"I was born dirt poor somewhere in the slums but I was still a Drow, a female at that. Through dumb luck and sheer perseverance, I somehow managed to catch the eye of a cleric of a noble house and her paramour. For whatever reason, she favoured me. Moulded me. Brought me into her inner ranks. Sharpened me like a weapon so she could strike the lowly heretics those clerics fear so much." - Jys'yr
Hi, for the wip ask game, how about any of these words? Fire, black, bed?
You're getting two of them 😁
Well, screw it. If El’s determined to be oblivious, it’s time to set a bonfire under subtle.
After a day of airports and planes, he has plans for a shower and then a bed that isn’t musty with mould spores.
(Yes, after I finished the WIP from 2009, I am now writing another fic for a fandom two decades moribund that will be read by me and two other people 🤪)
I was looking through a hard drive the other day that has files on it from our old family PC, including pictures and documents from my high school days. In it I came across some of the first fanfiction I ever wrote - mostly startings of sequels to Johnny Depp movies.
I'd only write a scene or two, and it crushes me that I didn't make even an outline for the plot, and so the stories are lost to the ether.
Anyway, this one was a sequel to Once Upon A Time In Mexico which I apparently enjoyed even as a meek 15-year-old? That's the magic of Depp, I guess!
Honestly though, it's a pretty great movie. Very much early 2000s, some brilliant familiar faces, kinda looks like a music video, but it's funny and compelling and a little bit gory (lotsa gunfire and uh.. Johnny gets his eyes removed. How was teen me okay with this?? I don't know.)
So, let me take you back in time to Jenny's imagination in 2004, untouched and unedited...
Another Time In Mexico
He knew this town. He had seen it from many angles and had had various experiences in it. Some he remembered happily and dreamed about frequently, and some he would rather delete from his memory. He remembered the rough and dirty streets, and the looming walls of unbelievably beautiful buildings. Images of local mariachis testing and tuning their new instruments, and of spellbinding dancing girls were his favourites. But no longer could he view these images. Gone were his seeing-tools. Taken, stolen, robbed from him. It had left him unable to find his way back home on his own, so with the aid of a local chicle-selling boy, he found shelter in town.
It took a few months to adjust, but he learned to get by with his other senses. Tonight, he decided, he would go into town where the dancing girls performed 3 times a week. Even though he couldn’t see their voluptuous bodies twisting and twirling in their seductive and sensual ways, he got his kicks from the music and cheers from the townsmen. He wore his dark, tacky, American tourist sunglasses to hide the deep holes that replaced his eyes, never taking them off. As the music played on, he felt swift winds in front of him and imagined what was happening behind the wall in front of his eye sockets. It was just as he remembered from past visits, but without the sight of the dancers, it didn’t give him such a rush as before. His mood was neutral until now, when, unexpectedly, a flood of feeling crept over his body. His legs started to tingle, his hands stiffened, and he felt his face start to burn. What was happening? He didn’t understand. The man on the microphone announced the next performer. Of course, it was in Spanish, so the message didn’t come through. The music started…
Compared to the other dancers, she wasn’t a gorgeous woman. Instead, she was a beautiful girl. Her hips weren’t as sexy as the other dancers, and her chest wasn’t as full and round, but she had a one up against them. She had a talent of mesmerizing audiences and taking them on a journey through her dancing.
He couldn’t see, but he could feel, and he felt her presence as strong as fire.
Part of her routine was to choose a man from the audience and perform a personal dance in front of him. She looked around at familiar faces, remembering awful experiences and embarrassing moments. She had just about given in and chosen a former customer when she noticed a new face. He looked so mysterious and dangerous, but at the same time, he looked comforting. His face was so alien, but so handsome. He had the most amazing cheekbones she had ever seen and his jaw line was incredibly defined. If only she could see what lay behind those sunglasses.
He felt her nearing him and he tried to imagine what her body was doing and how it was moving.
After a series of twists and turns and kicks and shuffles, she proceeded to remove his sunglasses. She was concentrating so hard on how dazzling his eyes would be to match his fabulous face. She slid the sunglasses down the bridge of his sharp nose and the dark, scary, empty holes were revealed. So as not to suffer the embarrassment from the laughter that would undoubtedly ensue, she hid his face with her back. Holding up the sunglasses and twirling them around with her fingers, she proceeded to twist and move her body in front of his face.
The fire in his face roared with passion as he experienced unexplainable feelings and felt the warm vibes emanating off the angelic being in front of him.
The “personal dance” part of the routine was nearly finished. She dangled the sunglasses behind her back, on his chest and he reached up to grab them and slapped them back over his nose and ears. A smile crossed his face, and she twisted away and finished her routine. The audience applauded at her usual volume, but screamed as soon as the next dancer appeared.
Knowing that the dance was over, he moved himself to what he remembered was the exit. That was where she was headed, he could tell. The heat from the fiery angel was easy to find and sense. He waited by a pole that held up the tent roof. It was far enough away from the centre floor that one could speak at normal tone and be heard. He felt her approach him from the front but she meant to pass him.
She felt a hand on her bare stomach. It was the mysterious man with no eyes. What was he going to do? Was he a good-guy, or a baddy?
“I just thought I should say thank-you,” he said, suddenly.
No reply.
“Come on now, I know you’re not shy,” he said with a grin. “What’s your name?”
“Why should I tell you?” she finally asked.
“Well, it’s not like I’m a cop or anything. Don’t freak out.”
“How do I know what you’re not?”
“I, uh, I don’t have a badge.”
“I’m not sure.”
“I don’t! Search me,” he said and flung his arms in the air.
She took this as a lame excuse for a quick fondle.
“Unh uh, bye-bye!”
“Look, you want the truth?” he asked, “The truth is, I work for the CIA. I was sent here for an assignment a couple of months ago, but while on the job I was kidnapped and had my eyes taken out.”
She listened to him intently.
“Since then, “ he continued, “I haven’t been able to do things properly. I always need someone to be my back up. I was hoping you’d help me.”
He held out his hand in which she carefully placed hers. They shook hands.
“So… Chicalote… is that a show name or something?”
“Why are you talking to me?” she quickly blurted out.
“Wh-, uh, what?
“I mean, why are you not talking to La Diosa, or La Tigresa?”
Sands tried to answer, but was quickly interrupted by another of her questions.
“How can you see? How do you know where I am?”
“I can see you easy.”
“What do I look like?”
“You look like a flower. A fire flower. I can’t see you, but I can feel you.”
He moved his hand up her young, smooth, slim arm.
“You feel hot, like fire. Your heat hits my face like the sun at high noon. I can feel that your body is like silk. Your voice tells me that your face is more beautiful than any diosa.”
“Some nice words, Agent Sands, but what do you want to say?”
“Pienso te quiero.”
“You think you love me and yet you cannot see my face? Usted está loco, señor. You’re crazy.”
“Then help me. I need a back up, see, and you’re the only one I can trust. I can feel you and you feel very good.”
He pulled out his pistol from his belt.
“Ever used one of these before?”
Her eyes followed his hands, as he waved the pistol in front of her face, before looking to the ground.
“I’m sorry sir, I cannot. I…”
Then she caught sight of his face, just as a random car light lit it up. She turned in the direction of the light and saw a man step out of a car with a gun, looking like he was ready to shoot. She grabbed Sands’ gun and fired at the man, who then fell to the ground like a fly. The shot wasn’t heard by the crowd, because of the over-sized silencer on the end of the pistol. Also, they were too entranced by the music and La Diosa. Chicalote turned to Agent Sands.
“How was that?” she asked, referring to her shot.
“I’m in awe,” Sands replied. “Only, he was on our side.”
“Oh,” she said, but shrugged it off with a simple “Oops.”
Sands grinned and chuckled as he led the girl out of the tent and tucked the gun away.
“Chicalote,” he said, “Is that your real name?”
“I don’t have a real name. People have called me that since I was a little girl so that’s all I’ve known.”
“What does it mean?”
“It’s a Mexican flower. Like a poppy.”
“I see, so I can call you ‘Poppy’ then?”
“If you like.” She smiled up at him.
“You have a beautiful smile, Poppy, dear,” he said with a laugh.
~
They walked through the market, which was now deserted, save for empty stands and locked up doors. The market was dark at this time of night. It was only once Chicalote and Sands found the steps in front of one of the fountain statues that the moon reflected off of their faces. She looked at him carefully while he described to her the main idea of her new job. Although she listened intently, she couldn’t help but wonder what it was like to have no eyes.
“So you see, I need your help. My friend, El, can’t keep the bad guys away all by himself, and me… well…” said Sands, showing off his state. Obviously, he couldn’t do it by himself. “So, will you help me?”
“Of course I will, señor.”
“Ah, now knock it off with all the señor stuff. I’m your partner now. No more formalities.”
“I’m sorry,” she said with a laugh.
“Now, enough of all this complicated business. Let’s get cozy. Tell me about you.”
“No, tell me more about you.”
“C’mon, aren’t you tired of hearing the Life & Times of Sands?”
“No. I don’t like to talk about myself. I’d rather listen to you.”
“Ah, but now you know too much.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you can see me. You know what I look like: the shape of my face and stuff. But I can’t see you… I can’t se-…”
He ran his hand over her shoulder, up, around her neck, and behind her head. His other hand was examining her waist and back. He pulled her close and brushed the tip of his nose over her face. Her skin was smooth and soft, but hot. His lips started to tingle. Normally, he would go right in for the kill, but this time was different. He actually felt nervous. To calm the nerves in his lips, he touched them to her forehead. He smoothed his face across hers and got a good sense of her bone structure. He relaxed a bit and decided to go a bit farther and see what would happen. Slowly and nervously, their lips found one another. It was only short, and nothing fancy, but all of a sudden he felt that heat again. The fire in his face. He had to turn away.
She couldn’t think of what to say, so there were a few minutes of silence. Finally, she asked:
“Do you need help getting home?”
He moved his face in her direction and smiled.
~
It was more of a shack than an actual house but, to Sands, it was good enough. Since he lost his sight, he had been living with a local Chicle-selling boy, who had acted as his eyes in his early days of being blind. The boy lived with his mother and younger brother in a rough but homely house. His father was a music teacher who specialized in playing the piano. He was killed at the demand of Armando Barillo, a former drug lord who was involved in Sands last mission. The boy had a lovely family who, even though he was a CIA agent, took Sands in and treated him as one of their own.
The moon sat above the roofs of the surrounding houses, and allowed Chicalote and Sands to reach the door.
“I should really have walked you home but, in this case, it’s okay,” said Sands as they walked up to the door. “So, you’ll meet me tomorrow and I’ll explain more. Tomorrow, noon, right here, okay?”
“Okay,” she answered, “I’ll be right here.”
He nodded and smiled and opened the door. He stepped through carefully, and she watched him close the door behind him. For a few moments, she stared at the closed door, taking in everything that had happened that evening. Then she looked around at the deserted street and the houses. She wished one of them were hers. She didn’t have a home. She had stayed at the houses of fellow dancers some nights, but usually, she spent the night at the dance centre, sleeping in a trunk behind a costume rack. Not tonight, she thought. Tonight she would stay with Sands. But she couldn’t just burst in the door and stay the night. Giving up, she leaned back against the wall and slid down to the ground.
Her feet were sore from dancing and walking around in dance shoes. Slowly and tiredly, she undid them and slipped them off.
A few minutes passed and she suddenly got very cold. Her entire right arm froze from the cold night breeze. She looked around for something to put over her and she spotted a blanket hanging on a clothesline. She got up to her feet and readied herself for what she was about to do. Then, she ran off in the direction of the clothesline, but soon, she encountered a wall. A wall that separated her from her target. She spotted an old market stand just a few metres away. She ran over to it and pushed it as hard as she could toward the wall. It took a bit of effort, but she managed to climb up onto the stand and scramble over the wall. It wasn’t too much of a drop but she still fell on her bum. Brushing herself off, she looked over at her target: the blanket. She ran over to the clothesline, tugged the blanket until it came off, and ran back to the wall. This side of the wall wasn’t as flat as the other, and she found several nooks to fit her hands in. She wrapped the blanket around her neck like a cape and proceeded to climb the wall.
When she got back to the house, she made up a little nest for herself where she would sleep for the night.
Chapters: 3/3
Fandom: El Mariachi Trilogy (Movies)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: El Mariachi/Sheldon Jeffrey Sands
Characters: El Mariachi (El Mariachi), Sheldon Jeffrey Sands, Original Female Character(s)
Additional Tags: Sex Work, Misogyny, raving rampant misogyny, see also sheldon jeffrey sands, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Do Not Repost to Other Sites
Series: Part 7 of The Wires Series
Summary:
El, Sands, and that three way in Cuba. Some introspection and a whole lot of porn. Beware the tags.
I'd always intended there to be one more story to wrap up this series, but I got bogged down after only 4,000 words and I officially abandoned it early in 2009. Then a few months ago, a reader went through the whole 230k word series, leaving long, enthusiastic comments on every chapter, and as we chatted back and forth my love for these characters and this insane universe reignited with a vengeance. So I went back and I finally finished it. The best readers are absolute gold ❤️
El freezes, his muscles locking into rigidity. “Don’t.” He says it softly, but it doesn’t need more. Sands won’t miss the intent behind it. “Whatever this is, stop. Now.”
