latino_menace: (Reclining)


It's been a long evening. Ramon aches from all the places she hit him and he's tired and still no further along to understanding anything they talked about. But that can all wait for now. They've been to the infirmary and Fiona's got her hand strapped up and then he'd brought her up to her room and put her to bed. She was pretty spent.

After she'd fallen asleep, he'd considered going back to his own room for the night. But it felt like a trek and anyway, there are things to talk about. So he'd taken a shower, winced at the bruises starting to form, found some clean soft jeans and a white T shirt. Then he'd poured a whiskey over ice and sat in a comfortable chair, watching her sleep and thinking. It's a lot more peaceful up here than it was downstairs, that's for sure.
latino_menace: (Sleep/Hide)


Some people might be disappointed to learn that Ramon, generally, has no problems sleeping at night. They might think he deserves sleepness nights and bad dreams and everything else that should come from an uneasy subconscious. But no. No matter what he's done on any given day, he tends to go out like a light and wake up about six hours later, feeling good and ready to go again.

The exception to this comes mainly in Milliways and even not very often here. But when it does, it tends to mean one thing - that whatever happened to cause it is something serious, and it'll need to be rectified at some later date.

Right now, Ramon's cold. Even with a quilt and Fi nearby, he's cold and that's because there's a sweat all over him that's making him freeze. He can't move. He's shaking with the effort of trying to break out of the wood that's locking him in but he's got branches for limbs and his body is just a solid trunk and no matter how loud he yells in the depths of his mind, no one can hear a sound he makes.

As nightmares go, this might well make his top three.
latino_menace: (Default)
Quote courtesy of Crystal. BWAH!

Ahem. Anyway. This is for anyone who would like to tag Ramon as a tree, as some people have said they want to.

1. He's vaguely aware of what's going on, though in a detached kind of way. He'll remember most of it, I imagine, though it wont be as clear as if he were a person.

2. If anyone's thinking of carving their name on him or similar, no scars will carry over back to his human form. Not that they'll likely have a chance though, as Fiona, Ramon's girlfriend, is protecting him and she's fierce, yo. Her awesome mun is around for tagging so don't be surprised if you get a fiery redhead being hardcore at you.

3. He might be pissed off with any ill-treatment later but frankly, his anger is pretty much reserved for the Kates, Bill and Demeter right about now so don't worry about any payback.

4. If your pup can talk to trees, I will totally respond and they can chat. But I'll be really slow for the next few hours as Wednesday's are not my own; after about 10pm GMT, I'll be totally available for about four hours.

5. If you just want to have a single-tag thing and then have your pup move on, go right ahead.

OK, think that covers it. Any questions, hit me up here - I'm in and out but will get there eventually.
latino_menace: (Default)
It's been a miserable few days and that's an understatement. Worse than that, it's been boring. He doesn't know whether they've lost the Americans or if they've just missed them by chance but there hasn't been a single attack since that first night. The jungle is disgustingly hot and just when it almost becomes unbearable, it starts to rain and keeps going for hours - which makes the place hot and wet. The heat never eases; it's exactly like walking through a sauna set to maximum heat. And the terrain makes things worse, if that's possible. It's slow going while half of them hack the foliage away and the rest of them struggle over rocks and crevices and through mud and scrub and tree stumps. The insects are constantly attacking them and there are any number of deadly species around here - he's also noticed jaguar tracks in places (the only tracks he can identify, for obvious reasons) and the mosquitos are starting to drive him insane.

Ramon is sick to fucking death of military rations, being sticky and filthy and bored. But these aren't the only problems he's noticing. Every night when they make camp, the men in his crew are quite obviously becoming more relaxed with the situation - the less danger the Americans seem to pose, the more they start not being afraid and their thoughts are turning to matters closer to home. Namely, the foreigners in their midst.

He's caught all of them, save Esteban, staring at Mary Anne in ways he imagines she probably doesn't like - the expressions range from lustful to mutinous depending on whether she's telling them what to do or doing something less intrusive, like coming back from changing clothes or cleaning up or anything similar. He's sure she's noticed herself so hasn't said anything since his original warning but it seems clear that things are going to come to a head at some point.

With Roxas, it's more like hate. He's not around so often and they don't know where he goes or what he's doing there. The kid is so impervious to anything around him and can't really be passed off as human by any stretch of anyone's imagination. The heat doesn't affect him, he doesn't sleep or eat or get uncomfortable in the conditions. He's also dressed differently and is impossible to insult. Ramon can virtually see their fists itching whenever the guy comes into camp but he doesn't know if it's registered with Roxas at all.

He doesn't do anything. He brought those two because they know how to handle themselves, not because he wanted to babysit. And because he's tired and in a bad mood, he doesn't think anything of leaving camp at night when he wants to think things over without being surrounded by people. Tonight, he takes Esteban with him because they have things to talk about.

Perhaps, in hindsight, this isn't a good idea. After all, they need some people left to carry the stuff.
latino_menace: (Reclining)


He's not sure how long they've been asleep for but it feels like quite a while. The air is noticeably cooler on his body, though still warm enough. Fi feels comfortable pressed against him and he's content to lie like this for a while. But it's not long before the thoughts of shower, smoke and then coffee start permeating through his brain.

He doesn't move though. Not yet. She's sleeping and he can't decide whether things will be weird or not when she wakes up.
latino_menace: (Default)
Place holder for the first night camp set up. Will fill it in when we finish the last thread so any pertinent details are not missed out.
latino_menace: (Default)


Ask a character a question, any question, and they HAVE to answer completely honestly. Have to. It's the meme rule. Even if they'd normally lie, they suddenly have been hit with a truth serum of some kind and must tell the truth. Bwaha.


This is open for Ramon, Michael Westen, Satan and Justin Taylor.
latino_menace: (You Have My Attention. For Now.)


Ramon and Mary Anne have sorted out a cover story for why she's there and where she came from. Roxas...is harder, given that he's so obviously not...normal. For the moment, Ramon has decided to go with, once the inevitable questions come from his men, 'mind your own business.' It's always worked in the past and he can't imagine they'll suddenly have become less afraid of him. Esteban might be more of a problem but fuck it, he can't put this off any longer.

As soon as the trio exit Milliways, they're thrust right back into a hive of activity. Six men surround them, all heavily armed. He gave Roxas and Mary Anne a P90 each before they left the bar so at least they fit in in that regard. Everyone's running for the door of the run-down saloon, getting stared at by the few other patrons. Outside, there are shouts of 'vamonos, vamonos!' from the remaining two men in his guard - and clearly, in the sky, the sound of a whole bunch of choppers bearing down fast. On the single road into town, dozens of lights can be seen - military vechicles, all of them. Ramon swears under his breath and heads for the nearest Range Rover.

'Get in,' he says, shortly, to Mary Anne and Roxas. He completely ignores the bewildered looks from his cousin and the others until the two of them are in the car, then he turns to one of the men who is loading things frantically into the trunk.

'Give me that case you took from me.'

The man hesitates - it's already packed - but a look from his boss silences his objection and he digs it out again. Ramon takes it and gets into the vehicle, banging the back of the headrest in front of him.

'Lets get out of here then.'

The engine guns and they turn in the road, heading for the track that takes them into the wall of trees that loom ominously in front of them. It's pitch black in there and once more, he's reminded of how much he really doesn't want to be here.
latino_menace: (Random - Get Used To Them)


It's five minutes to midnight and he's sitting in the dark, still flipping that card between his fingers. He's doing nothing but hearing the seconds tick by in his head.

He could, of course, just use the card himself. But that's not the point, is it? He doesn't even know if Random has remembered. Hell, it's probably a completely different date in Amber. It's not like that place follows any rules where time is concerned.

Three minutes to midnight.

Two.

He can admit to himself that this is a test. And also that it's stupid and he should just stop flipping the card, contact him and say, Hey baby. Know what day it is here...? But he's proud and dumb and he knows it.

'Ramon?'

The card stops for the first time in hours. He turns it to face him and sees its moving, feels how cold it is, hears Random's voice.

'Happy Anniversary, lover. Did you think I forgot?'

He laughs and calls himself an idiot. A hand reaches through and he takes it, grinning, lighter than air as he disappears from the room, back where everything is perfect.
latino_menace: (Sleep/Hide)
Fi may have wanted him to wake up after a few hours for another round but if she tried to rouse him, she didn't get very far. He was exhausted and slept like the dead.

But it's morning now and while he's still a tad bleary, he's also blinking awake and thinking it's nice when the world swims into focus and you find yourself wrapped around a beautiful woman.
latino_menace: (Sigh/Goddamnit/Thinking)


Fiona

I'm no good at writing letters, I'll start off with saying that. I tried to find you earlier - were you just refusing to answer your door? Doesn't matter, I'll leave this with the bar for you to find at your leisure.

So, I understand that you were angry with me this morning. Can you see why I was angry with you when you did the same thing to me on the beach? I suppose it was a bit different, seeing as we'd just had a good week together and I'm sorry if I upset you.


He sits back from the desk to light a cigarette and think about what he just wrote. Is he sorry? Well, yes. Though he's not quite sure why she got mad enough to pull a gun on him. Didn't she know that he'd have come back to bed after that shower?

I don't know what I'm supposed to say but I do know that I don't want to never see you again. I like being with you. Am I supposed to dress this up in flowery language? I can't do that in Spanish, let alone English. What is it you want to hear? I like being with you and I don't want to stop seeing you. That's the truth, no matter how much you don't seem to want to believe it.

You keep saying 'this is going to end badly' or 'this'll never last' and I've gone along with it but seeing as I can't ask you to your face right now (where are you, anyway?), I'll say it here - I've never understood why that's not true. Alright, I have Random but you have this Michael guy and I'm not complaining. It doesn't mean we can't enjoy being together and there's no reason for us to end every little argument with a gun or some threats.


That's going to get old for him really fast, he can tell. After the initial adrenaline from the argument had worn off yesterday, he'd had a nap and woken up just feeling deflated. He doesn't get what went wrong.

I was offended by what you said. It sounded like you were critisizing all the sex we'd had. And I fucking know you enjoyed it at the time so where did that come from? If there's another reason you were upset, just tell me what it was so I can fix it. I'm not good at writing letters and I'm not good at putting right things I don't know are wrong.

You may want me to be gone for good but I'm telling you now, I'm not buying that. And if you think I'll just let you go, you're wrong.


He thinks about that statement for a while - is she going to get pissed and think he's treating her like property? Or is she going to take it in the spirit he means it, ie, he thinks she's worth the effort? Hopefully the latter but you never can tell with her.

He lights a cigarette and tries to think of what else to say.

Lets try again. I've left some flowers and chocolates with this letter...

Girls like those, right?

...and I'm going to take you to Portugal for a holiday when I find you. Find some European shops with nice dresses in for you. And I want think can't believe I'm going to say this, but I think we should talk about...fuck, I don't know. What people talk about when things are messed up when they don't need to be.

If you don't come find me, I'll come for you. To find you, I mean.


R


With the letter, Bar produces a beautiful orchid and a large box filled with a selection of the world's most expensive chocolates.

OOM: Miami

Jun. 11th, 2009 06:37 pm
latino_menace: (Shades)


This was a good idea of his, he thinks. He's been dying to get out of the bar for a while and he likes Miami - hot, beaches, women in bikinis everywhere, nice cars, plenty of good stores to blow cash in. They could both do with a day away and it'll be nice to be able to spoil Fi. Nice to be able to show off some of his immense wealth too, obviously.

But he only knows the city in general, not where a woman would like to shop. So when they get through the door, he just turns to her and says,

'I'm in your hands. Where to?'

OOM: Beach

Jun. 1st, 2009 10:44 pm
latino_menace: (Snerk)


Now that he's found this beach, there's possibly not a thing in the world that'll drag him away from it. He is tired to fuck of shitty Scottish weather - but this. This is perfect.

...possibly even more perfect is wandering on to it and discovering a prone Fiona, her bikini unfastened, doing exactly what he was planning to. Of course, given their last conversation, 'perfect' could possibly turn into 'perfect nightmare' after a few minutes but he's willing to take his chances.

'Need some sun cream on your back?' he asks, slouching next to her with a smirk.
latino_menace: (Random - Get Used To Them)


'Ramon? Baby? It's been a month for me.'

'Excellent.'

A hand extends from the card and Ramon grasps it gladly, laughs when he finds his arms suddenly full of blonde.

'Missed you.'

'You too.'

+ + +

A couple of hours later, Random is sitting up in bed and tutting. Ramon thinks it's very unfair that he should be doing this so pointedly, especially as he was just dozing off nicely there.

'What have you been doing with the place? It's a mess.'

'The cleaning company'll take care of it. I still have them come once a week.'

'You didn't answer my question.'

It's been a long time since he's been able to get anything past Random.

'Just came to blow off some steam.'

'...why? Are you about to do something...you?'

'I could take offence at that, you know.'

'You could. But you won't. I didn't say I minded.'

Ramon thinks that of course Random doesn't mind anymore because he's not around to deal with the consequences.

'Someone pissed me off.'

'Everyone pisses you off, baby.'

'More than usual.' He sighs and lights a cigarette...then another one, five seconds later. Random will never not be a thief. 'She knew about me and you and she threw it in my face.'

'Oh.'

Random knows very well how that sort of thing usually goes down. He's never been able to get it through Ramon's head that just laughing about it or throwing innuendo right back usually works a lot better. He's a lot better at games than Ramon'll ever be. Patience born of being an immortal prince with a psychotic father.

'She must be stupid.'

'No. Arrogant. Likes to play games.'

'Sounds like the type you normally fight with. Are you going to kill her?'

'...no.'

Probably.

'...ah.' Random knows what that means. If he doesn't want to kill people who piss him off, he's fucking them. 'Promise me you'll...you know.'

His eyes are green and worried and Ramon immediately throws his cigarette away and kisses him.

'No need to worry. You know I have no patience. She'll either learn or she won't.'

And that's what it comes down to. He puts it out of his head and focuses on what he's doing, which is reassure the only really important person in his life, the best way he knows how.
latino_menace: (Default)


[From here]

When Ramon walks through the door into his house in Portugal, he goes to bed. That's all he can contemplate doing and that's all he does.

+ + +

When he wakes up the next day, he gets up and goes out. He has some work to do and it's about time the car got fixed from when Raul ran into a rock. It's easier to think about that than it is trying to work out just what exactly happened yesterday. It's been a while since he's got that pissed off, nearly enough to lose it.

It's hot in Lisbon, nearly a hundred degrees. He likes it. It smells like salt and summer and while tourists might be annoying, at least they're good cover. As always, he has to take care while he's here.

The car goes to the garage and he goes to see an old acquaintence. It takes ten minutes to catch up on small talk and tell him what he needs. It's a simple thing, getting hold of body armour. Delivery is arranged for the next day.

And then...what?

+ + +

His grandfather had once told him that Europe was both the best and the worst of the world. Of course, he'd know. He'd lived there until his mid twenties before he disappeared off to Brazil. And from there to Colombia, which is why Ramon speaks Spanish as a first language and not Portuguese. He'd been ten when he received this piece of information and his grandfather had been dying of cancer, but still a cheerful sort of man. Ramon had liked him well enough, though not enough to really feel sad when he finally stopped hanging on. But he always remembered being told that about Europe because it was one of the few things he'd ever found interesting enough to bother asking questions about.

'Why is it good?'

'It's the centre of everything, boy. You can go East or West without too much trouble but if you stay put, there's two dozen countries on your doorstep and it's easy enough to move wherever you want to go.'

The old man had thought about that for a moment.

'Except when they're fighting but that's never really been our problem. Very good business in Europe.'

After he'd left, the old man had spoken about the continent as if he didn't come from it. Ramon had never found out why he left in the first place and just always assumed the guy liked to wander. He'd never been a criminal, as far as he knew.

'And why is it bad?'

'The people.'

His grandfather had been very clear on this.

'The people are assholes. The British have an inflated opinion of their own importance to the rest of the world. The French are arrogant and despise foreigners. The Germans - well, no one needs an explanation of the Germans' problems. The Eastern Europeans are fucking Communists, Ramon - your papa would do well to sell to the corrupt leaders there but it's not like the general populace can afford anything. The Italians aren't much better - I lost a girl to an Italian once, I ever tell you that? Tits like...' he stops speaking to make a universal hand gesture - Ramon surmises that the woman must have had tits the size of watermelons.

'...would have married her for those tits. Anyway. I'm saying, boy...stay away from Europeans. Do business with them if you take over from your father, take their money, visit their countries and take all the women away from Italians that you can. But don't ever trust one. They think too much of themselves. They all think they're the centre of the universe. Not like here. Mark me, boy. Why do you think I left?'

Ramon doesn't know and asks. The old man had suddenly been wracked with a coughing fit and had waved him away, which he was only too happy to do. That cough was disgusting. He always hated it.

Now, almost forty years later, he sits at the top of the garden that runs down to the beach and looks over the sea. This is his grandfather's house. He doesn't know how or why it had managed to stay in the family when the man had never returned home, and he doesn't care. He's just thinking that the guy was right.

Europeans do think too much of themselves. And all the fake accents in the world don't hide where you're from. He wonders what his grandfather would have had to say about the Irish. Peasants, probably. That's what they were, weren't they?

His face is dark as he looks over the sea and he wonders what to do next. By rights, she should be taught a lesson. No one talks to him like that. He should show her exactly why her arrogance is a bad idea and then move on.

He should. He should.

...the problem is, he doesn't want to move on yet. He wants her back in bed. And out of it and outside and on the beach and in this fucking chair and in her apartment and in Miami and...everywhere.

Christ. He has to get out of here. It takes two minutes to throw on a clean shirt and pull the covers off Random's orange sports car. Lisbon is only half an hour away.

+ + +

He always thinks the difference between high class hookers and street corner whores is their underwear. The first girl of the night was wearing silk, the second, nylon. Ultimately, that was the only difference between them.

+ + +

It's hot again the next day. He's tired and hungover and sated and damnit, it didn't change anything.

He'll try again tonight.
latino_menace: (Default)


Ramon is out back, smoking a cigar. It's getting nice out and it's good to get some air - there's a lot of stuff going on at the moment and it's nice to have some space to go through it.

He's not looking for - or expecting - company.

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Ramon Salazar

September 2010

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