It's a new year and I aim to try my best this year >o<)/)!~!
I kind of went quiet last year and I don't really have a reason for it. I want to try harder this year, regardless of my lacking because I want to continue this. Drawing and making people happy and feel things with the things that I make.
cali cities being siblings and the petty rivalries
“Jaime. Jaime. Jaime. Jaime. Jaime.”
“That is my name Gabriel, please stop attempting to wear it out.” Jaime says, trying to ignore Los Angeles for the sixth time in at least ten minutes.
Gabriel glances at Felipe, who flashes him a smile, and then helps him continue the chorus. “Jaime. Jaime. Jaime. Jaime-”
“Oh, for the love of God.” Francisca says, glancing at Luisina. “Diego, how are you allowing them to get away with this?”
San Diego just grunts, feet up on the table, reading through the reports Roberto and Alejandra had handed them before having to run off for their meeting with the other states. She doesn’t even really glance as Felipe suddenly started pounding his hands on the table with every time they say Sacramento’s name.
Jaime looks at her a little helplessly. He’s got backbone when it really matters to picking fights with his elder siblings, but he’s a bit used to having Alejandra and her watch his back for more petty things.
He’d be the star of the debate team and not much else. Francisca thinks with a groan.
But it’s also driving her up a wall, so she needs to think of something to get them to stop and fast.
However, that’s near impossible with the little chorus going on. In fact, Felipe’s starting to get more musical about it, beating a little rhythm.
Francisca is this, this close, to killing her brothers. “Diego, help me!”
Luisina’s still engrossed in reports.
Fine then. We do this the hard way.
Fran turns around so Gabe and Felipe can’t see her, thinks of something mildly terrible and upsetting, and there comes the crocodile tears.
She whirls around and howls like a kicked puppy.
Everything stops. Even Luisina glances up from her reports. Fran throws in a few more sniffles for good measure as San Diego rises up out of her chair and yanks out earplugs. (Of course, how else had she ignored them all for so long?)
“What did you assholes do?” She bellows, and Fran points to Gabriel and Felipe.
“I asked them to stop but-”
“She’s faking it!” Gabriel tries to shout, but Felipe’s already accepted his death. He just lays his head down on the table. “We were just joking around with Jaime and-”
“GABRIEL BAUTISTA DE LOS SANTOS!” Luisina snarls, and Fran looks at Jaime before Luisina can start contemplating using LA and San Jose as her weights for weight lifting.
I don’t have much to say, so, let me show you what you need to know to understand this excerpt:
- 1933, during Estado Novo;
- Portugal is Afonso.
Enjoy!
Life could be unfair when it wanted to. It was what Afonso thought when he saw the mirror.
His new boss, Salazar, had demanded, with a sarcastic smile on his face, for him to cut off his hair. It seemed he was joking, but he wasn't.
Afonso had to cut off his beloved hair.
It could be something banal, extremely normal and not so important, but for Afonso it was. It was a metaphor for the loss of his freedom. Everything in himself would be controlled, from his appearance to his beliefs and tastes.
He couldn't believe the Miracle of the Sun, but he was a believer. He couldn't enjoy football, but he loved that sport and was happy to watch the kids have fun with a sock ball. He couldn't even listen or like Fado, but oh, he loved that musical style! He identified with the melody, with the lyrics sung by the funereal and sad voices of the mortals. In fact, Fado was destiny, and his fate wasn't giving him respite. Merciless and painful, it didn't care about the psychological state of the Portuguese. He could be broken inside, but the fate wouldn't care; it would continue with its work, blind and partial.
He stared at his reflection in the mirror, focusing on his diaphanous olive green eyes. He tried to see his soul, so tired of the tragedies that throughout his life he had been haunted.
He took the scissors, analyzing it as if it were a rare object he had never seen. At last, he took a deep breath and grabbed his ponytail. He placed it between the blades of the scissors and... cut without hesitation.
His wills were at the mercy of the state and his boss.
***
As soon as he saw him, Jaime burst out laughing loudly. The young, brown-haired, curly, short-haired, hazel-eyed adult was Afonso's partner in PVDE, the state police. He was a person whose personality didn’t fit the profession; the immortal didn’t understand why he chose to tread that path with so many possibilities.
At last, Afonso was ashamed and regretted that he had called Jaime to help him. It was clear as water: he didn’t have the ability to cut his own hair; the cut was terrible.
"It’s hilarious, Fonz!"
"Don’t make me regret calling you!" He exasperated, folding his arms.
"Oh, you won’t," Jaime assured him, smiling in a convincing way. "I'm your partner, after all."
"Do you know how to fix it?"
"Your hair? Yes."
That answer eased Afonso. He didn’t want to go to the barber in that sad figure.
Jaime asked Alfonso to sit in front of the mirror and so he did; then picked up a white sheet and placed it in front of the older man. Then he took the scissors and a comb and began to solve the chaos that Afonso had made.
During that mission, Jaime was chattering about how horrible his hair was, or how things with his girlfriend were going and other trivial things. In fact, the Sintrense was an excellent conversationalist, always ready with subjects to speak.
"Done, Fonz!" Exclaimed Jaime, putting the scissors and comb on a bench. "You're divine! You'll tear the hearts of all the girls. ~ "
Afonso looked at his reflection and admired the work the other had done; in fact, it was much better compared to what he had done before. However, it still felt strange to see him with short hair. Maybe he would get used to it, but one thing is certain: he would miss his long hair.
Because, no matter how much his boss try, saudade is such a Portuguese feeling that it was impossible for Afonso not to feel it.
