Mortal enemies Eternal lovers (open)

[silvertongue217]

The night was still, the air hot and muggy due partly to the mid summer California heat as well as the torches burning in strategic perimeter around the large mansion. The area around the mansion was cleared of any thing that could possibly be used for cover or to stage an attack. Guards moved around the mansion/ villa as well sweltering under the heat but doing their best to remain vigilant in case their employer was watching them.

Don Alfonzo Montoya Riveria was not a man to disappoint

The Don was currently the equal parts the most hated and the most loved man in California. The politicians and wealthy men making up the great state loved him, due to his influence and illicit activities the cash flow they were receiving was staggering, certainly much more than they had ever achieved before him or could ever hope to achieve with out him. The Don knew this and was quick to remind them at every turn and step of the way thus making sure all his politicians were happy.

The common man however was another story; most of the surrounding villages were currently in uproar over the Dom’s use of their land. His people had claimed many of their lands, many historical landmarks, all in the interest of making the rich richer and with no regard to the honest hard working Mexican men and woman populating the land. The men worked the soil, the woman handled the drugs and the other contraband, and the children were used as innocent mules to move the drugs. The system took advantage of every one in the lower class to the fullest and most if not all of the citizens were tired of it. The neighboring village, which served as the Don’s biggest income revenue was close to rioting due to the injustice, it was only due to the Don’s enforcers and guards taking all the guns from them that they hadn’t.

Luckily some one was still equipped to handle the situation

The guards completed another pass sighing and wiping the sweat form their brows hurrying over to get some much needed water from the well built to accommodate them. With their backs turned no one noticed the darkness seemingly parting to revealing a figure in black atop a large muscular black mustang. The shadow man waited a few more moments before gently nudging the horse forward lightly tapping it with his boots. The horse shot off like a canon moving quickly and silently picking up speed until it became a black blur in the night. It reached the wall in seconds appearing briefly in the flames as it aligned it self perfectly to the wall.

The man reached down giving the horse a gently scratch before standing up on it’s back. He jumped quickly launching himself up with all his might and easily finding a handle hold on the smooth clay wall.

“Get out of here!” A Spanish accented voice whispered to the horse. The horse gave a soft snort and turned running back the way it came and disappearing into the night. The man gave a soft sigh of thanks and pulled himself up quickly moving to straddle the wall and come down on the other side landing lightly on the soles of his boots.

The man stepped out of the shadows and into the light of the courtyard appearing out of the security and embrace of the darkness, a grin that could have been the devils plastered on his face as he patted the dust off of his black tunic undone a little to show off his tan smooth skin. He was entirely dressed in black with matching black trousers boots and a long black sash around his waist in which a sword hung sheathed but at the ready to be pulled out, two crisscrossing bandoliers formed an X over his broad chest on which hung a variety of throwing knives and pistole’s, a matching black bandana covered the top half of his face with two narrow slits cut out two show off a pair of bright emerald eyes, the bottom of half of his face was covered in rough black stubble, a wide brim hat completed his look as well as a long black cape.

His eyes swept across the courtyard taking in the expensive marble bust, the opulent flowerbeds, and the sparkling fountain and narrowing in disgust. He shook his head carefully making his way across the courtyard and past the fountain. He made his way to the house keeping to the shadows as best he could and ignoring the few guards inside of the perimeter. He moved quickly and silently utilizing all of his training to fulfill his purpose and mission tonight.

To kill the Don

Alexander De Le Montonia Rodriga other wise known as the angel of death slid to a stop underneath a balcony swearing as a group of guards passed by. He put a hand on his sword remaining as still as possible as he waited for their noise to pass all the time unaware he was directly below the balcony of the Don’s beautiful daughter.

 

[silvertongue217]

giving this one a bump

 

[Original_Cyn2]

Maria Luisa De Le Montonia

Mari had been standing at the window for over an hour, her gentle brown eyes revealing none of her normal poise. One hand played incessantly with a long skein of thick mahogany hair, curling it around her fingers in silent frustration. Awareness of this act fueled her agitation and irritation sparked, acidic and sharp. Tucking the gleaming tress behind her shoulder with a shrug she drew her gaze from the darkness outside to focus on her mood.

She was restless tonight, but that was nothing new, it had been her predominant mood for months. This was a different kind of restlessness, sharp and wary with a bitter edge. Anxious. She examined the word in her mind, turning it over like a puzzle piece, tasting the metallic edge of panic beneath its surface. It fit and that frightened her.

Again her eyes were drawn to the shadows that jumped and shimmered in the flickering torchlight of the courtyard. Nothing had changed, it remained the familiar landscape of her childhood home. Childhood home and prison, she amended, her cage for the last four months. The bitter taste of that nearly gagged her.

She turned blindly from the shifting drapes. An evening breeze, begun as a teasing whisper of promise, relief from the scorching heat of the day, had grown to a briskly cavorting current carrying its chill through the thick damask of her gown. It taunted the already rattled condition of her last nerve. She reached out for the thick braided cord to her right and pulled the curtains tightly shut, as if the flimsy barrier could exclude whatever haunted her perceptions tonight.

Turning toward her bed and the surcease of slumber, her agile fingers released the clasps of her gown one by one. She'd sought this moment all day, since donning the thick material early this morning, her release from its damp, heavy embrace providing the only moments of pleasure in an otherwise cheerless day.

But suddenly, in the chill of an ill wind and the residual tension of her moodiness, she found herself reluctant to remove its familiar folds. Exasperated with herself and the day, the wind and the darkness, every little detail seemed to rub her the wrong way. The lantern flame sputtered, lengthened and danced, a macabre display of erratic phantoms on the walls around her, like spectral hands reaching for her soul. Unease that had simmered all day drew itself from every pore, a full blown anxiety attack coalescing within her. Her fingers tore at the dresses clasps in frazzled panic, ripping the last one from the fabric itself in her haste to remove it. With shaking hands she threw the gown across the room as if doing so would stave off the impending chaos rising like a tide within her. For reasons unknown, it worked, the tidal wave of tension and angst retreating like the tidal pool at sundown. Goosebumps, raised in the wake of tensions recession, left her shivering in her petticoats. She kicks them off and dives beneath the goosedown quilt. Overwhelmed, tears flood her eyes and stream down her cheeks to puddle and pool on her pillow. Her sobs, caught and muffled in the feathered thickness of the quilt. Finding respite in the cleansing storm of her own emotions soothes her ragged spirit and between one sob and another, her eyes slip closed. Tears trickle to a standstill, her breathing no longer hitched and painful, softening in the sweet release of slumber.

 

[silvertongue217]

Alexander eyes scanned the pavilion taking in the rich opulence with disgust so this was what oppression and greed bought? He supposed the Don liked to be impressive but all that the masked vigilant saw was greed and corruption. Having lived in a small mostly poor village all his life Alexander was sensitive to such injustices. His heart beat a painful rhythm as he though off al the people who had to pay for all this rich opulence. The slaves who toiled in the fields, the men who took the Dom’s soldiers hitting on their daughters and wives. The great state of California was calling to him! Begging him to free the oppression it was currently beseeched with.

He was a man on a mission a mission of patriotism and duty, the dom would pay for his crimes against humanity and his people! The masked Bandito would make sure of it, would take it upon him self to be the arm of justice the very spirit of California. Some might call him a dreamer or over dramatic but Alexander knew what he was doing was needed. He would use the training his father gave him to finish this fight and bring peace to the land.

By killing the Don

He began to move uncurling his whip and stepping out of the shadow of the balcony. He cracked it quickly wrapping the coiled leather rope around the balcony before giving it a pull. Confident it was secure Alexander quickly pulled himself up using the whip and onto the deck. Once he was in the house it would be harder to evade the guards but his throwing knives would dispatch them silently. He just needed to find the Don room and kill him plunging his criminal empire into disarray. It wasn’t the most eloquent of plans but it was simple besides who would see it coming? No one was expecting the most powerful man in California to simply be attacked.

He launched himself onto the balcony and quickly stepped in gently nudging the billowing curtains apart stepping in before any one could see him. He found himself in a bedroom a girls room to be exact judging by the wall paper and furniture. The Don’s daughter perhaps? Alexander had heard many tales about her all describing her as beautiful the most beautiful girl in all of California. Suddenly Alexander was eager to see if the rumors were true. He turned moving silently over to the bed attempting to get a better look.

He wasn’t dissapointed

He sucked in a startled breath admiring her form, she was simply divine a true angel. He felt the over whelming urge to touch her and hesitantly reached out stroking her hair softly and eyeing her frame. She looked upset and a part of him longed to comfort her and abandon the mission. His hands dipped lower tracing her back and pushing her blanket away to expose more of her body to him.

 

[Original_Cyn2]

She'd been dreaming. Happy dreams, filled with a sense of security she hadn't felt in months, as if her tears had cleansed her of the frustration, pain and sorrow she'd carried for so long now.

The early years, when her Mother had still been living, her Father had been a completely different man. Gentle, sensitive, and patient. They'd seemed so young, so carefree. Those memories, encapsulated in the tunnel of time, glowed with the love they’d shared - between themselves and with her. They had loved each other so much.

She shifted beneath the duvet, tears like warm rain once again moistening her cheeks. These tears are bittersweet, the awareness of what had been, what might have been and what was. She’d awakened to the memory of her mother’s touch, a gentle, reassuring stroke against her shoulder. She shivered, the dream’s touch so real.

Cloudy with the mists of sleep,, she’s aware of a scent on the air, something different that the hibiscus outside her windows, or the slow cooling heat of the desert night….this is deeper, not familiar and she wonders for a moment if she’s not still dreaming. Her foot, gliding idly against the warmth of the cotton beneath her, slides beyond the duvet’s boundaries where the chill of predawn has settled into the sheets. She is not dreaming. She breathes, slowly, the scent suffusing her sense. Skin prickling with an eerie sort of awareness of something off kilter, she narrows her focus, trying to pinpoint the difference.

The soft susurrus of the breeze in the trees and - far off - the final scream of a rabbit or rodent to a predator are the only sounds around her. Darkness is complete, the moon under cloud cover and the scent of rain in the air. The unfamiliar scent is fading, just the barest hint to tease her taut senses. She wills the tension from her body, settling back to listen, her eyes struggling to pierce the darkness. The black turns to the deepest darkest indigo, taunting her with the barely discernable variance. Her senses taunting her, mocking her surety that something, some small thing, was amiss.

Sighing, she watches the incremental changes in the shading of the horizon before her, her belly tightening as yet another day slips away, bringing her ever closer to the unthinkable. Four days….less than a week and she’d be sold into a marriage like a slave to a plantation. Her entire being shuddered at the thought, desperation immersing her in despair.