R&R With a Friend

[Guest]

”Are we there yet, mamá?”

Helena looked down at her little Pilar, giving a warm smile. ”We’ll be there soon, sweetie.” Squeezing her daughter’s hand reassuringly, she turns to little Hector. ”And I don’t want you getting in trouble this time around,” she tells him.

”I know,” he replies, rolling his eyes.

Looking up at the sky, she couldn’t help but appreciate the day. The sun was out shining, its warm rays beating gently across the island, with barely a cloud in the sky. It was the perfect day to take her children to the park, as well as catch up with an old friend.

Arriving to the playground, she grabbed Hector’s shoulder. ”Don’t you go running off like last time.”

”I kn-“

”And keep a good eye on your sister.”

”Mamá, I-“

”And one last thing…”

”Mamá!”

Chuckling, she pats his shoulder gently. ”Now run along, you two. I’ll come get you when it’s time to head home.” Giving them a hug and a kiss each, she lets them run off to play in the playground. Slowly walking along the path, she glances at everyone around her. Children playing, teenagers talking, couples walking, older people sitting, and people of all ages watching. Fairly normal for a park, she presumed. But she ceased her observations there. Now wasn’t the time to worry about her job. She had a purpose for being here, other than to allow her kids to run about and swing from metal bars like monkeys. She was here to see an old, dear friend.
Sitting on a bench, she waits, watching her children while she waited. Soon enough, though, she saw the older man approaching her. Standing up, she smiles. ”Good to see you, Alvarez,” she says, hugging him. ”It’s so good to see you, and it’s been far too long.”

[Guest]

A hulking beast of a man sat atop a bench in a mediocre playground beneath the warm Esparian sun. People of all races, genders, backgrounds, classes had gathered here simply because it was local. Teenagers, adults, parents, children... the park today was bustling. The brown, varnished wood of the small bench strained beneath the weight of the titan; audible creaks had emanated as the man seated himself. He was used to this; he'd taken up a good half of what had once been a bench which could seat a liberal four people. And even then, people strayed and stayed from him. The less perceptive because of the threat he could possibly pose, and the visible, exposed leather of a boot knife's strap at his ankle; and the more perceptive simply for the fact that the sun's rays gleamed, glimmered, and danced across a single leather-and-gold badge clipped to the pocket of the man's Hawaiian-patterned shirt. 'Fuerzas Especiales'. Special Forces. A fox adorned upon the ornate, patterned metal had trickles of static, never-drying blood dripping from its bared teeth.

He was a Bloodhound. In a situation like this, that was crucial. It meant he could silently assure safety. Not just to himself and his sons, but to everyone around him. Should the unstable-looking man in an olive vest in the corner of the park minding his own business choose to suddenly pull out a Glock and ponder putting a few brass-jacketed rounds through the eyes of every children whose joyful squeaks he couldn't take any more, this colossus would be able to stop him.

In return, he should've gotten respect. He should've been treated like a king of the neighbourhood. But a king isn't feared. A leader, perhaps. A king is a figurehead, someone to lead by example. That was what the giant wanted to do. He wanted to set the bar, show people that, actually, being a good citizen wasn't something to be viewed as conforming to the Presidente's regime, jumping on the bandwagon, playing follow the leader...

But instead, he was surrounded by an aura of stigma only his own children couldn't see. He'd trained amongst animals, some of Esparia's deadliest fauna and flora, in the jungles of Panei. He was respected; but kept at a distance. When the terrorists, insurgents, invaders... you name it, when any of them came, he would be there to defend them until his dying breath. And yet, it puzzled him. He was so feared.

The man couldn't help but think that his size must have had something to do with it.

A booming chuckle escaped from the mouth of the man. Nazario Alvarez. Sergeant Major Alvarez, Squad Leader Alvarez, Dad, or just plain old Alvarez. Only four people had ever known him as Alvarez; two were dead, and one was kept at a distance safe enough for the wellbeing of his children to remain paramount. The last hardly visited anyway. People focused on him as his chest pounded like a drum, rising and falling rapidly as his laughter, deep, full, hearty, true, flowed through even the concrete and softened tarmac beneath his feet.

Hazel eyes upon two small, near-identical figures in the distance. Pale and lively to contrast his tan and unusually silent. They were circling a merry-go-round; one of the small, hand-spun variants, with another girl of a similar age. Immediately, colour flushed back to his pallor, and those eyes picked up and the mouth curled back into that eternal grin it knew so well. He laughed, and raised his hands to clap, the dry sound of skin clasping skin as he did so. He stopped, realising exactly where he was, and shaking as he fell back into place, letting the gentlest of sighs escape the threshold of his mouth.

José and Diego were coming up to their eighth birthday, now. Around eight, nine days away. They were healthy and as lively as ever; despite their deceptive size, they carried the Alvarez blood within them. They were pleasant, blunt, presentable, appreciative... and above all else, happy. Nazario had something that he was positive they'd love lined up for their birthday. Ten minutes apart; and as was family tradition, he'd refuse giving them even the first of presents until the exact time of their birth had passed... 6:32AM for Diego. 6:42 for José. The latter always sat a little quiet as his sibling tore through the wrapping paper; and, predictably, Nazario continually gave in, every year, without fail. Not once had his son waited those extra ten minutes.

Nazario got to thinking. Fingers drumming against the armrest of the bench. Perhaps he should invite Pilar and Hector? They always got on well with José and Diego, despite the latter's nature as slightly more shy than the rather extroverted sibling. Plus, Helena was-

Footsteps. The sound of a charming, beautiful voice he'd heard more than once. Helena. To most, she was the 'giant of a man', Valentin el Árbitro. The Inquisitor, the Grandmaster, the very hammer of Esparia's justice. Masked, caped, and supposedly as masculine as the island made them, this was the woman behind the mask. Homeowner, wife, mother... friend. It was puzzling to think of the things she did as a purger of all things alchemical; Nazario's expression furrowed for an instant with that thought. He didn't much like the art either. In his opinion, nothing outweighed the importance of a cannon that could throw out eight hundred 5.56mm rounds a minute. No science could protect from or deflect a barrage of that magnitude.

Few knew of her alter ego and true identity, but Helena had been close to Nazario through his divorce with Elena and as such had revealed her want to do something... more. Nazario had suggested the military; and initially been shot down, but slowly, she came round to his way of thinking and announced her enrolling into the Inquisitors. That was... five years ago.

"Helena, Helena, Helena," He stepped up to her, beaming, and brought her into an embrace. Warm, friendly; as Nazario had always been to her. They'd always been there for each other, initially having bonded over both the nature of their work and its all-too-precarious balance with the life of a parent. "I was just thinking of you, my dear... bahahah!" The titan broke into his all-too-predictable laughter as the embrace broke, and the Arbiter spoke.

”Good to see you, Alvarez. It’s so good to see you, and it’s been far too long.” Nazario nodded abruptly, and gestured for the pair of them to once more seat upon the bench. The man shuffled right up to his edge courteously, leaving a good two-thirds of the structure, at a push, for the woman. So petite when compared to him, given all that space; it spoke worlds of not only the respect he held for her... but her ability.

"Indeed it has, my good friend. Work has indeed been rather strenuous," With that, he chuckled gently and rubbed his wrists. Even if he hadn't been in any live operations for a few weeks, and the shit hadn't hit the fan for an unusually long time - which meant no Gelemortian commandos to execute - training was still rigorous as always, as was the officious, bureaucratic crap he had to endure whilst sitting through the one mandatory day of meetings he had to attend. As effective second-in-command of the Bloodhounds, Quisimo saw it fit to drag the man along to pretty much every meeting; the only difference between them was rank, and active exertion of power, with his superior only really taking up arms when things really got bad.

He smiled to himself as the laughter faded, sighing, before a thought hit him and the reflexes kicked in; his head spun on simply a whim towards his companion, and the man spoke in his deep, booming, yet oddly gentle tones once more. "Are you, Pilar, and Hector still able to make it for the birthday party on Friday?"

[Shula Brighton]

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