soldier

"Do you have any business being here?" Moises' words were curt, crude, but he had no shame in it. "I suggest you get lost before you get lost."

[mxisesguerrero-blog]

Not Your Girl ••• Moises & Lisette

[luciavioleta]

Sending a glance of disdain towards his arms, now languidly placed on her shoulders instead of the chair, she shrugged them off and scooted away. The look of disdain remained on her face when he said her name—God, she hated how he said her name, the way it was drunkenly slurred, how the compliment following it didn’t feel like a compliment at all. It was a cheap remark, a cliche, a goddamn pick-up line right out of the books.

“Oh, I do? Fucking fantastic,” she drawled, rolling her eyes for the umpteenth time that night. Her countenance flitted between disgust and deadpan, but being utterly not amused was a constant. This was why she didn’t bother with drunk people most of the time, especially if those drunks were like Moises Guerrero. He was always arrogant with a smug smirk on his lips, but it seemed as though this arrogance was only intensified by alcohol.

When he continued speaking, Lisette actually managed not to tune out. Was he talking about her? Fuck, he was. Finally, he’d recalled their first meeting years ago, but apparently, he didn’t recall enough to put the pieces completely together. (To be fair, he was intoxicated.) He kept talking, and surprisingly, she kept listening, each word more grating to her ears than the next. Maybe because you’re both Asian. Jesus Christ, was this man serious? No, no, he didn’t seem to be serious about anything—at least, not tonight. He was all blithe comments and flirtatious smirks; he was the life of the party.

And Lisette wanted nothing to do with him.

“That’s because I am her,” she cut in over his loud laughter. She still didn’t have many friends, that much was true. “Look at that, you got something right for once. Almost. And you know who I remember? This arrogant upstart who was such an asshole, and it seems like that hasn’t changed.”

Maybe it was just for her own satisfaction, maybe she had nothing better to do, or maybe it was just an impulse, but she took the beer glass from his hands and stood up, dumping the contents onto his head. She managed keep a straight face the entire time, though she wanted to laugh, too. Just like him. Hopefully getting doused with a glass of cold beer would give him the wake-up call he needed: to get out of her face. 

[mxisesguerrero-blog]

Maybe, if Moises had been given enough time to react, he would have said something. Maybe, if Moises had been given enough time to curse and call for Lisette, he would have done so. Not only would have he reacted to the way the woman confirmed her identity, but also to the way she poured a drink over him. He would have cursed and groaned and shouted, pulled this woman by the wrist and squeeze it so tight it hurt, all the while standing up and establishing his dominance over the woman with his height. Something! He would have done something! Moises Guerrero would not look like the least of the bunch, the one whose drink got poured on him because a wound up girl didn’t know how to take fucking compliments! He would not be that man -- and he was not. What he was was the kind of man who asserted his power, his strength; he refused to lose, to be the first one falling.

But he hadn’t had time. No time to react. No time to say anything.

Before Moises could manage to utter out a word of disapproval -- anything to embarrass this woman the way she embarrassed him -- Peter stood from where he sat in the center of their celebration, raising a drink in his hand and smiling that good-natured smile that he did as he called for everyone’s attention. Despite the small get-together, he had his eyes trained on Moises, and the look in it said exactly that he was saving him from the embarrassment of having had a drink poured over him with whatever announcement he was going to make. This -- if anything -- was the only thing that cooled Moises down, even if only a little. This -- if anything -- was the only thing that made Moises smile his shy, beaten smile, and let go of what had happened to him and the woman standing before him.

The effect Peter had on him would not have lasted too long, though. Moises’ anger was a force wild and unnerving, not to be stopped by a few smiles given to him, not even if said smiles were given to him by his best friend. The anger would have won over the effect Peter had, and Moises would have once again turned to Lisette to unleash the negative emotions she inflicted within him. ( And oh, trust that there was plenty. Moises angry whilst sober was a force of nature, but try him drunk and inebriated. ) The effect Peter had was supposed to end, supposed to stop, supposed to die down. But then, the man continued speaking.

“I just want to announce,” Peter began, his eyes training away from Moises to look at the rest of the people whose eyes were on him, “that I am. . .” The smile on his lips was was wide, undeniable. It was not a drunken smile either, nor was it the ones that Moises used to know. This smile was different, with meaning deeper than ordinary joy. Moises saw it, even in his intoxication. As his best friend continued his sentence though, it made more sense. His smile was something deeper, something greater. There was something deeper to this celebration than just drinking. “I just want to announce that I am getting married!” Peter exclaimed, his voice loud enough for the whole of the bar to hear. “I’m getting married to this wonderful woman, right here.” And with that, Peter held onto his fiancee Mia’s hand, and brought her to stand as well.

Moises Guerrero was an angry, lonely man. He was filled with bottled up emotions enlarged whenever he was intoxicated, with bottled up emotions he could not deal with when he was sober. But he was not heartless, no. So, despite everything -- the cold of the beer on his head, the anger that stirred up within him because of Lisette, half the shame that he felt ( and half only because no one had been looking at him to see it ) -- he clapped for Peter and Mia, smiled like the others smiled, and cheered along with the crowd and the whole of the bar. How could he not? This was his best friend! And he was getting married! Moises felt the joy swell within his chest; this was not joy that was his own, like his emotions usually were, but the joy of another person.

His anger was still there, especially more so because this woman Lisette still stood an arm’s length away from him, but he could not deal with it now. His heart ached with joy for his friend, and such a joy drowned out the anger. Moises Guerrero was not completely heartless. Moises Guerrero was not completely selfish.

Sometimes.

[ceadless]

Caffee Ristretto ••• Luciana & Moises

[ceadless]

The small lull that washed over the table following her cheerful greeting and suggestion was a comfortable, almost kindhearted one and allowed the brunette to share in with the warm moment the two had during their short exchange. She found herself joining in with a soft bout of laughter as she watched the smaller of the pair crinkle her nose, obviously in protest about the drink she’d offered to them as the special. She couldn’t say that she really blamed the young female for doing so, often wishing herself that she could of suggested something sweeter or more appealing as opposed to whatever they scribbled on the board that morning.

“Uno slice of strawberry and cream torta,” Luciana repeated after the child had described what she wanted, another giggle escaping her as she quickly scribbled down the first half of the order in her notepad. She listened as the tinier of the two attempted to pronounce something – only to be helpfully nudged by the other occupant – before shaking her head and laughing. It warmed her heart to hear the petite girl so determined to try and say what she wanted despite not knowing. The Italian often struggled with such things many times herself since her arrival in this country and still continued to do so even after being here. 

“No cappuccino, a strawberry shake with molti whipped cream.”

Most of the children that came into the small establishment loved when there was tons of whipped cream on their desserts and Luciana figured this adorable one to be the same. She made a mental note to put a large dollop on the pie as she moved towards the male across the table, slender fingers reaching out to take the menus once he offered them to her.

“Apple pie and uno glass of acqua calda,” she messily wrote down on the page as she adjusted the menus in her arm. “And your num–”

Number. Number. Number. Not recognizing the last item as something they had on the menu, the water-wielder lifted her head up to catch the male winking in her direction. 

“– ber. Num.. ber. Number. Oh, number! Nessun problema,” she replied to him with an enthusiastic nod, shifting the menus so she could flip to the next page of her notepad. “Numero di cellulare, no?” 

Despite the momentary confusion, Luciana held onto her sunny disposition and smiled as warmly as she could at him. She’d learned that when someone asked for your cell phone or house number, that usually meant that they wanted to get to know you. When someone wanted to get to know you, they wanted to be friends – sometimes they even became best friends. The idea excited the Italian girl and she muttered something in her native tongue as her smile broadened. Making sure that her writing was as neat as possible, the waitress jotted down the number of her cell phone near the edge of the paper and quickly tore it off, proudly extending the rigid edges towards Moises. 

“We will have your treats coming right up~” she said as she tucked away the laminated menus under her arm and moved back towards the counter. 

Luciana returned shortly after she had hung up the order for the baristas, another huge grin playing at her lips as she approached the table this time with a coloring book and some crayons. She gently set the items down before stooping down so that she was at eye level with Sophia and gestured towards the wall on the other side of the restaurant where an abundance of vibrant pictures hung in all their messy glory. 

“Do you like to draw, bellezza?” she asked before she nodded back towards the wall of sloppily colored cartoon characters. “If yours is.. how you say.. amazing.. we will hang it up for you!”

[mxisesguerrero-blog]

There were a few simple joys in life: making Sophia smile, taking a sip of good wine, getting a pretty girl’s number, having sex with said pretty girl in the back seat of his car. To Moises Guerrero, pleasure was never out of reach. It was all about choosing when and where pleasure was wanted, and then asserting oneself so as to attain that pleasure. Moises Guerrero never did  have a hard time with these. Sure, there were difficult girls. There were girls who played hard to get, and there were nights cold and lonely. But that never stopped anything! It surely never stopped him! What were a few nights of loneliness to many more of pleasure? What were a few down moments to so many more of highs? Moises Guerrero had never stopped for anything; this had often been seen as cool or great back in the day.

Back in the day. When Moises was young. When he was in high school. When he was in university. When he was carefree, foolish. ( Wasn’t he still? ) When he had permission to be acting this certain way because he was young and he didn’t know what he was doing. ( At least that was what they said. ) When he had time to grow up. When he was growing up. When he had reason to be this way, and people accepted it. Back in the day. Now no longer. Moises Guerrero was no longer young, no longer in high school or university. He had every reason to be a certain way, a way different from this, and yet, he did not choose it. Moises Guerrero was no longer growing up -- he was grown up, and still, it very much didn’t seem like it. Back in the day. Back in the day.

Moises Guerrero never used to question any such thing. Not his actions, not his remarks, not his words. There had been a way of living for him, and it was what it was. It hadn’t ever mattered to him what people thought! If he was supposed to be a certain way, to act a certain way, to think a certain way! These things did not use to matter! However, even now, as the woman handed him her number, Moises thought of Peter and his perfect life, of Peter and his perfect grown-up little ending, and wondered. Was this all? Was this all for him? Picking up girls, bringing them home, tearing off their clothes, only so he could ask them to leave in the morning? Was he never going to get out of this rut, of this mess? Was he never going to find another way to live? Had he been less apt to control his features, all these would surely show on his features. However, as it was, he flashed a smile at the woman, looked at the number, and winked at her again before he kept it in his pocket.

When she left, the smilie died down, if only because no one else was there to see it but Sophia, and she didn’t understand. Maybe that was the beauty of being a child: that one had not to worry of where their lives were going, only that they had to live it; that one had not to worry of what to do and what not to do as an adult, simply because that was not yet a question for them. Maybe this was true, seen in Sophia now who extended her tiny hands over the table so as to reach for Moises’. He, of course, allowed her to hold his hands, and at once, the smile returned on his features. She began about some animals she wanted to see in the zoo, about something they were learning at school.

It wasn’t very long before the waitress came back with their orders. Moises flashed her that ever charming smile of his, and broke his hands free from Sophia’s as the waitress put their orders down on the table. A soft smile came upon his features when the waitress stooped to Sophia’s eye level and pointed to a mural of drawings, mostly because of the animate and wild excitement that played on the little girl’s features as she looked to the wall that the woman pointed to.

The look on Sophia’s features remained when she looked back to the waitress. “I love to draw!” Her exclamation was as wild as her excitement. “Mine will be amazing! I promise! Pinky promise!” As if to show that she did, indeed, pinky promise, Sophia held out her pinky finger towards the woman.

At all this, Moises only managed a chuckle. He had not half of the excitement Sophia had, but he did have a smile. “I take it she wants to draw,” he said to the waitress though he looked at the little girl he was taking care of. “And it will”--his eyes were drawn to the waitress, deep and brooding--”be amazing.”

[mxisesguerrero-blog]

Born Under the Temptation ••• Moises & Val

[vallistics-blog]

A person could only take so many episodes of reality television. They could only take so many sittings through America’s Got Talent; only so many episodes in which the pretty female judge with the obnoxious accent said “this was not the act for her” and only so many hours of watching people either be sent through to a second round, or sent home in tears. so many comments of “That was intriguing!” and “That was brilliant!” And, of course, there was only so long a man could stand listening to a restless dog whine about the lack of energy in the house. As if it was Valentine Keats’ problem! Really, it definitely was not his issue to deal with.

It wasn’t. 

His problem was the way his thoughts overlooked all these aspects of the show, the show he normally loved watching. The way he avoided throwing a pillow at his screen every time one of the two accented judges would complain and say a perfectly decent act was not something she wished to see again. His heart wasn’t into the program, as it usually was - No, this time his heart was locked up, giving way to his brain. It was a funny exchange, this trade of consciousness. For a man who always did what his passion led him to do, Valentine Keats often found himself surrendering to the exact opposite. 

Which was how he, somehow, wound up leaning against the counter of a bar he had never previously been to, talking to a bartender he had never even seen before, drinking the drinks he so often poured himself in his own home. It wasn’t as though something had happened to the bar in his penthouse - No, that was perfectly undamaged, and fully stocked. What was wrong with the setting was that it was too empty to properly sulk in his own self-critiquing. One needed to be sure that they were surrounded by people to remind themselves that they are not alone in this big city of Boston - well, at least that’s what Valentine needed the people for. 

“Thank you,” he nodded, taking a glass of Grey Goose being handed to him by the stoic bartender. This man handling Val’s drinks was less amiable than he was accustomed to, and his gaze wandered to the end of the bar where a second tender stood. That one looked much happier. Sighing, Valentine dismissed the observation and finally let his gaze drift across the room as he turned to lean against the bar’s counter. 

What a boring crowd. 

It seemed the New Yorker hadn’t been the only one to drag his sorrows to a drinking establishment, and he almost laughed at the fact that so many in the room with him looked as though they had seen better days. But he didn’t. He respected their struggles as he respected his own, and he kept his mouth shut. To keep from letting a word slip, he refocused on his drink and turned to once more face the bar. 

He almost made it, too. He almost turned all the way, to look at his unfriendly bartender. That wouldn’t have been a very nice view, he thought, but all faces were pretty faces to a man who was already verging the line between sober and completely wrecked. One wouldn’t assume this of Valentine Keats, if they saw him cut his turn short once his eyes landed on a man sitting to his right. One would not have guessed that Valentine Keats was already bordering the line between rational decisions and actions from a whim. Not with the way he perked up so steadily at the sight of a face even more appealing than the worker’s (well, perhaps not face - more like profile), his shoulders straightened and head lifted to display more confidence than should have ever been possible. A confidence that traced the edge of pure arrogance. 

“You look like the point in the movie where the guy realizes that everything before that exact moment has been wrong,” he mused, the ghost of a smirk painting his expression as he moved closer to the man that looked as though the weight of the world could have been treating him a bit more delicately. 

And Valentine Keats really was drunk at this point, it was clear as day. You see…he so rarely made a point of aiming that specific smirk at another man. 

[mxisesguerrero-blog]

By the time that the man’s presence had been made known, Moises Guerrero had downed three more shots of alcohol. By the time that the man made his presence known, the questions that roamed in Moises Guerrero’s head had multiplied by a tenfold. And thus, by then, Moises’ goals had changed. Instead of drinking in order to help himself think -- as he did in the start --, he drank so as to drown out his own thoughts. Maybe it was so that he could drown in alcohol instead, as opposed to drowning in the ways that his mind thought this particular evening. It was a quick shift, maybe -- but, if one considered it, Moises had been drinking a long time now. It wasn’t exactly as though he was thinking straight. It wasn’t exactly as though he had the proper reasons in his mind at the moment.

It could be argued that Moises Guerrero never had the proper reasons in mind, and that he never thought straight, but that was a different topic for a different day.

For now, the topic at hand should be thus: why tonight was so special so as to send a particular Moises Guerrero who never thought about anything other than himself, to think about things other than and greater than his own current status. Was it the fact that it’d been a week since Peter and Mia announced their engagement? Was it the fact that he was supposed to be his best friend’s best man for the wedding, and only today had they had their first meeting since the celebration at the bar? Or was it that this had been bothering him for quite some time now, and only now did it crash upon him like this? Or was it that there had simply been nothing to do, no pretty girls to pick up, and nothing to be said that so turned him this way?

All these reasons now escaped him, though. To the particular drunk Moises Guerrero who sat by the bar mourning his every past action and dreading his future ones, all these reasons were for naught. They didn’t matter. The fact was that he was here, thinking. The fact was that he was here, and not elsewhere. Did it matter the reason behind this fact? No. The truth was the truth, and its reasons did not change its truth. So, he drank, he kept to himself, and did not expect anyone else to near him. His questions roamed, his mind caved in on himself, but the alcohol did what it did best: which was to blur everything within his head so that it all came out like some petty thing. As though he wasn’t having a midlife crisis right there and then.

That was when the man talked, burst Moises’ solitary bubble, and caused him to turn his head so as to face him.

Let it be known: Moises Guerrero was wasted. Let it be known: had this been any other time at all, he would have suppressed the way he thought that this man’s smile was pretty. But this was not any other time at all, and so Moises did not suppress his thoughts. The man’s smirk made him give one of his own, and though he thought it charming, it was probably way too drunken to be anything close to such. But he was drunk! And so, to him, reality was warped; his smile was charming. As charming as this man who had spoken to him. A small, drunken chuckle left Moises, and he shook his head before returning to his drink.

“I am, unfortunately, that guy, but don’t be scared -- I’m not about to spew my life’s work to you. I’m not that guy,” he slurred, his words light despite how heavy he felt. Another chuckle escaped him as he turned, his whole body this time, to face the man that was sitting beside him. For a small, drunken moment, Moises allowed his gaze to trail up and down the man’s body, to see who he was and what he was made of. Not that it mattered. Not to Moises Guerrero. ( It did matter, but he would come to terms with this within himself later on. ) “Do I look good at least, looking like that? Doubt anyone could make it look good, ‘xcept me.”

Now, let it be known: Moises Guerrero never smiled like this to another man. Let it be known: he never inched his body this way towards another man, towards another male like himself. But, at the moment, he was already drunk, and life was already hell, and things were already downhill -- why the fuck not take the risk? Why the fuck not take the fucking risk of being seen with a man as handsome and as charming as this one beside him? Moises Guerrero did not care now. At least, not at the moment, and not in the moments to come.

[dailymorley]

[mxisesguerrero-blog]

Born Under the Temptation ••• Moises & Val

Despite the dedication that the Aeviternity required of him, life had been simply a game. Sleeping around, breaking hearts, testing waters -- all these had simply been a part of it. They were enjoyment to the ride, the waves that kept the surfboard afloat. If he could handle going to work though he’d woken up in a bed that was not his own, then he was fine. If he could handle breaking another girl’s heart and living with it, then he was okay. There’d never been questions, disagreements. This was life! And it was the way it was! Moises Guerrero was to enjoy his life, even when others said that this was no way to live, even when others were getting their acts together and he was getting left behind. As far as he was concerned, he was okay. He had the Aeviternity. He had his causes, his reasons to fight. He was fine.

At thirty years, Moises’ life had come to the unknown routine of going to work, going to the bar, and going back home. At thirty years, his life had become some sort of a sim game in play. There was the waking up in the morning, the eating breakfast, the going to work. There was the doing what needed to be done, the doing what must be accomplished. Moises Guerrero’s life had never strayed from this -- not when he was younger, and not now. Since he was but a mere fifteen year old, he’d known of his purpose with the Aeviternity! He’d known of what he must do, of his cause, of his actions to follow! He’d known -- oh, he’d known -- and he never strayed from the path set before him, if only because it was the only one he knew, the only one he cared about. This was what he was made for. This was what he was called to do.

This was what he knew how to do, and there’d never been questions about it. At least not until his best friend Peter announced his engagement to a girl he claimed was the love of his life.

If anyone asked Moises, the answer would be a stern no. If anyone brought any of the questions that ran through his mind, the answer would simply be that he did not think of such things, that he did not entertain such thoughts. If anyone at all -- and anyone meant including Peter Park, best friend and confidant -- asked what he was going to do with his life, Moises would answer the one answer he knew to say: the same thing he’d been doing. He would dedicate himself to the cause of the Aeviternity, sleep around because it so pleasured him, drink until the sun came up, and continue doing what he’d been doing all this time. As far as anyone was concerned, there was no question in him.

At least that was the case to anyone but him.

The questions did roam his head now. The questions of life and of the future and of whether this was all there was to it came upon him. It didn’t come upon him like a huge wave, though; it came in tiny bouts, in increasing order, bigger and bigger each time. Proof of this was the fact that now faced Moises: he was sitting alone by the counter of his usual bar instead of aiming to pick up girls like he usually did. Proof of this was the fact that now faced him: that he was sitting there, questioning himself and all that he’d ever done, and all that he’d ever continue to do, instead of doing all of these things.

Let it be known: Moises never thought of such things. He did not allow himself to go so far. But he thought now. He let himself go now. He let himself do what he never thought he’d do. ( And some would think it was about time, at the age of thirty. Others would think he was long past due. ) His clouded mind could not handle all of it, yet still, he thought. And, still, he ordered another shot of alcohol to help him think.

[ceadless]

Caffee Ristretto ••• Luciana & Moises

There were still many things about this strange and wonderful place that had not yet been discovered. Even though she’d been here for a little over a year now, the sprawling metropolis that was Boston always had something unique that piqued her interest and made her want to throw caution to the wind to adventure into the confines of the concrete jungle. 

She yearned for the rush of wind through her hair as she sprinted down the boardwalk towards the ports leading to the mouth of the Back Bay, the feel of the Charles River current under her feet and the upbeat sound of music from all over the world that played on busy street corners during the summer months. She longed to explore the many museums and look into the reflection pool near the Prudential Tower – maybe she’d even take a gander at the older buildings near the Haymarket Square area if she had the time.

They were all such interesting choices that she wasn’t sure where to start. 

She’d seen some of the Back Bay area when she’d first arrived here with Nonna, but it’d been so long since then it seemed. The city was so much larger then the tiny town she’d been raised in back in Italy, so there was so much –

“ – customer at table six!”

Luciana suddenly blinked as she was torn away from her daydream, her bright eyes moving away from the small window she’d been staring out. She quickly surveyed her surroundings to see that she was not in the middle of the brownstones like she’d imagined, but was instead passing time in the break room of the small Italian coffee shop where she worked during the day.

The brunette pushed herself off of the counter she’d been sitting on and brushed her apron off before dashing towards the dinning room where a lone customer sat at table nearing the large window panes. 

“Benvenuto! Posso prendere il tuo ordine?” she said happily, albeit politely, as she neared the patron with her note pad in one hand and a menu she’d grabbed in the other. She offered them a bright smile before setting down the laminated page, taking a step back and patiently waiting for them to choose something. “May we suggest the new soy caffè latte? It has.. how you say.. an interesting taste.”

[mxisesguerrero-blog]

Moises was a bodyguard, with duties and obligations of one. He was a bodyguard, sometimes with the need to dress in all black as was required of him, and sometimes with the need to dress in street clothes so as to ward off attention. He was a bodyguard, with the job of protecting and ensuring the safety of his clients Mr. Edward Callen and his daughter Sophia. He was a bodyguard through and through -- but sometimes, his job took its twists and turns, all of which he would deny to himself and to everyone else, but ones that happened anyway. He was a bodyguard, not a babysitter or a friend -- but sometimes, it looked the latter and not the former, no matter how much he denied it by straightening his back and his clothing.

Being with Sophia Callen deviated from all this. From all Moises Guerrero knew. From all he held for himself. From all he expected himself to be. Being with the five year old made him a different man, a better man, a nicer man. He was not Moises Guerrero with her, but, rather, Moises Guerrero. A better version of himself, one that he and others liked more. Let it be known that he did not love. Let it be known that he cared for no one but himself. Let it be known that he cared for no one and nothing but his own pride. Let this be known, just like he knew it, just like he embodied it. And yet, with Sophia, he did all these things.

He cared. He became family. He became somebody the little girl looked to, somebody she loved.

If anyone asked, he’d deny all claims. If anyone asked, he’d deny and say that he was simply doing his job. But anyone who looked at him now, sitting across the table from Sophia Callen, waiting for her to choose from the wide array of choices that the menu had, would say different. Anyone who could see the way he smiled, the way he waited for her, the way he laughed at all she said, would know different. He was supposed to be a bodyguard, not a babysitter or a friend! He was supposed to be a bodyguard, only there to protect. He was supposed to be a bodyguard, but somewhere along the line -- in between holding Sophia’s hand as they crossed the road, taking care of her and taking her to dance practice, making sure that she was safe to and fro home -- he became something more.

They hadn’t yet decided on what to order when a waitress came over to their table. Her presence was a startling one -- not simply because she had appeared when Moises was so solely focused on Sophia, but also because she held beauty and innocence so bright on her features. A second’s pause took Moises to recover from looking at her, before he smiled back at Sophia who shook her head and scrunched her nose at the woman’s suggestion. A small chuckle escaped Moises as he took in such a sight, and he, too, shook his head and scrunched his nose like Sophia did. They both laughed before they turned back to the waitress.

“I like a-- I like a strawberry and cream pie!” The little girl’s exclamation was a joyous one, making the smile on Moises’ lips grow wider. “And some iced tea-- Wait! No! Some cappu-- cappu--”

“Cappuccino?” Moises helped. “That’s coffee, Sophs. Don’t want that!”

The little girl burst out smiling. “No! Don’t want that. Please erase, Miss! Please erase! I want some-- Some strawberry shake! That’s all for me!”

The llttle girl handed over her menu to Moises who took it and closed it before he handed it over to the waitress and said, “Just an apple pie for me and a glass of warm water.” In a quieter voice, though not by much, he added, “Oh, and your number.”

Then, he winked.

[mellaxrtista-blog]

Canvas ••• Mel & Moises

[mellaxrtista-blog]

The man beside her had been quiet enough to the point that Melanie had forgotten the vague acknowledgement of him in the first place. It allowed her to shift in her seat as she worked, completely ignoring the stranger smoking next to her. Living in Boston and spending most of her time outside, on benches or outdoor coffee shop tables, had given her enough experience to avoid acknowledging any fumes that blew her way. He was no bother to her - and if he had chosen to speak to her the moment he sat down, he still wouldn’t have been. 

Melanie was someone who accepted everything, questioned only a few those things, and denied absolutely no one. In her day to day interactions, she found inspiration. The man crossing the street with four leashed dogs could have been the start of an entirely new series; the woman attempting to calm her various children as they wove through pedestrians on speedy feet could have been the neighbor of her main character’s family. This stranger could be something, as well. 

His question broke Mel from her daze, and her pen tip came to a halt mid-sentence as her eyes lingered on the page for a moment, as though trying to decipher the exact scenario she was caught in. 

She glanced to her side, a smile immediately taking the distracted expression on her face as she gave a soft laugh.  The sentence her ink had been so eager to form was put aside as she set lightly tapped the pen against the journal. “You’re funny,” she said, genuinely finding amusement in the inquiry. “It’s - uhm… Yeah. Yeah, I do. Most of the time I can’t really help it. I wasn’t bothering you, was I?”

[mxisesguerrero-blog]

The last time Moises found himself caring for someone else with a genuine heart was lost to him. Maybe such was just not a part of his nature; maybe such was just not a part of who he was and what he could be. And maybe, it did not matter. Maybe it didn’t tell of his character if he hadn’t cared for someone in a genuine manner for a long time; maybe it said nothing of who he was if the only person he’d ever looked out for was himself. There was his family, yes, and then, there was his job. There were these things that he was supposed to care about, things he was supposed to look to and love, but. . .

But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. There was the cause that he’d given himself to, and the people that had to be on his side or against it. Caring for people in the midst of all this was treacherous, especially when said people might as well be the enemy. He had his family, and he had his job, and that was that. That was that. There was no need for anything more, anything less. It shouldn’t have mattered to him, then, that he didn’t care about this woman or what she did. Or that he didn’t care about anyone at all. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter.

So, now, Moises sat next to a woman he did not care about, thinking about things that did not matter, and smiling that usual flirtatious smile that he smiled whenever he was around women. This was what his life had come to, and maybe -- just maybe -- he was okay with it. Maybe, just maybe, he was okay with not caring, with not knowing, with not doing anything other than smiling at women in order to get laid. Maybe. Just maybe. He smiled at the woman beside him and pushed away such thoughts -- except for the last, particular one about him getting laid.

That was a nice thought. And he sure deserved it, what with it being his day off and all.

The woman’s words only made his smile grow. It had, as always, that arrogant hint to it. But, today was a nice day: the sun was out, the birds were singing, and Moises’ smile was not so arrogant that it pushed the woman away. Her softness had something to do with it, whether or not he chose to admit this. “What can I say? I like making pretty women happy,” he replied with a small shrug, as though it meant nothing. ( Did it, though? Did the lie mean nothing? ) “And no, you weren’t bothering me at all. You have a nice tone to your voice.”

Moises took a drag from his cigarette, and blew the air away from the woman. “Ah, so it is just one of your many talents. In addition to the singing voice. I’m glad I get to enjoy hearing it. Even if just for a while. Men like me don’t get too many opportunities to sit by pretty women with voices so sweet, you know?”

[mellaxrtista-blog]

Canvas ••• Mel & Moises

“The days are a little bit brighter, life proves you’re more than a fighter. Tonight won’t be all that long…” It was almost as if the surrounding area was hushed just to hear Melanie’s soft voice, carried in the air as she quietly whispered the song’s words under her breath. The pen in her hand smoothly ran its course along the paper of her long trusted journal, filling what was one of the book’s last pages. She would have to get a new one soon, and it wouldn’t be the first time. Sighing, she tipped her head and read what she had just written. Lost to the world of the park around her, she smiled at her work and kept her spot on the bench, facing the shops opposite the park as she wrote. And as she continued her narrative, a cheerful hum replaced the spoken words of her song. 

She hadn’t realized that time was a subject that constantly moved, and so - to her - merely a few minutes had passed since she sat down to relax, though really that had been hours earlier. The hunt for jobs was a tiresome one, and one that she found herself on every day since her last job ended a month before. Though it was something she did as casually as possible, and something she often needed breaks from. Bills were a thing to pay, yes, and food was a necessity. But these were things she rarely felt like stressing herself with. Even so, her grandparents were always willing to support her in any way she needed - though she never asked for more than what could get her by. 

Paying her family back was at the very top of her priorities, and she would do so once she had the means. In her current situation, however, she found it was best to do what she did best. So she wrote, and she sang to herself. Many would find it difficult to spin out a story and chime along to a tune in their head, but the many are not Melanie Ruiz. The brunette’s tune transitioned to words again, and she lost herself even more as nearing footsteps passed over distracted ears. 

“Alone in this room, we can paint all these walls. Start a clean canvas…”

[mxisesguerrero-blog]

Ever since the event that put him in the hospital took place, Moises had been far more careful when it came to protecting and guarding Mr. Edward Callen. He’d taken extra measures, done extra efforts just to ensure that Mr. Callen and all the places his feet so merely touched were safe. With Supers running around, and danger so close to the Aeviternity’s every move, Moises had to do what he had to do. Now that there was imminent danger about them, even more so. There was never such a thing as being too safe; never such a thing as being too careful. Especially not for one particular Mr. Callen who was necessary in the moves of the Aeviternity.

Thus, Moises didn’t want to have to take the day off. He didn’t want to have to be away from the family he protected. However, Callen had insisted. He’d said that after what Moises went through, he deserved the rest. That another bodyguard would take Moises’ place for the day, and that Moises should instead use his time to take care of himself and make sure that his own body was all right. And he’d said something about how inhumane it would have been if he asked Moises to work directly after a week he’d been out of the hospital.

When one put it the way that Callen did, Moises couldn’t help but agree.

So here Moises was instead now: smoking in a park because home was as distant and as boring as it could get. There was nothing for him there; its emptiness no longer enticed him. So here Moises was instead now: walking over to a bench because he’d been walking around the whole time he had been in the park. His feet did not ache, but he did long to sit down; there was a difference. So here Moises was instead now: approaching a woman he cared not about and taking the seat beside her.

He had been content smoking by himself and listening to the woman sing for a short while. It wasn’t as though he needed to make small talk all the time, wasn’t as though he needed to have company always. Yet, as he looked at the woman, how she wrote and how she sang at the same time, Moises found himself intrigued. ( Among other things. There was the need to make small talk and to have company all the time should he be off work, but this was a need he did not need to think of within himself. ) So intrigued he was that he straightened his back to look further at what the woman was writing, and said with a curious tone, “You always sing while you work? Is that just one of your many talents?”

[mxisesguerrero-blog]

Babysitter Bodyguard ••• Moises & Damien

damiensxng

Moises Guerrero was a bodyguard, esteemed in his art and respected by those who knew him. His position with the Aeviternity made him one of the most trusted men, one of the few who could protect Mr. Edward Callen to the fullest of their abilities. If there was one thing he was not, it was a babysitter.

There were stark differences between the two professions: bodyguard and babysitter. The former had the role of protecting their clients from threats and imminent dangers, of putting their lives on the line first so as to protect another. The former was a dangerous job, a job that required hard training, skill unlike any other, and trust between client and bodyguard. The latter, on the other hand, had the role of ensuring that a child pooped and peed in the proper places, of cleaning up homes and making sure a child went to bed at the proper time. While it required training, there was not much to it, really. Or, at least, Moises would think so, as it couldn’t probably be that difficult to take care of miniature human beings.

These stark differences were what came to Moises’ mind as he held Sophia Callen’s hand on the way to the dance studio.

With him dressed in street clothes to avoid the attention he would have had should he be in his uniform, it looked more like he was a babysitter than a bodyguard. In fact, he felt quite like a babysitter holding this little girl’s hand. It did not help that she told her stories and made small talk in that way that a five year old could. The Barbie bag slung over Moises’ shoulder did nothing to make him feel like a bodyguard either. It was like being stripped off his pride and his glory, like being stripped off his honor and dignity, being here with this child. It was like being asked to come down from a high only to go so low as he felt he was a babysitter.

And, maybe, for all intents and purposes, he was one. The way he looked at the moment certainly made him look like one.

The last thing Moises liked to do was to look at himself and think badly. So, for all it mattered, he resigned himself to the thought that he was a bodyguard dressed as a babysitter. He justified within himself that to dress up more like a bodyguard now would attract too much attention, and in turn, danger. These were the thoughts that ran through his mind as Sophia finally entered the room she was supposed to be in, not without a kiss on Moises’ cheek first and a bright goodbye.

As soon as she was inside, Moises took a stick from the cigarette pack he had on him, his lighter from his back pocket, and began to smoke inside the premises of the building. He didn’t care for what anyone might think; didn’t care for what the reception lady at the front would say. For now, he resigned himself to his thoughts, and allowed them to overtake him.

[mxisesguerrero-blog]

•••

I finally, finally, finally made a plots page for Moises! If you wanna check it out, it’s over here!

[mxisesguerrero-blog]

Not Your Girl ••• Moises & Lisette

[luciavioleta]

It took all of Lisette’s restraint not to snatch the man’s glass out of his hand and throw its contents in his face. He was being mostly harmless, she had to admit—as of now, anyway. Should he pose an actual threat, then maybe she’d have to reconsider dumping a drink on his head or shoving him away. He was the worst kind of man, he was every frat boy she had ever met (actually, he probably was a frat boy in his college days. Just fantastic), he was the man that didn’t take no as an answer. 

He was also an absolute drunken fool. Truly, she was thankful (and somewhat surprised) he did not move any closer than he already was at an arm’s length away from her. “You must think you’re a genius,” she drawled in the same deadpan, cutting tone as before, knowing her words had no effect on him and his intoxicated state of mind. Had he been sober, she doubted it would have been any different, and knowing her remarks were more like petals falling on his hair than the barbed thorns she intended, she didn’t bother to tone down her venomous words. She hardly ever attempted to filter her words, and tonight—especially tonight—was no exception. “And you are completely wrong, though I’m sure that wouldn’t be the first time,” she sneered, her contempt as clear as day. God, he was disgusting.

Most would have backed off by now, but he seemed to be of the unfortunately persistent sort. He also seemed to be annoyingly familiar; she’d caught snippets of his name in conversation. As much of an asshole as he was, he was an asshole who radiated confidence and charisma, and thus his name was exclaimed quite a few times. Most had to do with taking another shot. “I wouldn’t have given it to you, anyway, if you’d asked,” she responded with a roll of her eyes, her tone curt. Moises. Why was Moises so familiar?

Oh, shit, if it wasn’t the arrogant upshot she’d met five years ago at a dinner party of her stepfather’s. It seemed he hadn’t changed one bit since they’d last talked, though he seemed to be regarding her with far less hostility and derision. She supposed she could attribute that to the fact he didn’t recall who she was. (She was sixteen, then, and she had changed a lot since sixteen—and not necessarily for the better, though she did look different.) She let out a sigh of feigned resignation, pursing her lips in though. “Lisette,” she supplied, wondering if her name would trigger some sort of latent memory in his hazy mind. She didn’t bother to ask for his for two reasons: she already knew it, and even if she didn’t, she wouldn’t have cared for it.

It was a bit warped, perhaps, hoping he would remember that he actually hated her as much as she hated him, but it seemed like the only probable solution to get him out of her face. She lifted her own glass, taking a sip as she waited for his reaction. 

[mxisesguerrero-blog]

This woman had to have been given credit for all her derision and for all her contempt. Her words registered briefly in Moises’ mind as something that was supposed to be painful, as something that was supposed to hurt. Yet, for all their sharp edges, and for all their dull tones, Moises, in his folly and in his intoxication, felt nothing. Nothing at all. Nothing but the sweet sound of her urging him on, despite all things. Nothing but the sound of approval, of welcome, of hope. Now, it was to be noted: the woman’s words spoke nothing of these -- none of approval, of welcome, of hope -- but Moises nonetheless heard them. That was the fault in him; there was no one else to blame. As she spoke, he nodded, as though that might earn him some good points in her book.

( It wasn’t like he cared for good points, but, nonetheless. )

Despite Moises, despite his very being, he didn’t push forward with the previous topics. Maybe it was his inebriation that could not hold a conversation for longer than two minutes, or maybe it was simply boredom that kept him from continuing the conversation, but it was sure as hell not rejection that stopped him. No, no, it was not rejection. How could such a feeling stop him if he didn’t feel it in the first place? Besides, if he were feeling rejected, Moises would have headed back to his previous seat by now. If he were feeling rejected, he would have removed his arm from where he draped it on the back of her seat. Instead, he only pulled in closer by bringing his chair a few inches towards hers, with that dopey drunk smile on his lips that did not understand how horrid he was being.

And then, perhaps, it was too good to be true, for when he did, the woman mentioned her name. Now, Moises had made up all the acceptance he felt in his head, and rejected all the notions of rejection that came from her simply because, but now -- oh, now -- he had something to hold on to! Something concrete! Something tangible! She had given him her name, and if that didn’t mean interest, then Moises didn’t know what did. At the end of the day, it all boiled down to the fact that women were playing hard to get. They were all playing hard to get, but the truth of the matter was that they all wanted him. Was this not the truth that Moises knew? Was this not the truth that he so conceitedly held on to?

A smile graphed his lips as he heard her name, and a nod came from him, as though she had needed his approval. His arms now draped over her shoulders instead of on her chair, but such was little improvement. “Lisette,” he slurred. “Pretty. As pretty as you are.” ( And maybe this was the first honest compliment that Moises had said for the night, but it sure as hell didn’t sound like any compliment a gentleman would make. ) “Y’know-- Y’know, you remin’ me of som’one Not as pretty as you, m’ybe. But reminds me of you anyway.”

A chuckle escaped his lips before he continued talking. “She was like, this-- uh”--with his free hand, Moises gestured to his face, to show some fringe on his forehead--”her hair was like that. And she had this, like, glare. Scary glare for a -- what? -- fifteen year old? Maybe that’s why she didn’t have any friends.” Another chuckle came from him. “This was so, so, so long ago. So long ago, so long ago. Like, soooooo funny. I didn’t even remember! You just remind me of her! Maybe because you’re both Asian! But I’m Asian! Not all Asians look alike, but! But I think you two have some resemblance!”

For some reason, Moises thought this topic absolutely hilarious! And so, he laughed. He laughed to himself, and he laughed at the remembrance of the weird young girl he vaguely remembered, and he laughed because he was drunk. As he laughed, he tried to explain why this was funny, but his words came tangled with the laugh, and none of it made sense.

[mxisesguerrero-blog]

Medicinal High ••• Moises & Alice

xcthcrcal

The details of what happened and how they happened were now a blur to one particular Moises Guerrero. All that took place within the twenty-four hour period Moises had spent protecting Mr. Edward Callen were not non-existent, but they might as well be to Moises Guerrero who remembered so little of it. There were the punches, the hits; there was the pain to the throat, the the back, the head. There were the screaming, the ushering of Mr. Callen along with important documents out of the building, the culminating and the dispersing of the bodyguards Mr. Callen had taken with him to an important building that would, in a few months, belong to the Aeviternity. However, other than all this, Moises remembered none.

The only thing that he did know was as follows: Mr. Callen was safe.

For all intents and purposes, this meant that Moises had done his job. For all that being in the hospital now meant, and for all the bruises that littered his body, and for all the pain that he’d felt rushing through him, it meant that he had done his job. And this was what mattered! It mattered not that he was lying on a hospital bed! It mattered not that he’d almost lost his life to a force he didn’t understand! It mattered not that fear had coursed through his body like a plague. No, no. These were things that Moises Guerrero had gotten used to. These were things that he had grown to numb out. Especially when it came to the fear. Especially when it came to the fear. The fear was but a dull, buzzing sound. It did not matter; it did not matter.

What really helped to numb out all these things were the pain medicine that had been given him. On his own, Moises would have dulled out the pain, the fear. On his own, Moises would have remembered the details of the Super attack, and would have shaken with fear. Now, there was a sense of elation within him, a sense of high. Now, all that he sought to block out was blocked out, and the only thing he could think about was how big life was and how small he was in comparison.

Wasn’t it true? Wasn’t it right? Life was so big! The meaning of life was an incompassable, great, overwhelming thing, and here he was! Here he was, lying on a hospital bed doing nothing! Wasn’t life so great? Wasn’t life so surreal? How could he be here, after thirty years, and still have people who didn’t understand life’s meaning? How could he have lived to see so many years, only so to see people that still didn’t understand abomination from normal? Life was so, so big! So huge! So great! So awesome! And god, god -- he was a part of it! How great was that now? How superb! How great! How great! How great!

Moises was half-about to cry when the door to his room burst open. The amount of times it had opened now escaped him, but he remembered vaguely that it did keep opening, and that a nurse did keep coming in. He had forgotten, too, whether or not it was the same nurse that came through the door every time. But now, as he looked at her with tears welled up in his eyes, he realized that it did not matter. What mattered was the universe! What mattered was life! When Moises opened his mouth, this was exactly what he spoke about.

“Hello!” he exclaimed in greeting when the door opened. “You’re my nurse. You’re my nurse. I can’t-- I can’t believe it! You’re a nurse, and you’re my nurse. Like, we are all beings assigned to people in the universe, and… and you’re the nurse that is here for me. Wow. How come we’re so small, nurse? How come we’re so small and yet life still goes on for us? What’s the meaning of life anyway? What does this all mean?” A tiny chuckle escaped Moises as he closed his eyes. “I know, I know, I know it.”

[mxisesguerrero-blog]

•••

Hello, hello! 

I’m Alexis, and I play Bee Owens ( Saoirse Ronan FC ) and Moises Guerrero ( Bob Morley FC )! If anyone would like to plot, don’t hesitate to send me a message!

Meanwhile, I have about ten million quotation prompts to do, but I want some more for Moises! Bee already has eight in her inbox, while Moises only has one! If it’s not too much of a bother, I’d love to get some quotations for him! Thank you in advance!

I have:

FOR BEE:

"YOU TRIED TO CHANGE, DIDN’T YOU? CLOSED YOUR MOUTH MORE, TRIED TO BE SOFTER, PRETTIER, LESS VOLATILE, LESS AWAKE… YOU CAN’T MAKE HOMES OUT OF HUMAN BEINGS. SOMEONE SHOULD HAVE ALREADY TOLD YOU THAT"— Warsan Shire 

"Darkness can exist by itself. Light cannot.” ― N.K. Jemisin, The Broken Kingdoms

"She’s known sadness, and it has made her kind."

“Fate is like a strange, unpopular restaurant filled with odd little waiters who bring you things you never asked for and don’t always like.”— Lemony Snicket

"And silence, like darkness, can be kind; it, too, is a language." — Hanif Kureishi.

"Shame is a soul eating emotion." - C.G. Jung

FOR MOISES:

"your mouth tastes like november the sixth. treason stains your lips, wine-dark and haunting." 

[mxisesguerrero-blog]

MOISES GUERRERO           ---- once a fuckboy, always a fuckboy

[mxisesguerrero-blog]

Text ✉ Moises & Lisette

Lisette: i'd be more than happy to, actually

Lisette: go find someone else to piss off thanks

Moises: i'll see you soon ;)

Moises: good night ;)

[mxisesguerrero-blog]

Text ✉ Moises & Lisette

Lisette: nah you're actually just an asshole

Moises: awww c'mon babe. don't break my heart.

[asafehavenrpg-blog]

Permissions Post

The permissions post is not mandatory, but it is a great way to give both you and your writing partners a comfortable writing experience. 

[asafehavenrpg-blog]

OOC

Offensive subjects/Triggers: I am triggered by self-harm, especially cutting, depression, suicidal ideation, and death ideation so I definitely won’t write that. Other than that, I don’t write rape, incest, paedophilia, bestiality either!  

IC

Mental Powers: Moises is often guarded and observant, so he will definitely notice if someone is poking around in his mind, especially if the other person shows indication that they’re reading his mind. He is only human though, so while he may not be swayed at once, persistence will get him to obey.

Is your character open about their alliance? Or is it a private matter? He is very open with his alliance with the Aeviternity.

Flirting with this character? Oh, dear lord. I am more than 300% sure Moises will hit on your character first.

Fighting with this character? Again, 300% sure that he will fight your character’s ass first.

Injuring this character? Sure mcsure! Just make sure not to kill him, and to message me before you do any such injuries!

OTHER / NOTES: Fun fact: Moises is an absolute fuckboy. I am not. Please do not take his fuckboy-ness as something that I condone of. I don’t.