La Revolución de la Familia Rivera (A Revolutionary Girl Utena-inspired Coco AU)
Summary:
Future matriarch Rosa Rivera and her brother Abel are tasked to find their missing musician cousin Miguel and bring him home before music fully corrupts him. But it's easier said than done when it turns out that: 1. Miguel has not aged in four years; 2. Nobody can leave Escuela de la Cruz; and 3. They have found themselves at the center of a family mystery that has lasted for one hundred years. Fortunately, they have their ancestors to guide them, including Mamá Imelda herself! And that one lanky ghost named Héctor who always follows Miguel around.
Stuck in what seems to be some sort of pocket dimension, Rosa and her cousins must defeat a number of duelists in order to solve their family mystery, including de la Cruz's snarky great-great-grandson, Marco. Gifted with Blessings (enchanted weapons) from their ancestors, hopefully they can all break the curse... and trigger a... "Revolution"? Whatever that may be.
(Cross-posted from AO3)
PRÓLOGO
Long ago, in a town called Santa Cecilia, lived a family of three. The papá was a musician who dreamed of playing for the world, while the mamá was an aspiring shoemaker who loved music just as much as her husband. They had a small daughter together, and the three of them would sing, dance, and count their blessings.
One day, the papá left home with his guitar. And never returned.
Outraged and heartbroken by his disappearance, the mamá banned music from her family. Nobody was allowed to play music, listen to music, or even hum a single note. She also forbade her family members from even uttering the name of her husband. She considered him dead, and she put up their family photo on their family’s ofrenda with his head torn off. Nobody was to remember him. Ever.
The mamá did not have time to cry, however. She rolled up her sleeves and focused on her shoemaking business, turning it into a family affair. She taught her brothers, then her daughter, then her son-in-law, and then her grandchildren. The business grew and grew, and they became known for making the best shoes in town.
Music had torn the family apart, but shoes put them all together.
That is the legacy of Imelda Rivera. Mother, grandmother, shoemaker.
Music shall never enter our family again, she had decided. But was that really such a good idea?
---
30 de diciembre, 1942. Ciudad de México.
It was a night to remember.
After the 21st anniversary of the establishment of Escuela de la Cruz (or De La Cruz Academy, if you are not a native Hispanic), the most famous musician in Mexican history and the namesake of the school himself, Ernesto de la Cruz performed his biggest hits for his beloved students and fans alike. He opened with “El Mundo es mi Familia”, made the crowd clap and sing along with his upbeat songs like "Un poco loco", stunned the audience and even the stage crew with his ballads, and ending with arguably his biggest hit: “Requérdame”.
As Ernesto went up the escalator all the way to the top of the stage just below the bell, everything was going well. The fireworks were shot at the correct time, the dancers were on beat, Ernesto was singing with his powerful vocals, and the crowd was pleased. The skull guitar was shining and reflecting the lights, as if it was celebrating along. Just before he was about to belt out his final note, Ernesto handed over the guitar to a stage crew, as rehearsed.
Unbeknownst to most, except for a small number of people behind the stage, one of the staff was leaning on a lever that controlled the bell. Perhaps it was a slip of the body, or perhaps he was leaning too much on the lever, but it all happened so quickly that some were convinced it was almost as if the musician was somehow cursed.
30 de diciembre, 1942. Ciudad de México.
Ernesto de la Cruz was crushed by a giant bell. There was silence followed by screams of terror and panic. The screaming only got worse when suddenly the concert hall turned dark before anyone could do anything. People were bumping against each other and against furniture, tripping over cables, and the students were rushed out of the arena back to the Academy.
After a staff member was able to turn the lights back on, somehow things took a sharp turn to the mysterious. There was indeed debris atop the escalator where the bell was dropped, but there was no bell. And the oddest thing of all: Ernesto de la Cruz’s dead body was nowhere to be found. Yes, there was blood, but other than that and some tattered fabric, he was nowhere to be seen. The skull guitar had also disappeared.
30 de diciembre, 1942. Ciudad de México.
It was a night to remember. For better or for worse.
---
1 de noviembre, 2017. Santa Cecilia.
Not so long ago, there was a young boy. He came from a family of shoemakers who hated music. For as long as he could remember, music was banned from entering the family. Not a whistle, not a tune, not a pluck of a guitar, not a finger tap, not even a hum. His grandmother would even yell at passerby’s who sang outside of their home.
And yet, out of everyone in his family, he was the one who fell in love with the forbidden art. He knew that his family loved him and that he loved them in return, but he too knew that he was different from the rest of them. His love for music was strong enough to the point of creation. He would record himself secretly playing music up in the hidden attic. He would write songs that he would hide in-between his books and other personal belongings in his room and in the attic as well. He even managed to created his own functioning guitar from a broken one he found amongst a pile of trash. All of this he kept a secret, except from his great-grandmother.
And up there in the same attic was also where he kept his stash of Ernesto de la Cruz memorabilia. De La Cruz was his idol, his mentor, his hero. If the boy were a rat in Paris, De La Cruz would be the imaginary chef guiding him everywhere he went. It was through his music and films that the young boy would come to love music himself. Ernesto de la Cruz came from Santa Cecilia, just like he did. He played in the plaza when he was young, just like how the boy wished he could do. He wished to do what his idol did: to seize his moment and play for the world.
Then, on a fateful Día de Los Muertos, the Day of The Dead, he found an opening. Up on top of his family ofrenda was a photo of his great-great grandmother, her daughter (the boy’s great-grandmother as a child), and an unknown man whose head was ripped off of the photo. The family only knew him as their great-great-grandfather, El Músico. The Musician. The man who left his family for music. A Xolo dog whom the boy liked to play with accidentally made the photo fall from the ofrenda, revealing a folded over portion of the photo.
It was De La Cruz’s guitar. A pristine white guitar, as if made out of marble, with a skull headstock and markings at the bottom of its body. There was no other guitar like it! He couldn’t believe it! Ernesto de la Cruz was his great-great-grandfather! With this revelation, he announced to his family that he would become a musician. Alas, his dream was rejected and his guitar was destroyed.
Heartbroken, with only his loyal Xolo at his side and the family photo in his clutch, he ran into the night.
---
1 de noviembre, 2021. Santa Cecilia.
Four years has passed since. Miguel Rivera has yet to come home.
I TOLD YOU I'D DO A THING FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY SO HERE YOU GO.
~
“Ugh, it won’t focus.”
Rosa raised her eyebrows, sipping at her milk tea as she watched Marco scowl at his camera, trying to find the best angle to take a picture of his own boba tea. “You know, you don’t have to post every single drink on Instagram.”
Marco frowned up at her, scrunching his nose as she smirked around her straw. “I’ll have you know that this is my craft, Rosa.”
“Well, when all your ice melts, you’ll only have yourself to blame.” Rosa tossed her ponytail over her shoulder, then glanced down as she felt something wet nudge her knee. She peeked under the table and tutted at the Shiba Inu panting up at her. “I know, I know, pobrecito. Your papá is ignoring you,” she cooed as she rubbed the dog’s face, earning a tail wag and a whine. “One day I’m going to have to take you away to Santa Cecilia. I’ll never forget you.”
“Oye, I won’t have you slandering me like that.” Marco finally set down his phone to pat the dog’s side. “Shibe knows I love him more than anything.”
“Sure looks like he’s feeling neglected…”
Marco frowned, then leaned over the side of his chair. Shibe turned and looked at him, tail wagging, and Marco gave him a bright smile to match the one on Shibe’s face. “There! You know your papá loves you.” He picked up his phone again. “And besides, my Instagram is the reason Shibe gets so many treats here. So I’m just providing for him.” He smiled as he finally managed to snap a picture, then quickly wrote a caption and posted it before finally starting to drink his tea. Rosa shook her head.
“You should just focus on your art,” she said. “This whole e-celebrity thing is…it’s not you.”
“Most of it’s your primo’s fault,” Marco said flatly. “Miguel keeps roping me into interacting.”
“Why do you think I don’t have any of that? He’s a menace.”
Marco shook his head, flipping his phone over as it buzzed. “Well. I get to help get the word out on places like this, so I guess it has its benefits.” He rubbed Shibe’s head, glancing over his shoulder as a few girls started whispering and glancing his way. He grimaced. “Though maybe I should’ve waited before posting.”
Rosa looked at him over her glasses, playing with the ice in her cup. Pobrecito, she knew he was still uncomfortable with people treating him like a celebrity. She glanced over at the girls, then looked back to him, setting her cup down.
“I like that you look on the bright side,” she said, giving him a little smile. “But you do forget that you have a secret weapon.”
He frowned a bit as he looked up at her. “Against…what?”
“Against nosy people, or anyone who’s trying to invade your privacy.”
Marco laughed, leaning his elbows on the table. “And what is that? A fake location? Setting up a queue? Or is it—” He was cut off as she leaned forward, her lips quickly pressing against his in a sweet kiss. As she pulled back, she gave a hard, Abuelita-inspired stare to the girls behind Marco, waiting for them to turn back to their conversation before she sank back and smiled at him.
“You have a girlfriend,” she said, smiling in satisfaction as he melted in his seat. “So focus on me, and I’ll keep you safe from everyone else. Suena bien?”
He gave her a wide, dreamy smile. “You’re wonderful, you know that, Rosa?”
“Of course I do. Now finish your tea. Shibe’s been waiting to help us with the shopping, and the shops’ll close if you take too long.”
Mientras admiro un mar otrora rosa, devastado por el turismo depredador; pienso que mientras exista quien tenga en su memoria lo que fue, siempre habrá quien sea incapaz de aceptar lo que puede ser. #futilidad #marrosa #explorando #turismoconsciente #emocionandoando (en MAR rosado de colombia) https://www.instagram.com/p/BygjOYOA0Cr/?igshid=z4x7f7h5a0ic
