names are Enrique and Chuck. For both of them, it's a nice night for a stroll... Even now, though, Enrique has no idea just how fragile his romance with Chuck is...
Elsewhere in town, there's a taco diner. It's no taco bell...but it smells as well. And on most days of the week, it serves as well. At times, it has trouble keeping its staff intact. Either way, it's been known to make the commuter town a popular place. Memories are made here. And every now and then, babies are born here. A javelina was once hunted, shot, and killed in this very car park. (A federale later fined the hunter for hunting in town. No one else was hurt; even so, the law must always make an example out of wrongdoers.)
In the car park, there's a tiny-but-potentially-mighty sight. There's a box, and there's a plank that props it up, slightly. Just beneath it, a hot taco dinner has been laid. A long string, too, has been tied to the propping timber. It's other end is nearby...within the jaws of a brave little Chi.
Don Juan looks up at the sky. Dusk has come and is about to go. He's lizard-hunting...but it's not what one would think...
"O, Leezard? Here, Leezard, Leezard, Leezard," he'd say, still looking around. "Here, Leezard, Leezard, Leezard..."
Up to him, a white Chi runs. She's in a revealing pink bikini. She rears and starts dancing around on her hind paws. She dances in semicircles around Don Juan, attempting to catch his eye...
Alas, this Don Juan seems to long more for a Jackie than a Marilyn...for some reason. The Marilyn then lays her front paws back down on the asphalt, sighs, and scurries off. She'd flip the bird at him...if only she had hands, and didn't need all four of her paws for running away.
"Here, Leezard, Leezard, Leezard," Don Juan keeps half-whispering into the night. "Here, Leezard, Leezard, Leezard..."
Not too far from the town, there's a great mound. It's very large. From a distance, it looks like a mud-gripping mega-tire. By the grace of the fragrant smell of a hot taco dinner, though, its terrifying secret is about to be revealed...
All across the surface of this mound, small lizards crawl. Most of them are fence lizards. One of them is a feral leaf-tailed gecko.
Spontaneously, alas, the lizards all leap from their crawling wall, as said wall starts to vibrate. Creases open from within the sides of the mound. From them, clawed lizard limbs emerge...
The beast stands on his hind legs. A great tail, he has...and he drags it behind him. He's a chuckwalla kaiju...and he hungers for more tacos than what a simple commuter town could feed him. And yet, for some reason, he never goes fishing for the same in Mexico City...despite his heftier chances.
Making thunder as he marches, Amanecer Rojo marches into the commuter town. Soon, he stands over the taco diner. He towards over Don Juan the Chi, rubs his own tummy with his clawed hands, and lets out a huge Godzilla-like roar...
Virtually whimpering, Don Juan cowers beneath the towering spectacle before him. His tail waggeth no more. "Uh-oh," he'd say. "I think I'm going to need a beeger box!"
Not too far from the commuter town, there's a cemetery. To a great extent, it's just as isolated as the commuter town is. People sometimes come here to take walks... At present, though, such a local is nowhere to be sighted. Even now, one's more likely to have better luck sighting crows, magpies, and/or jays.
This is the church. It's not what it was. Its big stone cross sculpture has crumbled considerably. It's also unclear, as to whether it still hosts its congregation on the relevant days of the week... At present, though, it'd be hard to tell; it's not Sunday, and nor is it dusk on Wednesday.
In the very small, long-bereft, unpaved car park, an empty Cuervo bottle rolls around in the wind. Unclear, as to where it came from... But then, this does seem like a spot that local drunks would frequent... A lot of Italian movies might like to film scenes here, too...
One of these tombstones is a bit bigger than the rest. Four dwarven spruces are planted on every side of it; borders of begonias grow between them. The headstone has the name "HESTON" chiseled into its side...
Nearby, there's a garden. It doesn't grow much...but it's there. A scarecrow still hangs from its post. Funny; the scarecrow's face bears uncanny resemblance to that of Ray Bolger 1939...
A mausoleum, there is at this cemetery too. A hedge of ornamental coca grows next to one of its walls. From one of the gables, an ornamental red-and-black Aztec shield hangs; it bears the seal of S.D.S.U. Its front door has the name "WELCH" chiseled into it...and just beneath that, the years "1940-2023..." Just above the lettering, a stuffed tarantula doll hangs, by its abdomen, from the ornamental door knocker... This tomb, it seems, is less geographically out-of-place...
Atop one grave, a great sculpture stands. It's of Diana Guzman, a woman wrestler. As a sculpture, she bears the likeness of Michelle Rodriguez Y2K...
Among the smaller tombstones, there's a black one. On either side of it, a pair of very short pedestals stands. Black pansies grow on either side of it. The tombstone has the name "KENSINGTON" chiseled into both sides.
Atop one of the dwarven pedestals, something...or someone...sleeps. He seems wasted. He stinks of ayahuasca. He's also a ten-thousandth his normal size... By the looks of it, the corpse within this grave once released a wave of death/size magic across the cemetery, as she rolled over within the coffin...
As things are, poor Warner only wears a set of beige drawers. Unclear, as to what the material is made of...but it seems sturdy enough... Calvin Klein might kill to make a line of intimates products out of it... Then again, it might be better if its existence remained under-wraps...no pun intended...
Warner is not yet in law school...or even in pre-law. In fact, he probably hasn't even finished secondary school...
Among the many tombstones of the cemetery, a black fox creeps... He generates essences of death magic and trails them within his wake; a wake which is often vastly occupied by his bushy tail. This fox, as it will soon seem, is much more unique than a simple church grim...
With his front legs, the black fox leans atop part of the dwarven pedestal. Nose sharp and whiskers spread, he waits for poor Warner III to wake...
By and by, Warner wakes. No surprise, he's confused at first. He's no less depressed, though...and Xolotl's presence now makes him even more so...deathly so, in fact...
"You're here," Warner asks, "to kill me?"
Telepathically, Xolotl speaks. "I do not kill. I'm merely a ferry coxswain. One day, one of my many variants will coxswain your ferry to the afterlife...nevermore to live and breathe among those who live."
"Okay. So...is this the ferry you spoke of?"
"Hungry though I always am for work...and the catacombs of the afterlife in general...your ferry, I lament to say, is not yet finished being built. You've still time left, Warner son of Warner."
Being called this, Warner flinches. As one might expect, Warner Jr, the politician on TV, before, who keeps bad-mouthing Mexican Latinx...is, in fact, Warner III's father.
Xolotl continues. "You've still a mission here. A ferry does come for you...but not to take you to the afterlife. She shalt, in lieu, take you to Maderohulan, a city of Aztec divinity. There, you shalt legally represent one of their pariahs, as they make her stand trial for allegedly being a herald of doom."
"I just lost two girlfriends. I don't think that this is the best time to..."
"You shalt fall asleep once more. When you wake, your ferry will be moored to this very place...and I will be nowhere to be seen. Fare the well, Warner of the Ivy League. If I see you again, it won't be soon enough."
With that, Warner falls back to sleep. Soon after that, he no longer smells Xolotl's stench. He will, though, perhaps soon smell a similar stench... At least, though, this stench will be that of a living pooch...
Tag jingling, a Chi runs among the tombstones of the cemetery. She wears pink. She seems excited... But then, she might as well be a typical specimen of her dam's matriline...if she isn't.
Atop one of the Kensington grave pedestals, the Chi leans her front legs. Nose sharp and whiskers spread, she looks down upon Warner, and waits for him to awaken...just as Xolotl once did, seemingly just a moment ago...
Warner wakes...and sees the Chi. The Chi occupies the same space that Xolotl did, only moments ago... That said, Warner's wondering if he merely hallucinated Xolotl...
The Chi's got a couple of tags hanging from her collar; both are chrome. One's engraving says the words "DELTA NU," and has the U.C.L.A. seal engraved on it as well; the tag's flipside bears the engraving, "GO BRUINS, WRECK 'EM TO RUINS!" The other tag is the one with the Chi's name on it: "LUPE."
"The other ferry," Warner asks, "I presume?"
Lupe only wags her tail and looks down... She barks twice.
Warner flinches; to him, her barks are very loud. "Please! I have a hangover! Take it easy!"
Lupe whimpers. She rests her head on the pedestal surface.
Warner stands. "Very well. I think I'm ready. Just...hold still."
He ascends her nose and crosses its bridge. He crosses between her eyes (and nearly causes her to cross her own eyes), tops her head, descends the back of it, and gets to the back of her collar. There, he finds whatever harnessing he requires to secure himself.
Soon, he's secure. With a pseudo-whip, he gives his mount the green light. (And the psuedo-whip doesn't actually hurt her... Although it might or might not send an electrical shock into her neck via her collar...)
She takes off like a lightning bolt across the cemetery. She tops a stepped wall and ascends its many steps...right before making its symmetrical descent, leaping, landing in a field of clover, and continuing her romp.
Up ahead, it's a yellow brick road (really). On either side, long borders of wild evening primroses grow. Staying between them, the Chi continues to run. She's very fast, and full of energy.
Atop Lupe's collar, Warner doesn't have much trouble staying balanced. A part of him tends to think it should be harder... But of course, that's not to say that he's not thankful that it's not. In a way, this feels as if he was the Beastmaster...
Along the Primrose Path, several pests attempt to bug them. Cicada-killing wasps do. Locusts do. Mockingbirds, starlings, and thrushes do. Sharp-shinned, Cooper's, and red-tailed hawks try to dive-bomb them. Barreling javelinas try to bulldoze them. Coyotes try to bite Lupe on the rear...
And, to add the ultimate spice to the mixture, the Pink Panther joins in, too. Once, he attempts to bulldoze Lupe...and do a lot worse. He manages to pin her for a moment...but she shakes free and keeps running. Angered, the Pink Panther gives chase...
From up ahead, a man approaches. Birds perch atop his shoulder. A pair of ferrets look around, from inside his pack. He radiates music from himself...but doesn't actually sing...
Lupe runs right beneath the man's legs and keeps running. The man crouches, and prepares to address the charging, raging Pink Panther...
He sings to the beast and calms it. He reminds the Pinkard that he's been demented, ever since his Bowden left him. He assures him that he'll rebound. He also tells him not to fear getting butchered by his pantherhunter, Insp. Clouseau. Clouseau, in case Pinkard hasn't figured out by now, is much too inept to ever stand a chance of that...
Dar becomes bothered...by a strange presence right behind him. He turns. There Lupe sits, wagging her tail. She...seems to be expecting something...
Dar sighs. "Very well, Lupe." He reaches into one of his packs and retrieves a writhing weevil. He holds it before Lupe's nose. Lupe snarfs it down, whirls, and bolts. Dar grins, and waves goodbye.
All around Dar, the other pests congregate; the cicada-killing wasps, the locusts, the muscicapoids, the chickenhawks, the javelinas, the coyotes...and, of course, the Pink Panther, now seemingly rehabilitated...or otherwise calmed for the time being.
In the saddle, Warner scoffs. "Eating weevils," he mutters... "It's funny; back when I still lived in LA, I had a hot blonde bombshell girlfriend who had a Chi. Looking back, I'm starting to wonder how sane I was, for seriously thinking that I could commit to her, if I knew that her Chi liked to eat weevils..." He pats his mount. "No offense, though; it's just how I feel about things." He scoffs. "And that's something I often tried to tell her, whenever we argued." He shakes his head. "She sure can be bad at listening..." He acknowledges his mount's big, erect ears. "At least I'd hate to think a lot of noise gets by you."
Onward, Lupe runs. Bluer skies, she senses, from now on... But then, at least she looks better in pink Chi clothes than Willie Nelson ever has...
In the middle of the ocean, there's a huge wave. It's as big as a mountain. It doesn't move much. Unclear, as to what it would owe its supernatural stagnancy to... But then, its very few bystanders/witnesses rarely ever ask.
Up its side, Lupe runs. She's...unusually good at running across water...somehow... She charges towards the wave's whitecap. She's on a roll. She might as well be Teddy Roosevelt on the slopes of San Juan Hill...
In the saddle, Warner chuckles. "Climbing oceans," he mutters...
This is a gorge full of gravel. It was once a mountain; now it's literally in shambles. Unclear, as to what it would owe its disintegration to... But then, its very few neighbors rarely ever ask.
Across it, and half-submerged, Lupe swims. She throws up gravel as she does. Every now and then she throws up a huge rock...which splashes back down in her wake. She's making a beeline towards the "shore..." and being very hearted, while doing so...
In the saddle, Warner chuckles again. "Swimming mountains," he mutters...
This is the coast. It's a part of what many dream of, when they dream of Mexican sojourns. As things are, though, this place is no Cancún. The Yucatán, though, might not be far off...if this isn't a part of it...
This is a flood wall. Its top is stepped. Hence, it's no such wall in Galveston. Either way, it's an impressive sight...likely though it is that this wall exists more for ornamental purposes than it does actual flood-controlling ones...
Lupe arrives, still running. She tops one side of the wall; it's not far for her to leap. Along the wall's top, she runs. Like a champ, she ascends every single successive step as if it weren't there...
All around her and Warner, the ground gets farther and farther down...as does the shore. For Warner, there'd be even more vertigo than there'd be for Lupe; as a smaller person, he'd get dizzier because of its influence.
The steps keep getting higher and higher. By and by, it soon becomes apparent that the topmost step has the longest runner of them all...only to drop off at the other end of the wall. For both of them, this is bad; they could both plummet to their deaths, this way...
Alas, Lupe finally leaps off the threshold and reveals one of her other secrets to Warner: patagium. She spreads her legs and produces it from between them. Via this, she glides across the sky as if she were a greater glider, a sort of arboreal marsupial that lives Down Under. (This'd be like a flying squirrel, only much larger, and pouch-rearing of their young...)
Relieved, Warner scoffs. "You fly, too! At least they only called my blonde ex an angel..."
If Warner prefers angels, he need not worry. Where he's going, birdfolk fly across the sky all the time...and hence, emulate classic angels while doing so...albeit some of them might be more akin to vultures than to doves. Maderohulan is, after all, a city of death magic and necromancy.
Downhill, there's a bight. There...don't seem to be any wharfs... This, Warner thinks, could be troublesome... But then, the wharfs would seem more accommodating if boats were moored to them, too...
Ashore, there's a sign. It says the phrase "RED DAWN BIGHT."
Near the bight shore, though, there's a small platform. Atop it, there's a manhole cover. The manhole's metal bears the following engraving: "GET UP HERE, AND ACT LIKE FORKING CHARLTON HESTON AS FORKING MOSES; THE BIGHT WILL DO THE REST."
Still gliding, Lupe lands, rolls across the ground a few times, and otherwise comes back up running.
Warner sees the bight up ahead; he sees that it's rushing towards him and his mount, as the mount runs closer to its shores. "God," Warner mutters, "I sure hope you can swim, little girl..." He looks around himself, and scoffs. "Big girl, to me..."
The Chi mounts the manhole cover. She turns in a few circles. Once she's calmed herself, she stands on her hind legs and spreads her front ones. She does all of this without a shepherd's staff...
Before her, two halves of the bight separate from one another. They form a path from one sight of the bight to the other. Before long, the path is made entirely of dry gravel...plus an occasional fish skeleton.
Nearby, a Balinese cat is mousing. He sees the parting bight...and becomes curious... He'd better be careful; his curiosity might very well kill him...or something worse.
Lupe wastes no time. She charges down the path that the bight's made for her, causing occasional pebbles of gravel to fly while doing so.
Within the path, a skull lies. The skull has a unique shape; one which would've signaled prominent social status among the older generations of the Nahuatl...and among the same generations of redfolk in general, for their tribe would not have been the only one who'd give this bizarre-yet-revered medical treatment to tomorrow's elite...if they weren't born to the elites. Scary though this skull would look to many, in this context, it's a benevolent omen; it means that Lupe and Warner are still on the right track.
Within the walls of water on either side of the path, a bass run seems to have had a schism wedged between it... While treading water with their fins, they seem to cast sinister looks at the crossing party before them...
"Don't let them hear your thoughts," Lupe tells Warner telepathically. "They're the Mexican Bass Run; they'll make you crazy. Allow me to lend some psionic armor..."
With her psi powers, Lupe creates armor around herself and Warner, defending him and herself from the Mexican Bass Run's legendarily dangerous psi powers. There'll be no victory for them today...or at least not over Lupe or Warner...
They're almost to the middle of the path. Up ahead, there's a big rock, and a slight drop-off. Lupe runs, ascends the rock, and leaps off the end of it...
Spreading her legs, she flies. Atop her, Warner looks around, not sure what to expect... His question is soon answered when a portal opens before them. Lupe flies right through it, taking Warner with her. Behind her, the portal closes.
In their absence, the Red Dawn Bight remains parted for a few more minutes... The walls of water still stand tall. It's not quite the same as it was when the Red Sea was parted in the Ten Commandments...but it's done some good.
The Balinese cat, meanwhile, is on the path. He explores it, barely pawing at the water-walls. He's afraid to touch them, of course. He clearly doesn't know to expect what follows...
The bight returns to normal, once again submerging the path. As they do, they submerge the cat. Beneath the surface, fireworks start, as the Mexican Bass Run psionically attacks the cat...
Moping and grumpy, the cat finally wades out of the bight, and onto the coast. Needless to say, he never wants to do that again...
Nearby, Dar sits on a bench. He's got an acoustic guitar within his clutches. Via it, he strums and performs. (He doesn't actually know how to play it; alas, with some his powers, he has no need to. Not only can he generate music, but he can enchant his own hands to play any instrument he's equipped with.) With his powers and the guitar, he emulates a red dirt singer named Max Stalling as he performs one of Stalling's classics, "Mexican Bass Run..."
As always, Dar is surrounded by beasts he's managed to beguile. This'd still include the Pink Panther. This also soon includes the drenched Balinese cat...who desperately wanders into the crowd, praying for pity...
He gets it. Dar sees him, smiles, and summons a towel. The towel levitates itself, as it unites itself with the cat, and helps dry the cat off. A nearby milk bowl, too, is conjured; the Balinese doesn't hesitate to bury his face in it and gorge himself with the substance; the bowl keeps magically refilling itself.
Serenely, the Beastmaster continues to generate/play his music. Alas, as long as he sticks around, the other Mexican Bass Run, offshore, still within the bight, won't likely return to the ocean depths; Max Stalling, it seems, was part of the inspiration of their origin story as a terrorist army. (Stalling, though, does not endorse what the villainous Bass Run does... Then again, he doesn't condemn it, either...) The surrounding animals need not worry, though; the villainous Bass Run is here for the music, and not to force them to have nightmares...or worse, to force them to drown...or to otherwise kill themselves. (Again, the Bass Run has psi powers.)
Lupe and Warner, it seems, have made it to Maderohulan. Hence, Warner's mission will soon begin. And, hard though it is for some to understand, he will soon, once again, be compelled to choose between a Jackie and a Marilyn. This time around, though, they'll both be Nahuatl...with the Jackie making that more obvious than the Marilyn could ever want to...if she even does... Then again, this Marilyn, much like Warner's blonde ex, is a fashionista, as well as an advocate/barrister/solicitor/attorney, or whatever lawyers were called in ancient Aztec society...if legal counsel was ever even a fad, back when Montezuma's halls were still US marine-free...