2020-11-12 - Bursting Into Flames

For the past few days Cristobal hasn't been around under the ambiguous guise of 'work', choosing to stay at his garage apartment instead of Dante's posh alternative where most of his things have seemed to of migrated (not that he has many personal possessions). During that time, their telephone conversations have been short and terse, texts turned to one word responses that take overly long from the Mexican. And for almost a full day there was silence, until a particularly dreary afternoon that a more pleading text comes: I'm sorry, I need you before I do something stupid. At St. Mary's church.

There is no service going on at the moment, the pews mostly empty and the eerie green cloudy sky casting the nave into a sickly pallor that even the glow of the candles can't chase away. Cris is sitting in one of the rows, gaze focused on the altar but out of focus, starring at nothing.

Dante has always tried to give Cris space, and they have been spending a great deal of time together. So the pulling back was not surprising, in a way. The terse texts and long respones got him worried. And that text? That gets him in his car as fast as he can to the appointed location.

There is hesitation before he steps into the church. He's made no secret of the fact that he's not a religious man, and so it feels disrespectful to be in this space of believers. He looks relieved when he spots Cris, and that removes any hesitation. He moves quickly up the aisle and towards him. "Darling, what is it?"

"I think I'm high as balls." Comes the answer from Cristobal before he finally turns to the voice, blinking as if he's surprised to see Dante there, despite the fact that he invited him here. "That was fast." Point of fact it took the normal amount of time to get from where Dante was to where Cristobal is, he just had a little time slip there that has his baby blues batting in confusion. He pats the padded seat beside him. "C'mere, gimme some sugar."

"Cris," says Dante, perplexed. He's been feeling the effects, but apparently not as strongly as the other man. Then again, he lives at Bayside, which is a good bit away from the dispensary and with strong ocean breezes. Or maybe he just has a bit of a tolerance for whatever that stuff is. "You scared the shit out of me. What's going on?" He sits down on the pew beside the other man and reaches to touch his shoulder.

Cris takes the hand, making it travel from shoulder to cheek where he nuzzles his stubble against palm. "You told me to call you when I started spiraling out, so consider this my 911." His dark lashes close, emphasizing the shadows beneath his eyes. If he's gotten any sleep lately, it's been the restless sort. "You ever get the feeling that even though you're trying to do everything right, it's futile? Which I realize is a shitty question to ask you when I keep putting you into this same situation."

"Yes," says Dante. "Though I get the sense it's not with the same gravity as what you're going through. I have...family who I can never seem to please. It took me a long time to accept that and stop caring. But...I did spend a good deal of my adolescence and early adulthood trying to...be someone, to do things...that felt impossible and futile."

He shifts a little closer and slides his hand around the back of his neck, seeking out the knots that he assumes are there. "Which of your ghosts haunt you right now, my love?" he says gently, seeking eye contact.

Cristobal digs the heel of his palm against the span between his eyebrows, grinding out a headache or perhaps a thought that's lurking there beneath the surface. "This is a shitty time of year for me. It always starts out hopeful, but then it turns into one giant ball of let down." The hand drops from his face, balling up to beat a few times on his thigh in frustration. The knots are there beneath Dante's fingers, tension that eases with the other man's presence but don't fully dissipate. "Kinda like you to your folks." The tease is light, made to show that he is listening to Dante and his story, even if he's bundled up in his own head.

"A dark anniversary?" asks Dante softly, "...or what should be a happy one, but isn't?" His tone is gentle. He doesn't want to push Cris to reveal what he doesn't want to, but wants to leave space for him to speak. He continues to work at the knots with strong pianist's fingers. "I somehow doubt these things are equivalent," he drawls, "But I appreciate you entertaining the idea."

Sinking back against the pew and those magical fingers, Cris starts off with a question, "Are you familiar with Day of the Dead?"

"Only vaguely," says Dante. He presses at a few more knots, then slides his hand down to grip Cristobal's. He squeezes gently. "It's November 1st, isn't it? A day to speak to lost loved ones?"

There is a vague nod from Cristobal, indicating Dante is on the right track. His hand flips over on his thigh, accepting the fingers that twine into his with a slight squeeze of his knuckles. "Catholics call it All Souls Day, but the sentiment is the same. And the celebration traditionally starts on Halloween and stretches through the second of November." He makes a little wobble of his head, to indicate the date of the first is close enough for what matters. So in my faith, we build an altar in our homes, an Ofrenda, and you put pictures of your dead loved ones along with food, flowers and trinkets." Maybe now his disappearance will start to make sense.

It does. Dante's posh flat doesn't have a Catholic altar, after all. He listens attentively and nods. He gives the other man's hand a squeeze. "So you went back to your place so you could do this ritual. Do you try to speak to her?" He's clearly ignorant of these things and trying hard not to be accidentally insensitive.

"They're supposed to visit you. It's the one day they are supposed to be released from the afterlife to come back and visit those they've left behind, following the trail of pedals you've left for them back to their image. Last year...last year here in Gray Harbor some were visited." And by the look on Cristobal's face, he was not among them or then again this year. The disappointment is there, tinged with embarrassment and anger, all the sorts of wonderful emotions that make Cristobal go to some very dark places.

"Were they really visited?" Dante asks gently. "Or was it just this place, messing with people as it does?" He squeezes his hand firmly. "I know you want to see your daughter, but would you really trust the image if this place was what brought her to you?"

Cristobal looks down to their joined hands, a tension in his arm that wasn't there before like he's resisting the urge to tug it away, break the union. "I'm told not all Dreams have bad outcomes, that these 'visits' were pleasant and in some cases gave closure." He doesn't end up yanking away, so it's with his other hand he drags the web of his forefinger and thumb down over his mouth as if missing his facial hair. "So why would I not want to risk that, but the point is moot. She didn't come. I wasn't ...enough. My offerings weren't enough, my heart breaking another year in a row wasn't enough."

Dante takes in a deep breath and considers things carefully before saying anything. "Yes, but it could have been a falsee visit. My point is...it's no judgment on you if whatever forces at play here didn't send you a vision of your daughter, Cris. Maybe..." he hesitates, "...and I fully admit I am completely naive to these things, but is it possible the nature of this place could be what's kept her away?"

"Mm." Cris makes that sort of noncommittal rumble in his chest, like he's considering it but not entirely convinced. "I'll have to consult the bones." Is his end decision, lifting their joined hands to kiss one of Dante's knuckles. "Regardless, I'm in one of my moods, so you either take me home and put me under lock and key, or unleash me on the populous to make bad self destructive decisions."

Dante is out of his element in matters of the spirit and it shows. He wants to comfort the other man, but his well of knowledge is very shallow. "Is there anything I can do to help you shake off that mood, mhmm? I am terribly good at distractions." His eyes flash and that predatory smile of his appears.

That rumble turns into a growl, that smile of Dante's enough to threaten his last thread of sanity and decency. "Better be careful with that thing, English, or I'll drag you off and defile the sanctity of the confessional booth and end up grinning my way all the way to Hell." There is a nudge against Dante's leg, trying to urge him out of the pew.

"Which would guarantee me a spot in Hell as well. Though seeing as I'm already a heathen and an adulterer..." Dante half-shrugs. "And well, purgatory at least is rather implied in my name, isn't it?" He shuffles along the pew, keeping hold of Cris' hand as he does.

Cristobal keeps his hand laced with Dante as if they man is his life line. Likely he already took refuge in the Church to keep himself out of trouble until back up could arrive, and he's not risking letting go now. He does, however, stop at the end of the pew long enough to cross himself with his off hand before his back gets turned on the altar, "And the fact that I have twenty-six souls on blackening my own." The fact he told Dante he was responsible for 25 deaths makes one unaccounted for, but it's a number he's so used to throwing out there, he doesn't bother to explain it. "Means my spot is pretty much secure, but that'd just be weaving the hand basket. Man, I've got a serious craving for chocolate."

"Well, at least we're going down together, ay?" says Dante as he squeezes the other man's hand. He does make note of the number, but now isn't the time to point it out. "We could stop by the restaurant, have some dinner. Or maybe just dessert." No crossing from him, and he looks a bit awkward about it.

"I'll have the best company." Cris says in quiet response, drawing Dante up short as they're leaving the church to stop by the font of holy water. Man, there are a lot of steps just to leaving. "Be glad I didn't make you sit and light candles with me too." Said as he wets his fingers and crosses himself again, and before he shakes the dew he goes ahead and crosses Dante too, just for good measure. "Dessert. To go." This time he's leading as he tugs Dante out of Saint Mary's, fueled just as much by his craving of sweets as he is a craving for something else now, undoubtedly thanks to that shark like smile of Dante's.

Dante chuckles. It goes on a little bit longer than it normally would, thanks to the general haze in the air. "There are some delectable creations on the menu. But it is a little out of the way. Perhaps raiding a convenience store would be more, well, convenient. If less decadent." He watches the crossing, but doesn't comment on it.