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Dealing - Open
Sep. 2nd, 2018 10:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
st_recuerdameMiguel had been terrified during the invasion. Nothing like that had ever happened to him before, but he wasn't going to admit that he'd been scared. Not while his friends had actually been in the fighting. Those that knew him, would have noticed a difference in him. He was quieter, more withdrawn, he kept to his room more and spent a lot of time in the Temple. They were both places that made him feel safe, actually the only places that made him feel that way. Dante was his constant companion, moreso, than usual and he was more subdued than normal as well in his concern for his human friend.
When Miguel discovered that Scanlan's instruments were now his, he was scared that something had happened to him during the fighting. That he was now in the Land of the Dead. Despite being reassured that Scanlan had simply gone home, he was determined to honor him on an ofrenda when the Dia De Los Muertos came to the Inn. He'd asked Mack to draw a picture for him to place there when the time came, but on top of that, he wanted to write a song for his friend. Miguel knew that as long as someone living remembered you, you wouldn't fade to your final death. He would not let that happen to Scanlan whether he really did go home, or he was in the Land of the Dead.
Miguel was in the lobby, a rare sight this past week, with his back to the wall and a wary eye to the front door. In his lap was his guitar, he was holding it almost like a security blanket that it felt like. Rather than hope for the words to come, Miguel wanted to start on a melody. He just let his fingers play whatever naturally came as he thought about his friend.
When Miguel discovered that Scanlan's instruments were now his, he was scared that something had happened to him during the fighting. That he was now in the Land of the Dead. Despite being reassured that Scanlan had simply gone home, he was determined to honor him on an ofrenda when the Dia De Los Muertos came to the Inn. He'd asked Mack to draw a picture for him to place there when the time came, but on top of that, he wanted to write a song for his friend. Miguel knew that as long as someone living remembered you, you wouldn't fade to your final death. He would not let that happen to Scanlan whether he really did go home, or he was in the Land of the Dead.
Miguel was in the lobby, a rare sight this past week, with his back to the wall and a wary eye to the front door. In his lap was his guitar, he was holding it almost like a security blanket that it felt like. Rather than hope for the words to come, Miguel wanted to start on a melody. He just let his fingers play whatever naturally came as he thought about his friend.
