Kaledo Art
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
dirt enthusiast
Game of Thrones Daily
Claire Keane
⁂
JBB: An Artblog!
shark vs the universe
$LAYYYTER
Monterey Bay Aquarium
hello vonnie
noise dept.
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
styofa doing anything
taylor price
KIROKAZE
JVL
if i look back, i am lost
Cosimo Galluzzi
oozey mess
seen from Vietnam
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Türkiye
seen from Germany
@green-eyed-prophet
Your Future Awaits...
Indie, semi-selective RP sideblog for Bruno Madrigal from Disney's Encanto.
Willing to RP with canon and original characters.
Askbox and DMs are open. (be sure to read the rules and about pages before interacting)
(likes and follows will come from my main blog, @young-botanical-genius)
Aleksandra Czudzak, Rats
i love when baby rats look exactly like their parents ......like yes
"Well, if you're telling me the door isn't accurate, then," he jokes, but the hitch in his voice, almost a squeak, betrays that he's just trying to diffuse the tension with humor. He wasn't blushing, if he couldn't see it, Bruno couldn't either! But he wasn't blushing, not because Bruno said touch me like that, no.
He clears his throat and scoots closer, sitting hip-to-hip with the physic and setting the tablet ever-so-gently down on the ground next to him.
"You'd think that people would ask me to do that more often, you know- sometimes, people are fascinated by me. In a way that really means they're sorry for me. Like oh, bless you, that kind of thing..." he rubs his arm, continuing, "I mean, I guess that's why I've been around so much. Father kind of wants people to feel bad for me, and fix me. He loves your sister for that. She's really nice." Now, he's definitely not rambling to make this less awkward. And even if he were, it would totally be working. Not making things worse by blabbing on, and on, and on.
He timidly reaches his hands up, half-turning, because even without sight, sitting face-to-face with Bruno would make this too much. It was the difference between giving someone a real hug and a side hug; somehow, doing it with an awkward twist made it better, probably.
"But what I meant was, I feel like people say that a lot, or like, it's in books, a blind person touching someone's- oh my GOSH your hair is so SOFT." Makani is knocked off-kilter, the rambling for some kind of politeness' sake dropping instantly as his fingers go straight into Bruno's curls, stopping him like a splash of cold water.
"I knew it was wavy, or curly or something- from your door, but oh MAN, how do you do this?!" He laughs, shoulders finally dropping and actually feeling less awkward when not trying to artificially induce the calm. He reaches a hand back and touches his own hair for comparison, one hand in his own and one in Bruno's.
"Yeah no, yours is- you have a beard, too?!" The back of his hand had brushed against Bruno's chin, and now both of his palms were on his cheeks in wonder.
"I didn't picture you with facial hair! I've never been able to...Well, I always liked it, at least, on others. Wow, I think I pictured you all wrong," he laughs, "I like this better."
Makani does a quick, nonchalant swipe as he pulls his hands away for Bruno's nose (yup, it's as big as it felt on the door, aw, that's cute, I think. Is it? Why do I-) before putting the tablet back in his lap, tucking his own hair behind his ear. Crap, his face was warm. Makani knew he was tan, he remembered being tan as a child, but he had no idea how much things like a blush actually showed up on him.
"I, uh, thank you. M-More later! I mean- if-" he sighs, rolling his eyes at himself. Shut up, Kapili.
He runs his fingertips over the tablet again.
"I'm staying here...I just want to know what this is, too," he says, running over the smooth spot connected to his hand. More than likely, it was just his father on the tablet, grabbing Makani by the wrist and dragging him, as always.
"Do I look...happy? I-Is the person maybe dragging me away? Or is it different?" He holds up the tablet to Bruno to see, the details of his own face too minute for him to make out with his fingers. "Do you think I'm happy?"
Bruno listened to Makani ramble in silence, finding himself feeling the very sense of pity that the younger man had just described others continually expressing towards him. Except... Bruno didn't think he felt pity for Makani solely because he was blind-- no, he pitied him because he was clearly so much more than just blind and, if Makani's word was anything to go by, most people failed to see that.
He was in the process of opening his mouth to potentially say something-- anything to perhaps try and reassure Makani of his worth when the topic of conversation had in a split-second somehow changed to... Bruno's hair, of all things.
The compliments, so rapid-fire and all so earnest, made him blush. He hoped Makani couldn't feel the heat beginning to radiate off his skin, but he was at least glad he could be sure that Makani definitely couldn't see it.
"O-oh--! Uh, heh, well... I-I don't really do anything with my hair, heh heh-- I-I think i-it's just--" he couldn't fumble over his words quick enough before Makani's hands had moved on and the topic switched again. "Oh-- yeah...! Yeah, I-I've got the facial hair too, heh. I-I don't do much with that either..."
He trailed off, unsure of how to keep up his end of the conversation as Makani's palms proceeded to explore the rest of his face. Once the other man's touch had finally pulled away, part of Bruno found himself missing it. However, he didn't have much time to dwell on the strange feeling or what it could've possibly meant before the topic of the vision was brought up again.
"...Happy?" He stared at the emerald tablet for a moment as it was held up to him, taking in every little detail of the image once more before attempting to answer Makani's questions.
"Um... judging by the way you're smiling, I-I'd definitely say so, yeah. And... you don't look like you're being dragged off..." his brow furrowed in thought as he squinted at the blurred figure next to Makani once more, their identity still a complete mystery. "...I just still have no idea who it is you're so happy with."
Luisa's eyes widened, then the corners of her mouth turned upwards into a big smile. She nodded, beaming. "Would I! Hola, Diego." Her hand drew closer to the rat in her uncle's palm, letting it sniff her scent- let's hope Diego didn't mind the traces of stable smell that kept clinging to her somewhat, nor her new parfume.
Ever the gentle giantess, Luisa made sure her movements were slow, predictable, to give the rat a sense of safety. Her fingertip patted the scruff atop of the rat's head.
The rat's eyes slowly drifted closed as Luisa patted its head, and it even leaned forward a bit in Bruno's hands, as though it wanted to completely immerse itself within her scent and touch. Bruno smiled from ear-to-ear at the sight; seeing his family and animal companions getting along well together never failed to make him warm and fuzzy inside.
"See, what'd I tell ya?" he breathed out a soft laugh. "Completo caballero."
He allowed his niece a few more moments of petting before slowly pulling the rat back closer to him.
"Que buen chico." he praised the creature with a slow hum, placing it down to perch atop his shoulder once more before looking back at Luisa. "...He's the sweetest, huh? I think you made a good impression on him too, heh."
bruno study
what is the son but the extension of the father?
like whack a mole
Hall of Fame certified Escape Artists
bruno divination wizard dnd/bg3 au
that's it. that's the post
"Il malocchio. It's, uhm--" She waved a hand absently as she tried to remember what it was called in other languages. Every culture had one. "Bad-- evil. Evil eye. It's a curse, it's bad luck," she explains, emptying the bowl for the next round of oil they would need. "It's not always intentional," she tells him, filling the basin with warm water again, from a large silver pitcher. "Sometimes it happens to us when someone is jealous, or if they hold ill-will for us. But the Galochios always check those who come to us, to make sure no one carries it with them unnecessarily."
Bruno clearly knew uncertainty, anxiety, nervous habits. He could see it in her, the way she moved with uncertainty, the way she kept her gaze down, trying to make herself seem smaller there in the close quarters of the fortune-telling tent.
"It's easy to get rid of, though," she tells him lightly. With her right hand, she formed the horns, and flicked her wrist in his direction.
"Dio ti salvi, o Maria, piena di grazia, il Signore è con te," she recited. "Benedetta sei tu fra le donne e benedetto è il frutto del tuo seno, Gesù. Santa Maria, Madre di Dio, prega per noi peccatori, adesso e nell'ora della nostra morte. Amen."
The prayer was spoken softly, a hushed whisper as she flicked the sign of the horns at him, over and over, repeating the prayer from memory as though she'd spoken those words a thousand times before - and she probably had.
After a minute, she put three more drops of oil into the water, and observed.
One, then many, then one, then many - uncertainty in the oil like she'd never seen before, like it couldn't make up its mind whether he was cursed or not. She paused, contemplating this oddity for a moment, then giving a little start.
"Here," she said, reaching down into the folds of the deep red scarf that she wore, pulling forth a necklace that hung around her neck. She lifted it over her head, and handed it to him. A little clay shape dangled from the necklace, almost like a pepper; it was painted red with a golden cap and strung on a length of soft ribbon. "Keep that with you, signore. It will ward off il malocchio."
Bad luck. Of course. The confirmation, while still ominous in nature, didn't surprise Bruno much. In fact, it was almost comforting, in a way. He had already suspected that his luck was gradually souring again, given that he hadn't been able to perform any of his own cleansing rituals for a while.
He felt guilty, bringing such energy in here with him, but he supposed the Galachios were used to encountering such things. ...At least they were willing to assist him in fixing it.
He stayed quiet and respectful as Guillelmina recited the prayer. It didn't bring quite the same sense of relief to him as when he did such things himself, but he appreciated the gesture nonetheless. When she was done, the girl looked into the water once more, and Bruno noticed that she still didn't seem to be entirely satisfied by whatever it was that she saw there.
However, it must've not been enough of an issue to be worth dwelling on, as it didn't take long before she was handing him her necklace. He took the charm from her, observing it in his palm for a moment.
"Oh... thanks." he said softly, giving her a small smile of gratitude before tucking it into the folds of his ruana. He didn't know if it would actually aid in keeping his bad luck at bay, but at this point in his life, he was certainly willing to try anything. "I'm... probably going to be needing that, heh."
He was silent for a heartbeat, shifting nervously on the stool before clearing his throat and giving Guillelmina a wary glance. "Um... is there anything else you need to do...?"
Guillemina watched the oil in the water, as the few drops of oil joined, and then separated, and then joined again, as though unable to decide which state to occupy. She had never seen anything like it before, in all the readings she had done over the years - all the readings she had seen her family do.
"Ah, bad news, signore," Zalto said with such a cool, calm demeanor that for a moment it took Bruno a moment to even register what the older man had said - bad news, with a tone that light, barely registered as bad news at all. He seemed to... unbothered by whatever he had seen. "You have il malocchio."
Well, that wasn't quite the truth. Normally, if the drops of oil stayed separate, you did not have il malocchio. If the drops merged together, then the afflicted bore the curse. With Bruno, however, the drops could not seem to make up their mind. Quite peculiar, so it was probably just best to treat him anyway Better safe than sorry, where these things were concerned.
"No worries, signore. Mia pronipotina will assist you."
Guillelmina gave him a sharp look, as though desperate to communicate something. There was a pause, some unheard conversation passing between them before she bowed her head, and swapped places with the old fortune teller.
She sat there, across from this strange man with the strange curse.
"I... sure will."
"...What?"
Bruno blinked, stunned, puzzled, and more than a bit unnerved by the vagueness of Zalto's declaration, as well as the very little hesitation the man seemed to display whilst delivering the so-called "bad news." He didn't know what exactly "il malocchio" meant, but he couldn't help but notice that the term bore a striking resemblance to a certain word in his own native language; a word he was unfortunately much more familiar with than most.
Countless times, he had heard that word-- whispered behind his back, yelled in his face, even spoken from within the deepest, darkest recesses of his own mind:
Maldición.
Curse.
For a long moment, he found that although his mind was buzzing with countless questions to ask and his lips were parted, his mouth simply would not-- could not seem to form any of the words he wanted to say. By the time he felt he could finally speak, the elderly fortune-teller had stood up and taken his leave, and in the old man's place at the table now sat the youthful face of the only other Galochio that Bruno had met so far.
Bruno gazed at her, hazel eyes wide. As unsettling as all of this was, at least (provided that Zalto was being truthful, of course), there was some sort of cure for... whatever it was he had just been diagnosed with, and he supposed Guillelmina was the one who would provide it to him.
"...Il malocchio?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper. "Um... What does that mean...? ...H-How do you fix it?"
Guillelmina passed her great-grandfather a bottle, which he placed next to the bowl of water in front of Bruno. The old man paused, cocking an eyebrow and looking inquisitively at the nervous man before him. "No? No secrets, hmm? Ah, that is hard to believe. People do not take kindly to those with unusual powers, signore. An old psychic would know. You speak as though this family, these Madrigals, use their powers openly, without fear of judgement. Is that true, signore?"
Bruno got the distinct feeling there was something that Zalto was not saying; a hidden meaning to his words, as though he were fishing for information far beyond the questions he was asking. The older man looked at him with a gleam in his eye as he poured a few drops of olive oil into the bowl of warm water.
Shaking hands lifted the bowl, swirling the contents around for a moment before he set the bowl down again. "Guillelmina. Vieni qui. See that, stellina?"
She moved without a word, leaning over her nonno's shoulder. A frown creased between her eyes, and she spared a glance for the stranger there before her, before examining the bowl once more.
"Dovrebbe farlo?"
"No. Cosa ne pensi?"
They spoke amongst themselves for a moment, their foreign language broken to him; they seemed to deliberate over something in the water, though Bruno couldn't be sure what.
"Yeah, uh, pretty much." Bruno confirmed, the stool beneath him creaking as he adjusted his posture once more. "I mean... hardly anyone was able to get in or out of this place for fifty years, so it was pretty much just the rest of the town who could judge us-- er-- judge them, I mean." Bruno winced a bit, hoping no one had noticed his ever-so-brief slip of the tongue. "A-And it wouldn't have done the town any good to go after people who helped out so much with their gifts...! Like... if someone in town can cook magic food that can heal you, you're not just gonna kick them out because no one else can do that, right...?"
The seer gripped his ruana even tighter within his fist as he spoke, now feeling the hairs on the back of his neck begin to stand on end. The exchanges between him and Zalto remained light and casual on the surface, but he had been feeling the tension in the air between them gradually increase with each question asked and observation made by the older man.
At first, he had wanted to believe it was merely the result of his own paranoia. In any social interaction, a small part of him was always fearful of slipping up and somehow managing to ruin others' impressions of him, especially when talking with people he didn't know very well. The added pressure of having to keep certain secrets during this particular conversation had only increased those anxieties. Surely, he could've been overthinking things as usual.
However, Zalto's words were beginning to sound more and more... calculated. Targeted, even, in a way that made Bruno feel deep in his gut that there was perhaps much more to this interaction-- this man, this family-- than met the eye.
Nevertheless, he knew he had come too far to turn back now, and so he could only watch in curious, apprehensive silence as the old man poured the oil into the water, and then summoned the young woman-- Guillelmina-- to his side. He listened to them speak, and although he could almost recognize certain words, their language was still too foreign and their tones too hushed for him to gather much of an idea of what they were talking about.
One thing was clear, though: they seemed to be able to see something in the water that he couldn't. ...Was this how they had visions?
"Ah, signore, You are lucky. Few have known one home their whole lives. Some have never even known one."
Guillelmina bristled at her great-grandfathers words, looking away from the interaction for a brief moment. He was referring to her, of course, and she thanks her unlucky stars that the average person can't hear her thoughts like the rest of her family can. He was right, though - the Galochios had fled Grulovia long before she'd been born. She'd spent her whole life traveling from one town to the next. Even as she tried to avoid her nonno's glance, she couldn't help but wonder what that was like, living in one place your whole life.
Mina didn't consider herself the jealous type, though the embers of the emotion were certainly comfortable making themselves at home in the pit of her stomach. To live one place your whole life sounded like a fairy tale - a made up story like magic, or necromancy.
"If you have been here a long time, mio amico, then you must know the family that runs this town, si? Oh, we have heard much about them. La famiglia Madrigal. Tell me, signore - the people, they talk," he pries carefully, turning away from the little reading table. A gesture to Guillelmina had her moving, preparing a little bowl of warm water for her nonno, which she placed carefully on the ornate cloth in front of Bruno.
"But surely, it is all rumor, no?"
Uh oh. Bruno's heart dropped into his stomach at the mention of his family name. Of course; it was just his luck that the topic would come up while he was attempting to go incognito.
Play it cool, play it cool, He reminded himself with a deep breath, choosing to merely imagine himself knocking on wood rather than physically doing it as he so very much wished to as the pressure upon him seemed to grow heavier and heavier with each passing moment. He was going to have to be careful with his words here, lest he somehow manage to give away his true identity by spilling one too many family secrets.
He had hidden his very presence in the family home for a decade. Surely, he could hide the fact that he was a Madrigal for a few more minutes at most.
"...Rumor?" he repeated, tilting his head. "...I mean, I guess that depends on what it is that you've heard, 'cause people talk about all sorts of things, heh..." his shoulders lifted in a small shrug, and he paused for a moment to glance down at the bowl Guillelmina had just placed in front him, briefly wondering what it might be used for. Another reading of some kind?
"...If you're asking if they're actually... y'know, magical... I can at least tell you that's true." He gave Zalto a small, lopsided grin, as well as another short breath of a laugh as he shook his head. "...That's never really been a secret."
Zalto chuckled. "How generous of you, signore. Not many would take up the mantle you have, helping all sorts of people with their little problemi."
He scooped up the cards with practiced ease, shuffling them back into the deck. "We Galochios, we do not have any great talents. We do not move mountains or bring rains, but we have used our talents for generations - to help others, to guard them against the uncertainty of the future. For instance - your madre will confront you tonight, I'm afraid. She does not seem to think that the fortune-tellers on the outskirts of town are a trustworthy bunch."
Zalto waited a moment for the man's reaction, before holding up a hand and giving a low chuckle. "Many think the same, signore. It is no offense to us."
Mina watched him with a keen eye - the way he drummed his fingers against his leg, like he was anxious to be out of here. Zalto was an intimidating presence, she would admit to that, but this man was more... squirrely than the rest. Nervous and ungraceful, constantly stumbling over himself - his words, his gestures, his own presence there in the tent. It was unusual.
"Your Madre... your famiglia... you have lived in this Encanto a long time, si?"
Bruno's mouth opened, then closed again several times as Zalto spoke. There was quite a bit to take in from the older man's words, and Bruno hardly had time to react to any of it.
First of all, there was the way that Zalto spoke of the Galochios' abilities. It reminded him of the way his mother had always talked to him about his gift. Seeing into the future was a blessing, she would say-- a way to help people; to protect them by forewarning them of whatever dangers or misfortunes were on the horizon.
And speaking of his mother, Zalto's prediction of his immediate future (which, Bruno noted, had seemed to come to him in a stunningly effortless fashion) was something Bruno had already felt was bound to happen sooner or later. He hadn't ever needed to have a vision of his own to know that the Madrigal matriarch didn't yet fully trust any of the outsiders that now consistently came and went through their valley, and there was little doubt in his mind that she was probably the one feeling the most unsettled, perhaps even threatened, by the presence of a second magical family in the Encanto.
The Galochios, Bruno was now convinced, might've indeed been actual psychics. Of course, the definitive proof of that would only come if the so-called 'confrontation' Zalto described actually wound up occurring later tonight, but as of right now, everything had seemed far, far too accurate to be the result of sheer coincidences or not even a full day's worth of prior planning.
The rhythmic tapping of his fingers against his thigh grew more intense, mimicking the beat of his heart as a fresh bout of nervous energy surged up inside him. He didn't have much more time to ponder the potential implications of all that had been said before the old man was back to asking questions.
"Um, y-yeah..." he admitted with a small nod, shifting his position on the stool slightly. "...Yeah, we-- we've been here since-- since the place was founded. ...I was a baby when we came here, so its been a while, heh..."
Guillelmina stood obediently at the entrance to the tent, hands clasped at her waist as she watched her nonno work. She would not be peering into this man's future today, no - but she was tasked with silently observing, so that she might learn.
"Oh, the right psychic can see a man's life laid out before him," Zalto tells him, his voice a low rasp there in the dimmed light of the tent. His hands, withered and scarred, were still nimble as he shuffled a deck of tarot cards, and laid the spread out before Bruno - six cards in the shape of a cross, all face down. "All the choices he will make, all the consequences he will face. All the rewards he will reap... Si, signore. A true psychic can see it all. But to do that, mio amico, one must first know the man."
He flipped the cards over, one by one.
The Magician. The Hermit. Ten of Wands. Six of Swords. Ten of Pentacles. The Wheel of Fortune.
"Tell me, signore. Are you familiar with the tools of an old fortune-teller?" He asked, hands passing over the revealed cards.
It seemed to Bruno that the answer didn't really matter. He was a stage magician, showing off his smoke and mirrors.
"Ah... a family man, good. That's good." He tapped the ten of pentacles. "But reclusive. A man of many talents - and many responsibilities. Burdens, I fear. Oh, yes. You carry the burden of leadership. A noble but tiring occupation. Tell me, signore, what is it that you do?" He asked, a gleam of something mischievous in his eyes.
From the entrance to the tent, Guillelmina watched her great-grandfathers fortune telling, and the uneasy look on their patrons face. She couldn't help but notice the way he fidgeted in his seat, the way he wrung his hands together in his lap thinking no one would notice.
Her gaze shifted to the elder Galochio, the way he read the man's cards like a dance.
What is it, nonno? She asked.
Silenzio, stellina.
Tarot cards. Bruno had indeed heard of these before, but had never actually seen them in person until today. Apparently, they were a method of divination that was rather common in the outside world. The general public had always seemed to be rather skeptical of their actual use in connecting to otherworldly forces, and he might've had reason to be so as well, except...
...Except that all of the cards, and every single one of the details that Zalto was interpreting about his life from them, were undeniably, almost painfully accurate.
As much as he wanted to be able to chalk it up to pure coincidence, he couldn't fathom the sheer amount of luck that would be required for the old man to manage to pull all of the right cards on the very first try. There was also the possibility that he had already learned a lot about Bruno from pure hearsay around town. ...But the Galochios had only just arrived to the Encanto yesterday evening, so unless the townsfolk were gossiping about him much more than usual, that too seemed highly unlikely.
He felt a chill run down his spine, but tried not to squirm too much more, limiting himself to drumming his fingers against his leg as a means of partially satisfying the urge to knock, knock, knock, knock on wood that was growing by the second.
"...M-Me? Oh..." Bruno's voice came out as practically a squeak in response to the question, but he quickly took a breath to call upon his acting skills once more and managed to lower it into a more natural tone when he spoke again. "...Well, uh, I-I do a lot, actually. Me and my family, w-we help out a lot with all kinds of things around town, y'know? But sometimes... I guess sometimes it does get to be a little much, heh..."
He rubbed the back of his neck, hoping that the not-entirely-untruthful answer he had provided would be satisfactory.
The Galochios did not see it that way. To them, future-sight was a gift that their family had been granted for generations, a integral part of who they were. Galochios were fortune-tellers, psychics a hundred years deep, the great de-mystifiers of the future and all that it held. They used their gifts not with apprehension, but with great zeal and no small amount of showmanship.
Everyone's been talking about it, he says, and Mina never lets the way her stomach flipped at those words make it to her face.
Gossip meant one of two things, in her experience: it meant free publicity - and with the way the townsfolk had been wandering into their encampment, she was inclined to think that the word-of-mouth advertising was doing fairly well. But gossip also inevitably meant rumors; nasty little ideas that passed from person to person. What were psychics, really? Where did their powers come from? What unnatural forces did this strange family strike a deal with to be able to divine the future the way they do?
She had seen more than one little town go from amicable to angry because of rumors - because of gossip, because everyone talked. But she said none of this, and merely beckoned the newcomer into the circle of colorful silk tents, each one woven with bold colors and patterns from old Grulovian looms.
"Papa! Nonno! C'è un uomo qui per vederci. He wants to have his fortune told--"
As Mina called out to her family, and older man pushed through the flap of the tent. He was older than Alma, with an old cane that bore his weight.
"Ah, benvenuto signore. Come, come, step inside," he beckoned, his voice warm, the bravado of his voice clear even in his greeting.
Mina held the tent flap open as her great grandfather moved back into the fortune-telling tent. Bruno could see that the old man walked with a pronounced limp, likely a result of the fact that he was missing his left leg from the knee down, a crude wooden prosthetic in its place.
Bruno Madrigal found himself seated at a small table in the middle of the tent. A crystal ball was perched in the center of the table, its smooth face deep and flawless as it reflected the world in a distorted fish-eye fashion. The whole place felt... premeditated. Like the psychics of a traveling circus, set up to trick as many people as possible into believing in the supernatural. Because that's what they were, after all: circus performers.
Elaborate posters lurked in the shadows, from their old days at the Grulovian National Circus: The Great Galochios! Live! they read. If Bruno were to squint, he might make out a younger Zalto on those posters, amid his family. A wife and three daughters who were nowhere to be found.
"Ah, signore, welcome to our humble camp," Zalto said as Bruno took a seat on the rickety stool across from him. "You come seeking to learn much, no?"
Bruno swallowed hard and willed himself to keep a steady expression on his face as he was summoned forward by the older man who, despite his advanced age and limping gait, seemed to be a much more intimidating of a figure than his... granddaughter? Great-granddaughter? Bruno wasn't sure of the exact relations between this family just yet, but he supposed he might gain some clarity on that in due time.
There was a lot to see inside the tent he was led into, and Bruno stared at it all in silent wonder as he entered. From the eye-catching, ornate fabrics that made up the structure, to the strange posters hung up in the corners, to the large crystal ball that served as the centerpiece of the table he was sat at, everything about this setup for seeing the future seemed rather... showy.
Truth be told, it was beginning to make him have some doubts about the legitimacy of the Galochios' talents, but even so, he was well-aware that nothing could be proven true or false until one saw it with their own eyes. Having a magical ability and a taste for showmanship weren't mutually exclusive traits, after all. Heck, even he couldn't deny enjoying adding a bit of dramatic flair to his vision process every now and again.
"...Ah-- sí. ...Y-Yes." Bruno folded his hands neatly in his lap once he had taken his seat, resisting the urge to knock on the wooden surface of the table.
"...How much can you tell me? ...A-about the future, I mean..." he asked softly, still aiming to sound as naive as possible, though the question also came from a place of genuine curiosity as to the scope of what the family was claiming could be done. "How far can you... look?"
Melody sat in anticipation of Bruno’s reading, a similar anticipation she felt milliseconds before whenever she jumped and took flight. But he stopped then, which halted her excitement and sat it back down. She tilted her head. Actors—another word she didn’t quite understand. Were they people? Was it things?
Bruno made a short series of peculiar sounds, and Melody quickly got her answer.
Rats, she realized with a gasp. Actors were rats! She had been so captivated by Bruno and his work that she had put out of her mind the underlying presence of their scent around, assumed they would keep to themselves rather than risk coming into contact with a human. But they came out of hiding when Bruno had seemed to call for them; he spoke to them like they were people and held two who willingly climbed aboard his hands. Both of them, all of them, were so casual with each other—how?!
It was only when Bruno lowered the rats close to her that she recognized how tense she had become—her wings were the first to move, shuffling anxiously—and her smile had long since gone and left her face blank. Melody quickly cleaned herself all over and tried to be cordial, bowing her head at Armando and Maria and not scurrying away.
“Oh! My name is Melody.” She nodded again, this time up at Bruno. And, shyly and politely, to the rats, she said, “Good day, Armando. Good day, Maria.”
Melody focused her gaze upward. It relaxed her in turn that Bruno didn’t look so nervous anymore. “A… play? You play—together? Is it like a game?”
Bruno didn't miss Melody's sudden change in demeanor when he brought the rats over to her. Her excitement seemed to have melted away, as any sort of interest or enthusiasm in his hobbies typically did when strangers first discovered his affinity with the rats.
However, the fly didn't look to be repulsed or weirded-out by his furry companions. In fact, she seemed to have become more... nervous? Fearful? Maybe it was because the rodents were quite a bit bigger than her... but then again, he was also quite a bit bigger than her, and she had approached him with hardly any sort of the hesitation that she was displaying now.
"A game? I guess you could say that..." he answered softly, now a bit more cautious of somehow managing to make Melody any more uncomfortable. "We just... go through the script, and they play the parts-- the characters, I mean..."
There was a heartbeat or two of silence before Bruno felt the need to address the unspoken tension that had just entered the room. "...By the way, um, are you okay? You... you look kinda..." he trailed off, not knowing exactly how to word the way Melody appeared.
"...Uh, y'know, they--" he gestured to the rats. "...T-they don't really eat anything but what I give them, you know?" he reassured with a short, somewhat nervous chuckle, hoping it would ease her worries-- if their potential to eat her was what indeed what she was concerned about. "Just... cheese and bread and grapes and stuff..."
