Scene #7880: BNCM: The Estate

Owner	Pose
Candy	Don Abel Benitez Figueroa is a figure of middling authority within the Mexican government. Appointed as the director of the 'Committee for Resolution of the Native Problem' some two years ago, Don Benitez holds an estate on the outskirts of the city of Toluca, maintaining as well a private carriage for travel into and out of the city. Aside from that detestable appointment, Benitez is also the holder of one of three keys, needed to open the vault of the National Bank of Mexico City. He's said to be leaving for Rome for business, within the week, which makes this operation a must. Without all three keys, Pair Dadeni, the cauldron capable of raising the dead, will remain in the hands of those who'd use it to invent a new kind of exploitation. A snow-capped mountain range in the distance rises high above even the tallest trees in the forest that surrounds you. Candy, dressed in his usual plus a light barn jacket for the cool air, holds out a cautioning hand. Tying his long hair with a bow, he gestures, via backwards nod, to a tree. As the sun lowers the last few inches... A soft green glow becomes visible in the moonlight. "I always thought the glow-in-the-dark paint was neat," he says with a little smile. Xs mark a winding, circuitous path through the forest. "Straight lines," he quietly advises. "One to the next. Follow 'em, all the way to the edge of the treeline. The bastard's got all kinds of kooky shit in his yard, so I'll let you see for yourselves, then explain." Candy wasn't lying. The estate grounds are palatially sized, for a married man with no children. His position with the government affords him an armed guard, but curiously, not as many as would seem effective for a place of this size. It's close enough to the mountains that snow does fall, but never inside the arbitrarily designated plot of his estate. There, all is verdant and untouched by snow. The reason for the lack of human security is the extreme overabundance of magical security. Lilian, wise to such things, can tell that as much of it was chosen (stolen or bribed away, most likely, due to the sheer number of cultures represented both locally and elsewhere on Candy's world) for looks as for function. This is a man who imagines he has lots of taste, but in truth, has far, far less taste than money. Guardian lions watch with too-real eyes, making intersecting vision cones with patrolling, shem-bearing clay golems. Agitated ancestral spirits, magically 'leashed' to their shrines and 'muzzled' so as to only be able to exact their anger upon those Don Benitez deems deserving, are forced into doing that by soldiers armed with smoldering incense sticks. Gargoyles shake themselves free of their stone shells as night falls, taking to the air to further complicate matters.
Featherman Neo	Featherman Neo isn't in the Watch, and isn't a friend of Lilian's (to his sadness). But he did ask Candy, after the Eldorado situation, 'how can I pay you back'. He did tell Candy about his extreme sympathies towards the Watch, though that he also had reasons he was not 'yet' with them. And so, the masked hero stands in the forest. "Committee for Resolution of the Native Problem, really? What a fucking asshole." He mutters under his breath, before resuming kayfabe. "So! We must retrieve the key, correct? Good thing I'm a stealth-oriented birdman!" As he moves forward to the estate grounds, he's angling something off his belt. It's a locket, but not one of his transforming ones. It has a weird button on it, as he flips it and points it at a gargoyle roost. The grappling locket quietly fires and latches on, as he reduces profile to make as little noise or sight as possible as he goes flying. He doesn't stay in the air for too long, attempting to quietly land behind a vision cone and closer to a door or window. Preferably on a higher floor - he doubts the key will be on the ground floor. Hopefully, something is unlocked.
Rita Ma	Rita the perfectly ordinary girl has a perfectly ordinary reaction to being told Figueroa's position. Namely, her face scrunches up like she's just seen a particularly disgusting bug skitter across the floor. The disgusted yet hopeful look she gives Candy is hard to mistake: 'can we do something about this guy?' "That bow looks really good on you, Mr. Candy," she murmurs in a probably-unnecessary stealthy voice as they enter the forest. It isn't hard to tell that navigating definitely-magically-haunted woods at night, guided only by glow-in-the-dark paint, is giving her the creeps. If anyone offers her an arm to cling to, she'll take it, with a moderate preference for Lilian's. Golems, gargoyles, and angry spirits are almost a relief from the tension of the woods, and a little deflating sigh escapes Rita when the mansion finally comes into view. "They'll see us when we leave the treeline unless we do something smart," she says, pointing up at the gargoyles in the sky while crouched behind a tree. "It looks like the ghosts aren't happy with how they're being treated. Freeing one could be a distraction, but I don't want to give up surprise this early. We can do that on our way out to salt the earth a little more. If you don't have any kind of stealth, Mr. Featherman, then Ms. Rook can-" He's gone, zipping away on a zipline. Rita's mouth hangs open for a moment, then shuts in a thoughtful little frown. "Oh." She turns to her other teammate. "Ms. Rook, do you think you could carry me in? If it's not any extra trouble! I'm probably going to be doing my stuff a lot, is all. It's probably better to save resources, right?" If Lilian would rather not do the princess carry thing, Rita is perfectly capable of making her way in with invisibility; left to her own devices, she'll start on the first floor so her search overlaps less with Featherman's.
Lilian Rook	Lilian is dressed darkly, but, not actually for stealth. She has the equipment, but it is one and the same as her Immunes combat skin. Wearing that here would feel, to her, inappropriate. It expresses the intent to drop the heel of humanity. It demands observance. It declares war. To really believe she is here for a good cause --that she can bend this situation into a shape that it checks out with the Code-- Lilian really has to believe, even self-deceptively, that this isn't a war, or even a fight. That this is something she can show up to in her street clothes and walk away from without incident. A citizen's arrest, or something. At least, that's the only discernible reason that makes sense for her to be dressed barely different from the previous day. Longer sleeves, a tighter top, taller boots, and a shorter skirt (all 'if barely') with a beltstrap and slightly asymmetrical fit favouring the holster side just make sense for going through the backwoods like this, as does tying her hair up in as many folds as it takes to get a neck length ponytail. She ostensibly has a folded wand, (gunpowder) sidearm, and the glamered Night Mist on her, and it's sheerly her usual level of readiness that makes this seem normal and not what it is: probably enough to fight everyone in there. "Not having any natives is going to be a problem for them a century or two later." she remarks drily to Featherman. "It's refreshing, in a way, to see a world where it's going so poorly. I believe Candelario said that there hasn't been a nationalist revolution yet, so it's likely that there's still an ample influx of Enlightened materiel and personnel from home here. That makes it all the more impressive." When the sun starts setting, Lilian actually notices the glowing paint slashes whilst they're still too faint to normally see with the naked eye. "You're certainly a professional rascal." she says to Candy, about ten minutes before 'why' is obvious. "This is so simple, so low-tech, it's almost comical. And yet, I can't think of any reason it shouldn't work. Sometimes a downright primitive solution is the one that nobody will look for. Especially not people who are used to relying on sophisticated solutions that they themselves don't know much about." When Rita grabs onto Lilian's arm, she flinches, just for a split second, for reasons that aren't necessarily obvious, but grows less hesitant about it over a few minutes. "Don't worry so much. These sorts of things are simple. You don't leave the path, ever, you ignore anything you hear, and if you see something weird, pretend you didn't." Lilian 'reassures' her, ordinary as can be. Near the end, she even says "How boring. I was expecting a voice calling my name at the bare minimum."
Lilian Rook	At the actual site, Lilian smiles faintly at Rita, and says "You've already given this some thought, haven't you? And we only had that one little kerfuffle. You're a smart girl. Maybe close your eyes though; it'll be a little disorienting from your perspective." Then Lilian picks up Rita in her arms in real time, because she has to bully her a tiny bit for asking to be carried. Despite all those layers she usually wears, she has Kana arms. Lilian stares into the distance for a little while, not noving, not blinking, not breathing, and then-- -----[stop]----- Lilian exhales, her breath briefly collecting into a little ball of opaque white fog, before she decides it's better off dissipating instead. She hops down from the rise, jogs across the open ground, and casually leaps the manor wall without even bending her knees. Strutting right past the shrines and golems, she briefly considers Rita's preference, and decides not to pull a talisman off of any clay or snap any incense along the way. Reaching the front door, she releases Rita, who hovers in mid-air, gravity as blissfully unaware of anything happening as everyone else. Lilian's outline disintegrates into a shade of black smoke and glowing eyes, and she slips through the wall next to the doors, to turn around and open them again from the inside. Becoming solid again, she daintily grabs Rita out of the air again, and closes the doors. She tosses a tiny graven stone from her pocket onto the floor. -----[start]----- --Lilian puts Rita down gently on the ground floor corridor. There isn't even a feeling like a swirl of air. It's like the world's most abbreviated coma. "There. Does that help?"
Candy	"Ah... ha, thanks, Rita," says Candy to Rita, also hushed, but not because it's a stealth mission. The moonlight, even filtered through tall trees, does manage to illuminate the broze patches on his cheeks, and the faint little smile. The estate grounds are broken up into three buildigs. To the west, stables, and nearby, Benitez's personal coach. Usually, someone of his wealth would have at least one automobile, but he doesn't even have one for show, instead getting around by drawn coach. A driver is on standby for the night shift, looking bored. To the north, and taking up the most space, is the manor. It's built in the Spanish colonial style. Smoothed mudbrick, three storeys, with sturdy wooden beams extending upwards along the exterior. Red clay shingles comprise the roof. This is not the type of house that should have gargoyles even in a decorative sense. The window he's chosen as his entry point provides a clear view into what appears to be a study. A housemaid is currently putting used books away, dusting the bookshelves. The house does have electricity, as evidenced by the fancifully ensconced lightbuilbs that keep the room bright. The window across from the maid overlooks an open courtyard with a fountain and some kind of statue--but more pressingly, her reflection in that window reveals that she's wearing a gold-and-turquoise amulet that stands apart from her uniform. It shields her from the notice of an idol resting on a writing desk. The idol's head has its eyes closed, mouth open, and swivels to and fro. Candy advises this is Xipe Totec, the Flayed Lord. Opening the window won't be difficult--the challenge is getting in without drawing the idol's attention. Its hearing is apparently very good--it swivels abruptly to face the spot where a book has fallen. There is a sense that this is not something Featherman wants to get hit by. That same passive feeling of dread of seeing a massive wasp's nest and suddenly hearing more agitated buzzing.
Candy	"I like 'rascal,'" Candy quietly beams at Lilian. "But yeah--this here's the easy part. He didn't spend a lot on it. You just get turned around, ah? Keeps hunters wandering in, I guess." The ground floor of the place is also where Candy enters, though he does split off from Lilian and Rita, tapping his ear to silently imply he'll be in contact. Two guisarme-wielding suits of armor swivel their heads towards Rita and Lilian, but go slack as water slowly trickles through them. Red ink pools at their boots, and a soggy playing card with a cartoonish, laughing depiction of Candy burns up. The foyer is the next hurdle, and further proof that Benitez is the sort to throw money at things he doesn't understand and hope for the best. It is also proof that he might be worse than outrageously evil--this is the foyer of someone who is performatively good. Pictures of Benitez with 'smiling' indigenous children in clothes not their own line the walls. An insulting wax figure of an Aztec ticitl dominates the center stage, adorned in stolen raiments, ignorantly rendered to brandish an instrument of healing like a weapon. It is elevated on a pedestal with a condescending plaque using terms like 'noble' and 'proud' to describe something the artist clearly felt was worthy of neither word. It is disorienting to stand in this room, hard to see the shapes for what they are, because of the way that things have been arranged, where they face, how their shapes, both in and outside of the physical, distort and direct the natural, invisible flow of energy. The work of a geomancer, to protect the home of a pillager. To try and reach one of the doors, or the staircase, is an exercise in fighting nausea, and this is made dangerous by the very real protective curios mingled in with the decorative.
Featherman Neo	As Featherman makes it to the study window, he crouches, silently. He hasn't been seen or heard, but if he is, he's dead. The hearing is keen - but he's fast. He should... Be able to do something incredibly stupid and not get killed, or allow the servant to get harmed, while getting assistance! He decides this immediately with little forethought. Grabbing a grenade off his waist, he pulls the pin, and throws it. Two sounds are made - the sound of shattering glass up high, and the sound of the grenade hitting the ground in front of the idol. He's hoping the latter is what draws the attention - the idol is likely not smart - enough for him to leap inside right as the smoke emerges from the grenade. It's not going to leak outside at the distance, but it'll cover the visuals of both the idol and the servant. He's committed his passage to memory. Burst forward, grab the maid, drop another grenade (dud) for extra noise, roll with her out of the idol's line of sight and into a safe place, cover her mouth in a way she can't bite down but can't scream, either, and then whisper into her ear. "Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you. Trade me the amulet once we're in a safe position, and I'll get you out of here with enough cash to forget this. If you don't, you're pretty much in deep trouble for letting me get past you with your amulet anyways, right?" It's supposed to sound compassionate. Featherman is really, really bad at this.
Rita Ma	Rita doesn't think it's strange that anyone would flinch when she touches them, and thus doesn't comment on Lilian doing so. She is a little bullied, but not by the carrying per se; that's just ordinary besties activities. Rather, it's getting to feel Lilian's arms up close- as betrayed by another sheepish glance at the bicep 'absolute territory' provided by the semi-sleeveless top- that gets to her. "Ah... thank you, Ms. Rook! Don't give me too much credit, though. We've worked together lots, haven't we? It's not like I thought of it just now..." Without consciously realizing it, she bullies back just a little: two invisible tentacles slither around Lilian's upper and lower back, the better to secure and support Rita. It's what she'd do with Liza at home; the movement is instinctive, and so it takes her a moment to catch herself and pull them away with a guilty look. ---- Rita jumps near-immediately when time resumes and whips her head around to reorient herself, muscles tense. Only when her human reaction time catches up with her nonhuman one does she un-tense, shut her eyes for a moment, and straighten out her skirt. She's still blushing just a little. "Ah... sorry, Ms. Rook. Thank you. That'll help me a whole lot if we have to get past more people later." The guisarme-wearing suits of armor give her a momentary fright- it's amazing how jumpy she still is, with all the dangerous situations she still gets herself into- but it's followed by a sigh of relief when they deactivate. "Ah... Thanks, Mr. Candy!"
Lilian Rook	<J-IC-Scene> Candy says, "He thinks he's helping. Or being 'respectful.'" <J-IC-Scene> Candy says, "By filling his house up with all this stolen shit." <J-IC-Scene> Lilian Rook says, "I'm going to be sick." <J-IC-Scene> Lilian Rook says, "--and I don't mean performatively, I mean, I feel really ill." Lilian wins reflex saves, will saves, insight saves, luck saves, many strength and magic resistance saves, and has to make fortitude saves very, very rarely. If something is poison, you just don't touch it. That's obvious. If something fucks your brain, well she's immune to that too. It's incredibly rare that she's ever just . . . made sick. Any kind of flagging and weak, really. She smirks just a little at Candy's cartoonish little stunt to save them the effort of dealing with the tacky ornamental armour, gets about three feet into the foyer, starts scanning her surroundings with the practiced eye of both a magical defense expert and someone very used to old oversized estates, and then . . . Lilian gags and makes a queasy groaning sound. She keeps walking forward a little, and then wobbles badly, heel out of line with her toe as if drunk. She stops for a little bit, briefly looks a bit better, and then reaches out to clap her palm to a wall and double over as if she's about to throw up. She is, indeed, clutching her mouth, fearing a retch. "Oh my god . . . no that's . . . ugh that's so much worse. Jesus f-- God I can feel the energy too it . . . what does this bastard do to get around his own--?! I feel . . ." She drops to hands and knees, and then almost face to floor, staring at the ground and trying to catch her breath between heaving near-vomit exhalations. "Oh god I hate this so much. Rita. Rita! Are you . . . okay? Do you have sea legs or something? Please tell me it's not this bad for you." She has that slightly pre-sick drool thing going on, pressing her sleeve to her lips.
Rita Ma	Just peeking into the foyer, it gets under her skin. The course of her emotions is neatly plotted out in her shifting expression. First pleasantly-surprised bright admiration: look at those smiling children! Maybe this man isn't so bad after all? It's followed a moment later by deepening disgust. The insincerity of those smiles, the crisply unworn state of the clothes, the mockery in the statues doesn't elude her. "He feels a little guilty, doesn't he? Is this to reassure himself? To make the guilt go away? It's so gross." Stepping in, she's struck by the nausea at about the same time Lilian is. The room spins around her. She lurches, off-balance, and catches herself on a wall. Rita's got a diamond stomach, but even she's looking fairly green-around-the-gills. It takes scrunching her eyes shut tight, digging little furrows into the wall with her fingernails, and a few deep breaths to make the feeling ebb away. "I think I'm okay, Ms. Rook," she says, even though her voice is straining a little. "Here. I can get us out. Just..." Rita's eyes open to the once-in-a-lifetime sight of Lilian on her hands and knees on the floor. In a short skirt. That gives her a bonus to her fortitude save, because for a good couple seconds, she can't possibly look at anything else. Oh no. "Ah-! Ms. Rook... I mean- please just shut your eyes! It's important, I promise." Rita does the same, and then unravels her disguise to extend her tentacles in all directions blindly. She has enough of them to brute-force the navigation, and stop only when one of them feels something like a door. A few of them brush against Lilian by brute-force inevitability. The feeling of cool boneless flesh gliding over her probably doesn't help the nausea. Rita pulls Lilian up into her arms, princess-carry-style (it's still the only one she knows!), and then uses the tentacle that's grabbed a door to pull herself towards it like a zipline, bursting through at the soonest possible opportunity. Anywhere but here. She stops to catch her breath on the other side, and only reluctantly puts Lilian down. "There," she feebly jokes. "Now we're even, right, Ms. Rook?"
Candy	A big, blocky flashlight is swiveled through the night air, then promptly turned off. Candy, hands around a blue-lipped soldier's mouth, swears quietly under his breath, blinking into the forest with the body in a fireman's carry. It's dumped, unceremoniously, water leaking from the mouth. When one of the gargoyles flies over to investigate, it finds a perfectly intact window, tilting its head in confusion. "Fire...?" He is immediately brought inside, whereupon Candy wraps his jacket around the gargoyle's head and pummels him into submission. Taking it off, he tosses it into the smoke--onto the writing desk where the idol sits. "Well... you won't really need it now," says the maid to Featherman. "Yeah he does," quietly argues Candy. "God save me, Candy Estevez is here?!" "Shush! Shush! Shush! Shush! Shit!!!" Candy hoarsely, pre-emptively urges, indignantly making a downwards gesture with both palms, bouncing agitatedly in advance of an anticipated 'help.' She shushes almost right away, but clearly isn't sure what Candy meant by the last part. "I know there's other idols in here. And I know you're not trying to make no waves. But believe me, he's good for it, ah?" "Well, I'm not going to take a crazed dynamiter's word for it," she quietly says, crossing her arms. "But it's probably less trouble, anyways. Besides, your friend's got a point." She hands the amulet to Featherman. Candy makes a duplicate for the maid so she can safely get out, then vanishes. Then reappears. "And let me know the next time you're gonna make noise people can hear outside! Goddamn you," he says, jutting a finger at Featherman's chestplate. Then he disappears again. The study appears to be where Don benitez composes his letters, and also where he does most of his reading. The books the maid had previously just put away are written in Spanish, but the Understanding comes through enough to get the gist. One of them is a codex written by a Spanish priest on Aztec will-working, another is a study published on the efficacy of boarding schools, finding the repugnant conclusion that they are the best way to 'kill the native and save the child'--to 'ensure safe inclusion and participation in civilized society.' An unsent letter on the desk to one of these schools in Mexico City, apparently a promise of Benitez's political and personal financial support. "Um... did you need anything else, or can I pretend to get back to work now?" There are doors on either end of the study, east and west--as well, a window overlooking the courtyard.
Featherman Neo	As the situation gets Fucking Weird, and Candy helps out, Featherman just, once he has the amulet... Bows apologetically once he's read the letters. "My apologies for the force, ma'am. Hero things, you know." She probably doesn't. He puts the amulet on over his helmet, and then steps outside. East, west, windows. He's definitely not going back outside, so windows are out. He moves east, looking through the keyhole first before opening the door and passing through through to the other side. Once he's sure no one can hear him, he just mutters to himself. "What the hell just happened...?" And then, he's looking around. If he was hiding a key, there's one of two places it'd be - a master bedroom, or a gallery. He's going to start with the former, if it's this way.
Lilian Rook	"Oh thank god." Lilian groans in response to Rita, just having to take her word for it because she can't actually see her. "Okay, I-- I made a stupid mistake. Please get us . . . please get us out of here and . . . and I can probably take care of-- ugh . . ." She's panting really loud with that kind of diaphragm exertion it takes to keep down a sick that you can already feel coming. And having to take Rita's advice, she squeezes her eyes shut-- and then bites down on her sleeve to half-muffle the shocked squeal that unguardedly slips out when she's suddenly in the scatter cone of numerous tentacles she hadn't been warned of, reflexively tensing and trying to drunkenly flatten her target profile, and mostly just collapsing on top of several of them instead, making a groggy moan of mortification, squirming uselessly with the attempt to get back up so she's not ruining Rita's plan. It turns out time stopping to walk past spatial perspective nausea was a really bad idea. Lilian would never get over it if she actually got beat by this talentless Spanish asshole, after everything else. So she can't be too mad when Rita scoops her up into a princess carry. But she can sure be red in the face about being carried by a girl nearly a head shorter than her. And no other reason. She struggles to catch her breath for a little while, eyes screwed shut in frustration and embarrassment at falling for this, and then wobbily finds her feet again when Rita puts her down. ". . ." Lilian just heaves with irritable tension for a little while. Squaring her shoulders, releasing her palms from the tyranny of her fingernails, exhaling deeply, and tilting back her head, she just takes a few seconds to stop her head from spinning and stop being so blisteringly upset. A deep breath in, a strange simultaneous tense of every muscle in her body, held for ten seconds and repeated, and then a deep breath out. ". . . Yes. Thank you Rita. You did the right thing." Lilian grumbles, annoyed, but not insincere.
Candy	How -does- he do it, the owner of this place? It's actually quite insidious. Rita is pulled along the tether of her tentacle, up a flight of stairs, to freedom. The momentary glance upwards shows an overwrought Renaissance styled mural, a depiction of Christ pointing the way. No one ever looks up. The room she ends up entering is a dining room. They haven't been seen yet, though there is a primly dressed butler (he looks like the older brother of one of the 'smiling' kids on the foyer) putting away what appears to have been a late evening snack. The attire suggests that he's the head of the waitstaff--potentially someone who might have useful information.
Rita Ma	<J-IC-Scene> Lilian Rook already fuming, speaking very very fast, "We're not doing maid disguises again." <J-IC-Scene> Rita Ma says, "But Ms. Rook-" <J-IC-Scene> Lilian Rook says, "It's weird! It was super weird! It felt all-- I'm not a maid!" <J-IC-Scene> Rita Ma says, "But he could have important information, Ms. Rook." <J-IC-Scene> Lilian Rook says, "Why can't you just do one yourself?!" <J-IC-Scene> Rita Ma says, anxious: "... Did it really feel that weird?" <J-IC-Scene> Lilian Rook says, "It--" and then is immediately caught by the terrifying realization that her choices are 'maid disguise again' or 'body shame Rita and make her feel awful about her mutations'. <J-IC-Scene> Lilian Rook deciding to choose peace over violence for once in her entire life, says "I-it wasn't that bad . . ." <J-IC-Scene> Lilian Rook says, ". . . can I really not just mindfuck him?" <J-IC-Scene> Rita Ma heaves a little sigh of relief. <J-IC-Scene> Rita Ma says, "What does 'mindfuck' mean, Ms. Rook?" <J-IC-Scene> Lilian Rook says with the tone befitting someone struggling not to put a gun in her mouth, "Never mind. Just . . . ugh. Fine." <J-IC-Scene> Lilian Rook mutters something about how she has made this bed herself and will strangle Candy later. <J-IC-Scene> Rita Ma says warmly, "Okay!" Rita Does The Maid Disguises Again. More specifically, her human disguise shifts into a maid outfit, colors and shapes transforming smoothly like a CGI morph. Her blonde hair turns darker to not stand out so much. Invisible tentaclestuff wraps around Lilian in ribbons until it fully engulfs her, cool and clammy and eerily boneless. Those ones, too, shift into a disguise much like Rita's. Her practiced expertise with crafting the disguise almost makes it seem like she's done this before. It can't conceal her voice, but then, the butler wouldn't recognize that. "Excuse me, sir?" A small plate of snacks has been fabricated in her hands, based on the types of foods she's seen Candy bring to various outings, but with fancier presentation. "Where has Master Figueroa gone?" Her cheeks are still a little red from earlier, though she's trying to calm herself. Her demeanor is otherwise one of slightly irritated professional curiosity.
Candy	"Oh, for..." The butler's brow twitches in mild annoyance. "Why wasn't I told about--forget it. I'll show you the ropes tomorrow. It's too late to get into it now." "I wish he'd stop eating in bed," mutters the head butler under his breath. "He's in his bedroom, by now. It's upstairs, all the way at the back end. You can cut through the courtyard, head up the outside stairs, then up again. First door you see is him." He loads the assumbled cutlery onto a little platter to take back into the kitchen, holding a finger up. "Don't let the Federales see you do it or you'll get an earful. He hates being reminded what a waste of money that statue was." "One other thing," he says. "Your Spanish is good, but here we call people by the father's last name, not the mother's. Master Benitez, or Don Benitez--not Figueroa, and his wife would be Dona Contreras." "My Christian name's Jose, by the way. Meet me here tomorrow morning, seven on the dot, and I'll show you everything the Dona didn't," he adds tiredly. "Which I know is gonna be a lot. One other thing... we're short on amulets for the idols right now. I'm not supposed to 'encourage primitive traditions' here, but..." Rita is handed a little pouch. "Tobacco. Wrists and the neck. Grab a lime from the kitchen and carry it in your pocket."
Lilian Rook	Lilian flashes back to her flustered demands to Candy to stop using so much language around Rita, after being nearly obliterated by the dozenth patented Rita Question. She'd be furious that it has thus backfired on her in this way, but it really is pretty much her fault entirely. It'd been her fault since she tried to show off from the start. For the second time in six months, she is put in a maid outfit, and it is the same girl responsible. Once the disguise gets to her wrists and above the neck though, Lilian reflexively holds off the ribbons with the gentle interposition of her hand. "The scar is probably a good idea." she says, whilst she begrudgingly removes the hairpin and simply fastens it into her ponytail tie instead, so it's not visible from the front as clearly something far too expensive to belong on a maid. Maybe not wanting organic film on her face would be a disgust reaction, but her wrists and hands is a little odd. The way her nails are painted, black with faint little gold dust patterns, would stand out, even if she can just dutifully fold her hands in her lap. Actually, putting the pin in her pocket would make more sense too. Thankfully, a ponytail is a pretty simplistic and practical hairstyle. However, Lilian knows maids. Lilian really knows maids. Even if she's never been one, she has studied them to absolute death. Half the reason she goes along with this is because, to her, home service staff are sacred. A near-infallible species. Out of all the ways in which Lilian can Act, this is somehow the best one. The 'invisible string' posture, the neat hands, the just slightly downcast eyes, the way to stand with knees disengaged so as not to fatigue the legs or restrict blood flow, the soft volume and demure tones; it's all perfect. Other than being way too pretty to be a maid anyways; usually the mistress of the house hates that kind of thing. Lilian stands just behind Rita as if she were the reluctant and shy one, having nothing to occupy her hands. Clueless, maybe even a little frightened, sticking to the other newbie maid out of necessary bonding instinct rather than chance being alone. She knows a little Spanish, but instead just leans on her English; Candy complains about the 'limeys' here anyways. She doesn't really moderate her accent. "Thank you very much, Jose. My name is Felicity--" she just barely cuts off a last name. She briefly wonders whether to play it off, but decides to just leave in that habit. "Amulets? Idols? Please, I'm sorry to use your time like this, but . . . I'm afraid I don't know the first thing about them. This place is . . . a little frightening, haha." Her eyes just very briefly meet his, then glance right back down. "Is . . . there something Mist-- Master Benitez needs? I understand he's ordered a midnight snack, but there's no need for two maids to deliver it, is there? I'm afraid I've rather missed something important. Is there something else the master of the house is known to need often?" However Jose chooses to interpret this setup is entirely on him, but all ways play to Lilian's favour in the end. Just getting him to look at her, make up his mind, and start racking his brains how he'll tell her, is what she needs to rifle through all of his thoughs and feelings about Benitez; especially any secrets, fears, or darker feelings, possessed by either Jose or Benitez himself; she's good at those.
Candy	Featherman, looking for a master bedroom, can see what looks like a lavish bed and movement inside, through the window of the study. Peeking through the keyhole, however, shows not exactly a gallery, but a heavy steel door with a complex lock. "I don't, no," quietly answers the maid. "And I don't know the combination, either, before you ask. That's his 'treasures.' The things only he's allowed to see. He won't even let us in there." Two idols scan the hallway. The 'lock' is as tastelessly absent any context as everything else here, a depiction of, of all things, the Eight Trigrams in the Later Heaven arrangement. Each set of bars around the taijitu is able to be pressed. There's a placard beneath the diagram: "May God above send Water to wash clean this fractured Earth, one land, one people, under Heaven."
Rita Ma	Rita stiffens up with anxiety when her 'Spanish' is corrected, but that's entirely in-character, if for the wrong reasons. "Master Benitez," she says. "Thank you, Jose." Then, murmuring to herself to commit it to memory: "Through the courtyard, up the outside stairs, then up again. Okay." She sets the snack plate down for a moment to apply the tobacco to herself as instructed, nodding with genuine gratitude. When Lilian's done with her interrogation: "Come on, Miss- ah, Felicity. He'll be waiting." She has no earthly idea where the kitchen is, and it might blow their cover to ask the butler. Instead she's requested Candy place a couple of limes surreptitiously in the courtyard. Once they're out of sight, she offers to apply the tobacco to Lilian too, pockets a dead-dropped lime, and follows Jose's directions to Figueroa's bedroom. With the protections supplied by Jose, hopefully there won't be any further obstacles.
Candy	Jose sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with a gloved hand. "You don't even look like... nevermind. I don't pretend to understand what goes on with him, and I wish I didn't understand what I -do." Throwing both hands up. "He needs a lot of things," the head of the servants says flatly. "Just say what he tells you to say, and if he hands you something, don't worry, it's never loaded. He doesn't have any magical talent--but if he waves something at you, just... ugh. Just act defeated. Knock first, by the way." There is, when the two of them are ready to go, a silver platter with a lime on a bench overlooking a statues. "Hello!" quietly, pleasantly intones the statue of Don Benitez--a tall, imposing figure with a full head of hair. "I don't recall inviting you. Please leave at once! Thank you." The water bubbles menacingly. That's all it does. The statue isn't even loud enough to blow their cover. "Hmm. It looks like you're trying to break into my house, but this fountain doesn't have an ahuizotl. Kindly wait here while my staff fetch one." The statue has no power or means to enforce this request.
Featherman Neo	Featherman pulls up his phone and starts googling as he reaches the puzzle. "Oh, this is Taoist occultist stuff. Okay." He says, plainly, before pulling up his communicator. "Professor Roytin? It's...yeah, me. I need your help on a puzzle." He sends some pictures, of both the symbols and the inscryption. There's some murmuring over the radio. "So it's about the meaning of the Bagua, instead of just the elements? God is obviously Fire, then. Water...he can't be that awful, must be Lake. Earth could be Thunder or Mountain, the former...Heaven is Heaven." A pause, as the voice on the other side of the radio audibly shakes a finger. "What? It IS Water? What a fucking bastard. And Earth is just Earth. Oh my god, this is the stupidest puzzle, I only had to guess Fire?" "Thanks, Professor. Consider the favor for that cool sword I sent you paid back!" And then Featherman hangs up and enters the combination, before, confidently, moving for the doors to open and enter the gallery.
Lilian Rook	Lilian's eyes widen a little bit in dawning comprehension mixed with slightly repulsed horror. That part isn't an act, by the way. "Oh." she replies to Jose, desolately. "I . . . see." The sulky look isn't acting either. "I did my best, alright?" She took the hit about not blending in properly a little harder than she needed to. Like, she didn't need to. At all. "Well . . . thank you very much for your help. I'll be . . . on my way." Looking dejected and extra reluctant on the way out is and act, finally. §Jesus everloving motherfucking Christ, of course. Why did I even bother to read his-- ugh! Okay, alright, no magic, unloaded weapons; easy target. Interrogate him for everything we need.§ Smoothing down her apron and doing the Wrong Kind Of Curtsy (it's muscle memory okay), Lilian leaves with Rita. A number of gold and silver coins of the Queen's Currency find their way into Jose's pocket; Lilian doesn't try to make it stealthy. She has no idea how much it's worth in this era; probably a lot. House staff, however, are Special. Lilian briefly stares at the fountain as if considering plunging into it and rolling around, and wisely concludes it won't make her feel any more clean. She gratefully accepts the tobacco and lime ritual from Rita, and heads straight to the bedroom. "You heard him. Magic or weapons are both bluffs. After we interrogate him him, I'll leave the room to find what we're after." Her words are simple, her tone is even, but her subtle meaning is clear.
Candy	The door to the gallery is impossibly heavy. It swings open without so much as a groan, once the proper trigrams are depressed. Benitez's gallery, laid out along a spacious off-white wall, is the most egregious example yet of 'things that belong back where they were stolen from.' It is mostly things, very very old things, that were pilfered from indigenous cultures across Candy's world. Igbo masks alongside Haudenosaunee sacred headress, pilfered Christian iconography ranging from Syriac to Lusatian having the dubious honor of being elevated above the other articles here. Tucked away, almost as an afterthought, is a heavy bronze key. There are no countermeasures here--he can easily take it from its hanging spot.
Featherman Neo	Featherman proceeds to google if this is the correct key, spitefully, before grabbing the key, lifting it under one arm with his mild superstrength. He touches nothing else, and then proceeds to leave. He calls in another favor, within earshot of the maid, of where a sizable portion of money will be delivered, before moving to try and leave to the group-up spot.
Rita Ma	Once they're in the courtyard, with the lime pocketed and tobacco applied, Rita takes a moment to touch Lilian's arm again. This time it's for Lilian's comfort, not her own. "Hey," she says softly. "You really do look pretty like that, Ms. Rook. I don't really know what he said, but I'm sorry it got you down. I think you're a good maid, honest." That might feel condescending if Rita weren't always sunnily sincere, and if she weren't wearing a maid outfit too. But it swiftly changes to horror. "Smile for me, Ms. Rook?" Click. Rita's phone flashes before it's tucked away, the anachronism safely out of sight. "So you can see how pretty you look! I'll send it to you later." When confronted by the statue, Rita initially jumps. As it speaks, she looks around for some kind of trap, some kind of threat- anything that might enforce its demands. She finds nothing, and cautiously takes one tiptoeing step away, still keeping her eyes fixed on it. Nothing bad happens, so she takes another. And another. Finally, once they're almost out of earshot: "Sorry, Mr. Statue! But it's really important the Don gets his snacks. I'm sure you'll catch somebody someday!" A little exhalation leaves her one they're properly on their way to the outdoors staircase. She turns to look at Lilian, following along with her words with characteristic rapt attention- then her eyes open just a little wider at that last part. "Ah, you'll- I understand. ... Thank you, Ms. Rook." She's really willing to turn a blind eye? Ms. Rook is really too good to me. I thought, with it being her whole job... but now I feel silly for thinking that at all.
Lilian Rook	"Huh?" Lilian looks rather blankly at Rita when they start talking again. It takes her a couple of seconds to process why Rita is complimenting her, and then why she thinks it's necessary to defend her honour as a maid. "W-Well of course I look pretty. But, it's just a disguise you know, it . . . it doesn't matter to . . . hhh . . ." Lilian closes her eyes and breathes in deeply, and holds it. For a split second, it looks as if she might cry, for god knows what reason. Then she breathe out, and she doesn't. §I really wish that Candy had shut his idiot mouth around her, but . . . this isn't so bad. Rita, you're such a good girl. Even if I didn't know what you were thinking, I'd know you meant it.§ A warm, if shaky smile, somehow finds its way to the surface as she opens her eyes again. "Thank you Rita, you-- HEY DON'T--!" Lilian just barely cuts herself off from screaming about Rita taking pictures, hands clapped over her mouth. §It's fine, I'll just--§ -----[stop]----- Lilian reaches for Rita's faux pocket, pulling the phone back out. "It's her phone, so I shouldn't break it, so I'll just delete the picture. Let's see . . ." Lilian blinks dumbly at the lock screen. She stares. And stares a little longer. -----[start]----- §Of course she doesn't leave finger smudges. Of course. She doesn't touch anything with her skin directly. I hate this. I'm going to die.§ A short screaming fit never happens. Lilian follows behind Rita, saying only very vaguely. "I understand that what I want and what certain demands want of me don't always line up. But I trust you. After all, I'll only be out for a few minutes searching." Which is, of course, bullshit. Lilian never needs a millisecond, never mind a minute, to do anything she really wants to. She knocks on the door.
Candy	As Jose confusedly pats his pocket, he looks up to find that Lilian and Rita have already gone. "Huh." When they arrive at the bedroom, the curtain which had been open before is now shut. Benitez comes to the door--but not before there's a hurried "Just a moment!" and a clattering sound as something is knocked down. Feet stomp an all-too familiar uneven gait across the room. The balding, unimpressive man who answers the door does so with his wispy hair askew and a light sheen of sweat. He wears a smoking jacket, hastily tied at the waist, silk pants and slippers. He stands with one hand on the door frame, bent slightly, damningly over. "Yes...? Oh, no, no no," he says, free palm against his forehead. "In the first place," he says, nodding to Lilian, "You're not even Mexican. In the second, I said -next- Sunda--are those tamales?" His eyes flick to Rita's held food. This molliates him, slightly. "Well, come in, we may as well see how you do. I've been surprised before. You remember the state of Morelos, yes?" he asks of her, stepping aside to let both girls in. "Before that rash individual Zamorano and her cohorts came around. Ah!!" Suddenly remembering to do so, he bolts across the room. It isn't fast enough for him to close the closet doors. It isn't fast enough for Rita to see the shrine--for that is what it is--to Candelario Maria Estevez de la Fuente. A wanted poster lists his many crimes, among which is 'affronts to common decency,' but more numerous by far are the newspaper clippings, one of which shows him celebrating with rebels in Tabasco--and wearing a revealing take on a traditional Chontal dress, with a flower in his hair. With the closet door shut, Don Benitez clears his throat. "Now, if you could point this at me, and threaten me," he says, offering up an unloaded shotgun from under the bed--the same model Candy conjures--"and in your best Morelos accent, but a little, shall we say, indelicate? Rakish?" A glance towards Rita. "Just leave them on the nightstand, my dear. Thank you."
Lilian Rook	§Oh. It wasn't that I don't look like a maid. It was actually much, much worse.§ §. . .§ §Actually, I feel a lot better now.§ "Oh. I see. There may have been a miscommunication then." Lilian replies primly to Benitez. She looks very ready to turn on her heel, even though she knows she won't. "Ah? Well, if you really insist, Sir." And in she goes. She looks at the closet, of course. How could she not? He goes running all the way over there. A sly grin utterly at odds with either of her guises twists her lips. "Ah, Candelario? I've actually met him on a few occasions, did you know that? The photographs don't do him justice. What they say is true, too; an absolute scoundrel to the bone. Flirtatious beyond belief. You know, one time I saw him wearing-- ah, no, I'm terribly sorry, this is your night, not mine." "Oh, but of course! I see!" says Lilian. Her eyes light up with malicious glee. "I've heard just the thing. Let me do my best!" Clearing her throat, Lilian bravely lowers her pitch and timbre as close to Candy's as she can actually physically get, but absolutely nails his style of speaking with spiteful accuracy, even using Spanish. "Don't worry your delicate little ass about that, ah? I'm no Limey taxman! Hahaha! I brought my own!" Lilian steps out of her disguise. The pin is back in place and her scar is uncovered. Her hand flies to the holster, her skirt blowing with the speed at which she draws and points the sidearm at Benitez's head. She switches over to Ulster Gaelic. "Heard you have a certain piece of heritage that belongs to me. But what's new, am I correct? However, that's not here. I know where it is, so I'll be taking the key. And you'll be telling everything you know about it --where they got it, how, what happened, what they're using it for." Her other hand is gripping the fully unfolded wand, its spirals glowing fiercely. "This is your first and only opportunity before I magic it out of you, pig."
Rita Ma	"No, you look good, I promise!! You're a really good maid, Ms. Rook! I'll show you later!" Rita is perfectly sincere and sweet, but she isn't a mind-reader, and she utterly fails to understand what Lilian would find so mortifying about a maid photo. Lilian is, after all, the one who demanded her face not be concealed. "Thanks, Ms. Rook," she murmurs softly while they wait for a response to the knock. "After everything that's happened lately, it makes me really happy to hear that. I trust you too." She really, really means it. She steps in after Lilian and shuts the door behind herself, maybe the Don's first indication that something is ammiss. But the situation between him and Lilian rapidly deteriorates. At first Rita's expression is one of innocent, vaguely scared bafflement; as the exchange continues, she gradually puzzles out the gist. When Lilian steps out of the costume, Rita's appearance also reverts, making it extremely clear that Figueroa has no friends at all in the room. She has a hard time looking intimidating at all while still seeming human, so she doesn't try to make herself more of a menacing presence. Instead a ribbon of Lilian's former maid outfit unwinds, its end still visible in black and white but fading into invisibility before it connects to Rita, and wraps around the Don's neck securely. "Speak quietly, please." is her understated contribution to the interrogation. If he inhales as if to yell, she's prepared to simply choke him. People like this, who've been in control all their lives, don't know when they're beat unless you really grind it into them.
Candy	Has there ever been a more abrupt transition from lascivious glee to abject terror? "My darling, you have the voice of an an--" Perhaps. But if there's an accounting somewhere, some census or other, wherever it is, it must now be amended with the transformation of Don Benitez. He does, indeed, try to holler. Before Rita's tentacle chokes him. He might've gotten a 'guh' out. His sweaty, pockmarked face loses what color it had quickly, his flailing arm and mute pleas for mercy allowing him the air to speak quietly after the terms are set. "As you know," he gasps, "It was thought to be destroted by Efnysien. But such works of will are not easily made nor totally destroyed. If only I had the talent! My vision, my will, are so strong!" They clearly aren't, the way he's singing. He is at least smart enough to realize he isn't in a position to lament such things. "The Museum of World History in Dublin," croaks the politician, "Discovered a substantial fragment buried at the site of a battle, washed up after centuries by the elements." "At first, they didn't know what they'd found, but it is a standard practice to test such discoveries for the signs of will-working. I... came to an agreement with the museum." So, blackmail or something else incredibly unscrupulous, by the way he weasels out of explaining. "That was in the spring of last year, and my interest was purely in having it for my own collection." "But! But!" He frantically continues, begging for more time to explain, "During a meeting with President Ibanez's scientists--his word for the enlightened minds who counsel and advise him--there came the question of labor. Of social debt, and how we, who have toiled so hard to make what still remains of Mexico a safe, prosperous place to live... might see that debt repaid, and... usher the President's more rash critics and the natives both into the light of civilization." "Of course, our reconstruction won't be perfect. But it needn't be, and perhaps it's better that it isn't. The cauldron, our piecing-together, cannot return the will to those it resurrects. My father once said, 'spare the rod, and spoil the child.' This, then, would be the rod. Pay your dues, pull your weight, and your final rest shall well and truly be final. Refuse, allow your ungratefulness to boil into... anti-social behaviors, and you will be made to behave. Stripped of those troublesome impulses and put to work."
Candy	"The reconstruction is already complete," says Don Benitez. "At this time, we're exhuming labor, waiting for a sufficient 'first wave.' It pains my heart that not every child could benefit from the wealth of human knowledge afforded to them by my schools. Some were simply too old--but if there is one thing a young, firm body may serve well, it is labor, service to one's country. The mines in Zacatecas, the fields of Jalisco, they have also pledged their support of this idea." Sweating profusely, he pleads: "That's everything I know. And now that you know, you'll let me go unharmed, yes? Now that you understand our vision--how it will put Mexico on the map, finally integrate the stubborn Nahua, the savage -and- stubborn Matlatzinca. You understand, don't you? One cannot simply reap the benefits of civilization but stand apart from it," he intones with truly grating condescension.
Lilian Rook	'One cannot simply reap the benefits of civilization but stand apart from it!' Lilian's finger squeezes the trigger in a moment of uncontrolled muscular reflex. The clicking sound is audible, but she stops, somehow, just barely short of its threshold. "I've heard that one before." says Lilian to Benitez, and it's clear that she means it. Not about 'primitives and civilization'. Not about races or religions or nations. In that moment, she is thinking of something else, different, but fundamentally the same thing. "Be human like us, or don't be human at all." Knowing she is far too close to shooting him, Lilian removes her stubborn trigger finger from inside the guard, and tilts the handgun up. The magic dies on her other hand. A tense exhalation hisses through her teeth, smoking just faintly. She looks tiredly back down on Benitez. "First, third, seventh, thirteenth." Lilian mutters, without explaining. "Of course. You've given me everything I need. There's no point in me harming you. I'm taking that key and leaving." Lilian turns to leave the room, and looks Rita in the eyes for but a moment on the way out. "Rendesvouz with me in five minutes. I'll be waiting for you. 'From authority absolute'." Her meaning is plain. She will allow Benitez to go unharmed.
Rita Ma	Aside from her brief throttling of Benitez when he tries to cry for help at the very beginning, Rita has little reason to lose her temper at first. Efnisyen, a cauldron, Dublin- there's no context for a seafaring refugee to know or care about the significance of things like that. "An important magic artifact that they're not supposed to have" is about as far as she can decipher. That changes, once he begins to talk about social debt. About paying your dues. About being 'put to work'. These are things for which a poor refugee girl has more context. Her eyes widen and turn hard. Her hands ball up, tight enough that they begin to quiver. The fantasies that she always has- guzzling blood, sucking down marrow, ripping out organs and shoveling them down her throat- bubble to the surface of her mind, now that she's given herself permission to entertain them. The tentacle does not constrict, but it takes all of her restraint to keep it that way. It wouldn't do to kill him in front of Lilian. Some part of her is scared that that would somehow be what taints her in Lilian's eyes. Even now, seething with cold and ugly emotions like this, a little gasp escapes her when the trigger clicks. A tentacle- briefly visible, in her haste, like a rendering error- darts in front of the barrel. It is not meant to spare Benitez's life, but to spare Lilian's conscience. "Ms. Rook...!" They both have lines. But their lines are in different places. Rita catches Lilian's tired eyes for a moment, and an understanding passes between them. More than understanding, gratitude. Rita is doing what Lilian can't. Lilian is giving Rita permission to do what she wants. "Five minutes," she repeats, in a slightly dubious tone. She does not expect to take that long. "Thank you for trusting me, Ms. Rook." The door shuts. Lilian, with her fae senses, can detect something funny: Rita's higher faculties dim to a low glimmer, almost winking out completely. She does not do Benitez the favor of killing him before he starts. The sounds are unpleasant. Start with the raw cracking, snapping biomechanical logistics of forcing a grown man's body through a two-inch-wide hole. Then add some flourish. Screaming, wet splatters, ragged bubbling breaths between gulps. "Skeletonized" is a tempting word to use, but wrong. The bones go down too, sometimes in one piece, usually not. "Annihilated" feels like an overstatement, but it really isn't. Gone. Made nothing. She licks the floorboards clean before she leaves.
Candy	There is nothing left of the politician. That is to say, nothing left in its original shape. Unraveled, unmade, from the inside out, until even his ability to scream is denied him. Outside, a soldier patrolling near the statue of Benitez (a far more charitable depiction of him than the real article, and doubly so, now) shakes his head. "Freak," he utters under his breath. Before something hard and cold presses against the small of his back. His breath hitches, then, hands held high as the statue politely, impotently, drones on at Candy. "Please," he says. "I have a family." "Yeah, funny how you only have those until someone takes 'em from you." "I don't understand." "You wouldn't. Pistol in the water. Now." Rita may hear a splash. But there's no sign of either, when she leaves the room. <J-IC-Scene> Rita Ma says, barely a minute later: "We can leave." She sounds tired and a little out of breath, but also somehow deeply relieved. Like a weight has lifted. <J-IC-Scene> Featherman Neo audibly flinches, as if he gets a bad feeling...but decides not to ask The Unsaid Question. "Alright. I'm at the rendezvous point." <J-IC-Scene> Candy sighs--but not one of disappointment. Neither positive nor negative--a way to prepare himself for work yet to be done. "Alright. There's something I gotta do first. Don't worry."
Candy	"Let's take a walk," Candy quietly utters. The two of them share a tense silence, having moved in a moment to the edge of the woods surrounding the estate. "How many other guards?" No answer. "What's the matter, shithead? Not used to taking orders?" he whispers coolly. The nose of the pistol grinds against the soldiers back. "You can walk from this, or you can get it in the stomach and watch me find the rest of you. How. Many." "Six. God help me..." "Good boy." Natural underpinnings, arcane interactions of physics, are cheated, thoroughly. Five other soldiers are dumped, unarmed and unharmed, onto the steep hill, tumbling down to Candy's feet--the Watchman himself now having armed himself with a machine gun. The RM20. Mendoza's record player, they call it. The work of a gunsmith who lost friends and family to the Federales. "Right now, you're protecting jack and shit. Benitez is dead, if I know who visited him like I think I do." One of the soldiers bolts upright, but Candy's boot crashes into his chest. Hard. Calculated. Thanks, Hibiki. "You can die, right here, for fucking nothing, if you want to," he says, shouldering the pan-magazine MG. "One of you already did. Drowned. This place is theirs now, and you know who I mean. The -other- army that's here. The one that fed him, cleaned after him, wiped his ass. The one that kept this whole place running but wasn't never allowed to even sleep in the motherfucker." His voice lowers into a snarl. "The ones he bent while -you- greasy fucks turned a blind eye." His finger flirts with the trigger, even with the gun pointed away from them. Candy forces a deep breath. "But you can walk, if you wanna. Here's how you do that. You stay the fuck from this estate, you ditch those uniforms for good, and you shut your goddamn mouths about what happened here. Fuck, I'm feeling generous--you do that, not only do you walk, I take care of you. You're set for an honest living, for good. More than you shitheads deserve, and more than -my- family ever got from you." The barrel of the MG forces a soldier's gaze back upon him. "You're so good at 'just following orders,' you follow those ones. Or you meet -your- families in a box. I will fucking find you, and not even God will save you from me. You understand?" Candy is a few minutes. But he arrives in the study with the sigh of having finished one's work. "The Dona's gonna get a nasty surprise when she gets back from Jalisco. And you know what, I'm fine with that. Let's get the fuck out of here." An instant passes. You are all, then, at the edge of the forest, on the outskirts of the city of Toluca. The stars twinkle above. The night air is peaceful.