Manolo: I lost. I lost? Wait a second, I’m not supposed to lose! Let me see the script…
(Everyone pulls out their “Book of Life” scripts)
Carmen: He’s got to have another shot!
Xibalba(grumbling): Yeah, yeah he does.
Sartana: Papa, what are you doing?
Xibalba: Uh, nothing mija.
Sartana: What did I tell you about talking to strangers?
Xibalba: Now she’s gonna kick MY butt!
If you still do requests, how about a daddy-daughter bonding one-shot between Xibalba and little Sartana?
That’s my secret cap, I am ALWAYS taking requests (Granted that they might take a while tho)
Some say you can remove the soldier from war, but not war from the soldier, it’s usually those thoughts that come to his mind when this kind of thing happens. Xibalba lays wide-awake, tar-for-muscles tense and ready to leap. La Muerte’s still snoring softly next to him, which tells him the sound he just heard -or thought he heard, because that sort of thing also happens sometimes, hard as it is to admit it- was small. Perhaps a mouse, dragging minuscule bones on the tiles, perhaps just the creaking of furniture- but there it is again!
He’s out of the bed in a second, tar dissolving and reforming next to the door, feathers to the wall, ears perked. Steps…small steps, walking past the door. Then a muffled knock, a ‘Chin!’, followed by ‘Ow’ ing in mutters and what seemed to be the sound of a single foot skipping over the floor.
Xibalba breathes out, forcing himself to relax, and runs a hand down his face, before stepping in front of the door and opening it as quietly as he can. He sees the child trailing down as quietly as she can with a dramatic limp -caused by the ornamental monoliths that stand along the hallway, no doubt- past every bedroom door until she rounds the corner.
“And here I thought I wouldn’t have to worry about her sneaking out for another ten years..” he mutters, rubbing tired eyelids. The idea to wake La Muerte blinks once in his head but he pushes it away. He can sleep in late if he so wishes, but that’s not a luxury his wife can give herself, and she’s been seeming tired enough as it is; plus, what kind of father couldn’t handle this kind of situation himself?
Sartana still has many years ahead of her to learn how to be as sneaky as her father, she doesn’t sense him following her along the halls, down, down, into the more urban levels of her mother’s palace, until she reaches the kitchen. By then, Xibalba has a very strong suspiscion of what this nightly adventure is about and it’s confirmed when he enters the kitchen, finally showing himself, to find her wolfing down churros like they are going to be deemed illegal the next day.
“Save some for me, will you?”
She leaps, wings poofing in surprise, eyes very wide, and starts coughing, choking on her food and he has to pat her in the back and sits her to the kitchen table to get her a glass of milk.
“Papi, noooo!” she whines once she can stop hacking; it’s hilarious and endearing to hear her mother’s temper on her young voice, reduced to her still limited vocabulary. She’s almost in tears and he wants to think it’s the cough rather than the fright, but he still rubs comforting circles on her back, right under the base of her wings.
“Oh? Because sneaking into the kitchen in the middle of the night to eat sweets is nice”
“I’m hungry”
“Couldn’t you wait until breakfast?”
“I’m very, very hungry”
“Very well” he grabs a chair and a churro and sits next to her, taking a bite, giving her a conspiracy glance “I can’t rat you out to mami if I had some too, so now we’re together in this, hm?” Sartana hums, nodding, and grabs another churro, chomping it down in a way that’s impressive for a child so young. He brushes hair away from her mouth when it seems to be at risk of getting eaten as well
“I had a dream”
“A bad dream? The tiger again?”
“No. Vampire pants” she says, her face very serious. Xibalba nodds, pretending he understands, and grabs another churro.
“Were you frightened?” he mutters, taking a bite.
“No” she she squeaks, somewhat indignant. He doesn’t press, but he claps on his knees so she switches from the chair and onto his legs “I’m a big girl”
She doesn’t look like it to him, what with crumbs and sugar all over her face, her chupacabras plush toy discarded on the table next to the bag of churros and the fact that he can still pretty much sink on her father’s lap the same way she’s done since she was a toddler. Still, he can’t help but notice that she’s a bit heavier than last time and doesn’t her head reach a bit higher? Dioses. Time did fly.
“Then, what woke you up?”
“My tummy was hungry” as if to support her declaration, she grabs two churros and all but stuffs them into her mouth.
“That’s good. A healthy appetite will make your wings grow faster”
“Is that why your wings are so big, papi?” she says, mouth full. He doesn’t mind as much as he probably should “You ate a lot of churros?”
“Churros, meat, vegetables. it’s important to have variety on your diet. Carrots make your feathers shiny and soft, but red meat makes your flap stronger”
“And churros?”
“They give you energy”
“And chocolate?”
“Lifts your spirit”
“I’m going to eat lots” Sartana says, determined “So I can be big and strong like you, papi”
He laughs a bit through his nose and brushes her hair down a bit with his hand, resting it on top of her head when he’s done. A wave of affection, so intense that it’s kind of anguishing, washes over him. He feels like he might burst.
“Give your old father a hug, child”
Sartana complies delightedly, all but clinging from his neck, and he holds her to him Her hands are sticky and she smells like she skipped her nightly bath again.
“Ahem”
Both Xibalba and Sartana turn to the kitchen door to find La Muerte staring at them, arms crossed.
“Mi amor!” he says, tempted to hide the churro bag behind his back, but taking in account both him and Sartana have faces and hands full of crumbs and sugar, it would have been pointless. Then again, her expression is too amused to hold any real reproach.
“Are we in trouble?” Sartana asks, looking at both of them alternatively. La Muerte takes the seat she neglected and grabs the last remaining churro of the bag, her lips curving.
“I don’t think so” Xibalba says, smiling back at his wife.
