latino_menace: (Chill)
Fiona's been outside all morning. She'd said something about the impending hurricane but he was still in bed at the time and half-asleep and it hadn't really registered. Now it's a few hours later and there have been various bumping and banging noises from the back of the house which he's been trying to ignore. It's starting to get on his nerves though, especially as something in his mind keeps telling him that she'll probably be pissed if he doesn't at least take an interest in what's going on, seeing as it's his house and everything.

Besides, it's hot out there and she could probably use a drink. So he wanders out eventually, carrying two long, cool glasses, wearing, as usual, just shorts and shades.

'What're you doing?'

OOM: Talk

Aug. 9th, 2010 12:25 am
latino_menace: (Chill)


It's felt awkward, to him. And he's kept his distance seeing as she was obviously upset and didn't want to talk about it anymore. He's confused, because he thought he was offering her what she wanted, and a bit put out that she dismissed the idea out of hand. Or so it seemed to him.

So he'd gone for a swim and read a book and almost took the boat out but, in the end, didn't. And now it's evening and he has another book, which he's skimming through on the sofa in the lounge. Another warm evening, no sound out there but the waves and breeze. This place is getting too quiet for him.
latino_menace: (19 - Smirk)


He's been looking forward to this though he definitely thought the girl would chicken out when it actually came to following through. He's surprised, in a good way, when she doesn't.

It is also inconvenient that the door to the bar would only open onto the front hallway of his house. Not because the place is small - far from it but because the carpet is brand new and his wife will complain forever about the marks.

'Just wheel it through. Mine's out front, you can follow me to where we're starting.'

There's a smirk and not a very nice one at that.

'If you can keep up. If not, good luck finding your way back to here to get home.'

Ramon is even more of an asshole when at home, surrounded by his hangers-on (there are a few of them around, all armed and eyeing Dinah and her bike up).
latino_menace: (Kissing Mary Anne)


It has been a long month. A long, boring month of healing and don't touch and being forced to exercise some self-restraint. He's spiked his drinks, taken drugs and painkillers and lately, those pills that Fi got from bar. They seemed to do the trick but left a problem - if his body literally can't respond to desire, how will he know when it's fixed?

He's so bored of waiting. And everything looks practically normal. So after that conversation on the beach and the lazy, intimate day that followed he decided to risk it. If he wakes up hurting, fine, he'll give it a bit longer.

He wakes up...hurting. But not much, not much at all. It's the middle of the night, pitch black because there's no natural light on an island in the middle of the sea, no sound but the waves hitting the beach below them. He's drowsy and hasn't opened his eyes but then, he doesn't have to to know what roused him from sleep.

It aches. But he doesn't know if that's because of the injury or because he's so hard he could hammer nails with his cock. He does know that it doesn't hurt enough to stop him and without even thinking about it, he's turning, sliding a leg between Fiona's and kissing her neck, her jaw, collarbone, chest; small, wet, open-mouthed kisses that are as gentle as they are insistent.

'Fi.'

OOM: Miami

Mar. 21st, 2010 12:13 am
latino_menace: (Cigar - Musing)


Ramon is very fond of his island. But lets face it, there's not a lot to do. That's all well and good when you just want to sit and soak up rays or swim or take the boat out. When Fi's here, there's sex. But she's not here all the time and he's a restless sort. All this quiet is getting on his nerves.

So when Fi comes through the door, he's dressed and ready to leave.

'Lets go to Miami.'
latino_menace: (19 - B&W)


He wakes one morning and for a moment, can't remember why he slept badly. It has been a restless night, filled with half-sleep and dreams that he couldn't decipher, moments of wakefulness where, afterwards, he couldn't remember if he'd actually been awake at all. At times he'd been about to get up because he felt so alert, only to discover that an hour had passed and the moments he'd been awake were not real at all, merely a disturbance in the flow of his thoughts that haven't quietened whether asleep or not.

He looks to the window and sees that it's a beautiful day and it's then that he remembers why he's been dreading the morning. Perhaps the lack of sleep was an attempt to hold off time, halt its passage so that today would never come. But here it is, sun shining from a warm blue sky on a city just starting to wake, people going to work as though it's a normal day and not one where he is a condemned man.

Today is the day he'll become a husband. Or rather, today is the day he'll look into a girl's eyes and promise to love and honour her, in sickness and in health, forever and ever amen. Only he'll be looking into her eyes and wishing he'd never laid eyes on her, he'll see that smug little smile she's taken to wearing and dream of cutting it off her face.

But he can't do that. And won't. He needs his son. He is the heir apparent but once he becomes king, there has to be someone to take his place. The name must continue; his father and now himself - they're not going to work their whole lives on this business only to have no one to give it to at the end. So what if he can't stand the bitch who'll give him that heir? Is there any woman he can stand to be around for more than a few hours?

He resolutely does not think of exceptional Irish women who don't want anything from him. She's not real. She doesn't exist in Bogotá, 1979, on this world. And if she did? There's no guarantee he'd let himself think of her anyway. Commitment to another person is not something that comes naturally to him, no matter how much fun they promise to be.

So that's it. That's the end of it. He's getting married and he won't be faithful and she'll hate him and he'll avoid going home like the plague. Pretty much a normal marriage anyway, right?

Goddamn he wants to be free again.


* * * * *



She looks good, he'll give her that. The dress hides the tiny swell of her belly that has just recently started to show and she looks pretty, demure, virginal. The veil obscures most of her face but he sees the smile, sees how she laps up the attention of the families on either side; one half of the audience are casual and mostly indifferent, the other half look like they can't believe they're here, surrounded by such people. Only his family have been talking. Hers look like they're too terrified to open their mouths, fearful of saying the wrong thing, causing insult and inviting retribution, seeing threat where perhaps there is none. He can read it in their eyes: how did we get here?

How did he get here?

The frills of his expensive tuxedo shirt have wilted in the stifling heat. Music is playing (here comes the bride...) but he hears it as though from a great distance away, distorted, something ugly. A fly lands on his ear, attracted by the sheen of sweat and he doesn't shake it off. The knot of his bow tie is cutting into his throat and for a moment, he thinks he might stop breathing. He knows his smile is rigid and he can feel that he's pale; he'd wipe his clammy hands on his trousers if he could move his arms. In the end he focuses on the droplet of sweat running down between his shoulderblades, running away and away before being caught by the shirt held tight to his body by a dark red cummerbund, tight as a vice to stop his trousers escaping his hips.

She looks forward as she's handed over into his protection and care. He catches her father's eye as the man turns away. He looks older. Diminished.

Ramon knows how he feels.


* * * * *



This room is small, cramped, filled with old tables and stacked chairs, relics that didn't make the grade for this wedding of royalty.

The bridesmaid is maybe fifteen and crying now, not enjoying herself the way she thought she would. He can see her trying to hide it, gripping the edge of the table with knuckles that are white, desperately forcing herself not to sob out loud.

He smiles, a grin fixed in his face like the red slash of a child's paintbrush across rough paper. You can't ignore the way it looks like blood, no matter how hard you tell yourself it means happiness.


* * * * *



She's been overseeing the packing for the honeymoon. In the space of a few hours, it became a demeaning task below her station, something to be passed off to the staff but too important to let them get on with without supervision. He stands in the kitchen of his wedding present, smoking in the heat, thinking of the knot in his bow tie and how it's still cutting off his air.

He could have taken it off hours ago. He was afraid if he did, he'd have nothing to blame when he couldn't breathe.

She glides towards him and though he doesn't look at her, he can see her noticing the barely-wiped stain on the front of his trousers, the mark on his cummerbund, the spot of blood lost in the frills of his shirt.

Now you see it, now you don't.

He doesn't move as she stands in his space and raises a hand (droplet of sweat on his back has nowhere to run, fabric saturated now and clammy, grating over skin and cloth if he only dared to move), runs it softly down his cheek and jaw, coming to rest and staying there. Husband, she says, and it's a sound she makes full of wonderment as though this weren't a farce. He looks at her face now and sees that the smugness has evaporated and there's nothing there but...happiness. Shyness. Like the play is over and she doesn't know how to start cleaning up and is looking to him for guidance.

How did you get here? he asks her, quiet. She has a family who love her and have cared for her, educated her and taught her, brought her up to be a woman who could live in the world and do whatever she wanted. What are you doing here, in my kitchen. Our kitchen. Carrying my son, bringing a life into a world where nothing but violence awaits.

Why do you want a man that will never love you?

She looks at him and doesn't speak. For a moment, it seems like her eyes might fill but they don't and her face barely changes. Her hand takes another pass down his jaw and he doesn't push her away, just ruminates on how she'll get his sweat on her fingers. When her hand drops, she doesn't wipe it clean. She looks lost, like a child given a toy that she doesn't know how to work.

We're leaving in an hour, she says and turns to go back upstairs to check the packing. He watches her until she's gone and then drops his head back to hang on his neck, cigarette burning the filter between his fingers. The heat lies on him like a thick blanket, it dims the world, makes it disappear beyond the walls around him...but in the distance he hears the low roar of thunder beating over the tops of the mountains and somewhere a dog barks at the wind starting to rise.

It's late March, the end of summer, end of the warm, dry days. Ramon closes his eyes, loosens his tie and prays for rain.
latino_menace: (19 - B&W)


Perhaps it wasn't really the manly thing, letting Fi deal with getting her out. Under normal circumstances, he'd just give her a smack and be done with it. But isn't shock bad for unborn kids? He doesn't know and he's still struggling with mixed emotions about the baby - on one hand, he wishes it had never happened. But on the other...it has. And it's going to be born now, no matter what so shouldn't he start getting used to the idea?

None of this is easy. He's glad of the half-minute or so that Fi is out of the room because it gives him just a little space to breathe and think about what he's going to say, if he has to say anything. He really had no idea she'd show up here.

When Fi comes back, she'll find him sitting on the bed with his back against the wall, smoking a cigarette and staring at nothing in particular.
latino_menace: (19 - B&W)


He'd never really thought that Fiona would take him up on his casual offer to come to watch him fight. Not that it seemed like she was full of shit or anything...but she is a woman. They say things easily, they're flippant and don't have the stomach for anything rough.

His opinion of women at the moment is, justifiably he thinks, low. Maria can shoulder a lot of the blame for that.

He always fights on a Friday and this week, he's definitely in the mood to cause some pain. He'd almost forgotten about Fi but when he opens the bathroom door and looks out onto the bar, he figures why not? He can even see her from where he's standing and she doesn't look like she's doing anything important.

'Busy tonight?'

He's never been much good at small talk.
latino_menace: (Sigh/Goddamnit/Thinking)


The evening had proved to be as fun as the day. The new boat was amazing, especially after he remembered how you're supposed to drive one. They'd gone for a long ride and then stopped off for dinner and drinks before heading home. Idyllic, really.

Except there was...something. Lots of somethings, really. All evening - and then all night - he kept being assailed by conversations he never knew he'd had before. He vividly remembers Teja putting him in the cells after he stabbed him...except if you'd asked him about it an hour before, he would have sworn that it never happened at all. And yet there it is, in his head. It's not clear, parts seem to have faded but it seemed so real.

It had got worse in the night. He'd dreamt that he was in bed with Mary Anne, only to wake up and find Fi. When he tried to shake the dream off, it wouldn't go. The next time, it was Saffron. Then he was in the Milliways cells, doing endless pushups to pass the time. Ramon's not the type that dreams much but what worries him - not that he'll admit it out loud - is that its happening when he's awake. Last night it had got to the point where he couldn't work out what was real or not, what the time was, who he was with or whether he was sleeping.

It was a restless night. Which is why dawn finds him sitting out on the balcony, smoking and drinking coffee, wearing just a robe and trying to work this out. Last time something similar happened, he nearly lost his mind and then his life. He'd really rather that didn't happen again.
latino_menace: (19 - Confused)


When he first enters the room, he's surprised to see that it's obviously been used. He was expecting this to be like a hotel, with everything new for the next person. Still, he approves of the furnishings, though it's a little smaller than he would have liked and not done in the sort of style common in 1979. Which is to say, it's furnished with taste, style and obviously expensive.

He heads into the bathroom to shower. There are bottles of shampoo and cologne, all expensive enough to be even out of his price range. They smell good though, so he uses them liberally. Wandering back out to the main room, he opens the wardrobe and looks at the clothes. Again, tasteful and expensive. He tries a shirt on and it fits around the shoulders but is too loose at the waist and the pants just fall off him. Exasperated, he turns back to pick up his original jeans...and that's when he sees the pictures.

At first, he thinks they're of his dad. Would his father know about this place? If so, why would he never mention it? He picks one up and...there's another man in them. And his father...doesn't look like his father. Not quite. There are similarities but not enough for them to be the same man.

The picture falls from his fingers and breaks on the floor. What did those people say? The doctor, and Teja. They knew me.

Older. They said they knew me older.


He yanks his boots on with shaking hands and bolts from the room, still shirtless and with damp hair.

What the fuck is going on?!
latino_menace: (Chill)


He doesn't sleep deeply, though it's peaceful. When he wakes, he's more desperate than ever to get clean and she seems to be flat out, so he slips out from underneath her and heads into the bathroom. Ten minutes later, he's in a bathrobe and making more coffee; five minutes after that, he's back in bed, smoking a cigarette quietly and waiting for her to wake up.
latino_menace: (Kissing Mary Anne)


He sleeps late. It was a long day yesterday and it had taken longer than normal to drop off, after the uneasy way they ended the day.

When he wakes, it doesn't seem to matter. It's Christmas and he's determined not to purposefully spoil it with problems that are miles away right now. So his arms reach for her and he closes his eyes, smiling a little, trying to doze off again.
latino_menace: (Smile - Blue)


It's been another long drive, through Spain and the South of France and then the long route, into Italy and moving North into Switzerland. It takes longer but means that he can avoid Geneva, which is probably a good thing at the moment as there will be plenty of UN officials with his picture in their offices just now. He doesn't give it much thought though; the scenery has been pretty spectacular for the whole journey, turning from balmy warmth in France to snow and frigid air as they climb the mountains in Switzerland.

It's been a nice day. He's even let Fi drive for half of it. Still, he's pretty glad to pull up in front of their cabin. It's part of an exclusive resort, about half a mile above a picture-postcard village and secluded by the presence of towering pine trees around three sides of it. He grins as they walk into the warmth; everything's wood and fur rugs and a blazing open fire. One wall is mostly glass, huge doors opening out onto a balcony (and an outdoor hot tub) that overlooks a ski slope down to the edge of the houses and hotels.

'Not bad.'

OOM: Out

Nov. 10th, 2009 07:54 pm
latino_menace: (A Cell Is No Protection For You)


X was less than gracious when she released him and that's still annoying him as he heads up the stairs. But by the time he's reached Fi's room, he's let it go (or at least put it away for a while). There are more important things to think of, like making up for three weeks of incarceration or incapacity. And washing that damn place off him.

He bangs on the door hard. She wasn't downstairs (he checked) so she must be up here.
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)
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.

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Ramon Salazar

September 2010

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