WHO: Héctor and OTA
WHERE: Around campus
WHEN: The month of September, various wobbly dates except for one
WHAT: Getting chewed out, Dodging music, Mexican independence day, Ressurection: Stepford.
WARNINGS: The big spoilers, brief forced bone notching(?), drinking, creepy altered mind states at the end

Let Off With A Warning (Non-Prompt)

School's begun. He's all ready for his first tutoring session of the year-- more of a meeting really-- but when he gets to the requested meet-up spot, a café in soliel, there's no kid waiting for him.

The hunters rise up, eyes fixed on him. He turns only to be faced with another pair. His eyes dart to the side. He could run for the alley. But then a hand falls on his shoulder. A familiar face greets him.

"I've got two mages on standby and you have two seconds to come along willingly."

---

He feels hollowed out. It's not because he was told (demanded) to shift the moment he entered the room. His eyes fall on the folder before him, filled with spread photos of himself, from Santa Cecelia and around Europe, including one that Peter dug up from the depths of the internet once. There are screenshots and transcriptions of a familiar site (Toki's) and unfamiliar forums which mention him going to Santa Cecilia just last month. There are newspaper clippings of some of the horror stories he's accidentally left behind, and newer ones all questioning one man; Ernesto De La Cruz. They haven't stopped explaining the situation but he's tuned a lot out, a ringing left in its place. Until--

"This has gone too far. The publicity on this is growing monumental. Things were different before, some nobody can be covered up, but now you're involved with someone famous? Do you realize how fast this could unravel? And there you are, gallivanting home, thinking you can do whatever you like, putting yourself websites! No more! You are officially forbidden from stepping foot outside this town!"

He jolts in place. "Wait, no, you can't do that! That wasn't my fault! That was a kid! A kid who made a mistake, a simple mistake, and it got taken down after! And everything else-- I didn't do that either!"

"I don't care, Héctor! I don't care whose fault it was, I don't care if you mean well, I don't care if you really did write that guy's songs! I told you this would happen! I told you to stay here and find a life of your own!"

"I have a daughter...! I had to see her!"

"Yes. You did. And now you're a dead man, one has repeatedly proven he can't be trusted with the secrecy of this world. The safety of the people! So now you get to find a way to either tell her that her father is dead or a fool."

"No, no--"

"We're putting a mark on you."

"What?!"

His arm is grabbed, yanked free from the joint as another pair of hands go to his shoulders to hold him down, shoving the chair in so his ribs are caught. He tries to look back to see where his arm is being taken but he can't see past and trying to move his other arm to lift his head up only results in that being pinned too. On the detached arm, he feels something sharp. It presses, harder and harder still and then he can feel it scrape, bone crumbling and giving away beneath. He cries out and bows his head. The cry nearly turns to a sob. It doesn't last long, it's not meant to torture, and that he sees as soon as it's popped back in place. Carved into the bone and inked is a rune. He knows what it's for, holding it close, but the hunter explains anyway.

"As of now, if you try going where you're not meant to, we will know. If you try removing the rune, we will know. The Academy cut a deal-- or you did with them-- either way, you get to see another day as long as it's under their jurisdiction. You go only where they need you, with one exception; you are not to return to Mexico until all this has died down and everyone forgets about it. And you are not to be publicly seen outside of Soliel by anyone."

"Died down?" He croaks, head lifting. "He's famous...! What am I supposed to do, wait until he's dead?" The silence answers that. His phantom heart sinks. He doesn't have that much time. He shakes his head.

"I'm sorry, Héctor. I really am, but..." For the first time in this whole talk, the man's voice softens. The hunter actually sounds regretful. It doesn't matter. "You've run out of chances."

A - A Broken Record - Anywhere

The hunters weren't exaggerating. He wishes they were. He's started to hear it, his songs slipping out of speakers in town. Even within the school, there's an occasional snippet of something; a TV spotlight that feels like a stab in the heart, a punch in the gut, and a chill down his spine all at once. He hears the faint humming of songs he wrote once on the breath of others. Over and over and over again it hits him and he rubs at his arm unconsciously, almost able to feel the engraving beneath the flesh. He's obviously distracted. Enough so that he blinks to realize someone else is there, talking to him.

"What? I'm sorry, could you say that again? I, ah, ha, didn't catch that..." He grins sheepishly.

B - A Stolen Melody - The Hog's Head and outside it

"I guess I live here now," He mutters to the glass in front of him. "Ha. Live..." He swigs it back. Okay. That's enough. No more feeling sorry for himself, he's going to pull it together and figure something out. A year ago he had the same problem and that got solved! And a year before that he was in the Outlands! This is just a minor set back. That's all. Yes.

Spirit almost renewed, he slaps his hands down and stands, even managing a smile. And then the cover musician on stage clears their throat.

"You all might have heard this one recently, it's made it rather big, so I hope I can do it justice. May it be a night to remember."

He whirls around, stricken. The song begins with a flourish.

"Remeeeember--"

"NO!" It takes seconds. One moment he's by the bar, the next he's diving onto the stage, gripping the neck of that guitar with a fevered look in his eyes. "Not that one!"

It's also only a few seconds before he's being thrown out of the bar, doors slamming behind him.

C - Independence Day - School Grounds

He stands on campus with his bow and arrow, surrounded by a pile of what looks to be fireworks. He draws the arrow back, aiming for the cathedral bell of the non-denominational church, and then, 11:00 pm sharp, he fires. It hits and makes little more than a piteous 'ting' of a sound, summoning a frown from him. Fine. He'll make do. He picks up a bottle of tequila and taps the side of it with another arrow. It's the best bell he's got. He gets to work then, setting up the fireworks display on the grounds for which he has neither permit nor permission. He mutters under his breath whatever he can remember of the varying versions of Hidalgo's speech. From the sound of his words, he's evidently a little buzzed already. He takes his sweet time for a good hour so that with that all done, it's officially September 16th.

He turns around with a grin, whether to those he's actively invited out with him or to those who are stumbling onto the field wondering exactly what the hell is going on. The explanation comes in the form of a loud Grito and a cry to the sky.

"¡VIVA MÉXICO!"

In the middle of France.

He starts lighting the fireworks, a few too many at once, and he runs back out of the way to watch them go, bottle scooped up to come with him and a manic grin on his face.

D - The Perfect Man - Around Campus

After all their resurrection attempts before, it's understandable that she's nervous. It makes perfect sense. A few seconds ago, he was nervous too, but now it seems a peace has come over him. He speaks with calm and assures, he's fine, really, he promises, there's no way yet to tell that it worked but maybe tomorrow evening they can find out, he loves her with all his heart.

All the next night, he's smiling. There's something different about him. He's cleaned up. He offers friendly greetings and is quick to help in any situation. He laughs at any joke and works hard into the night, even taking care of tasks he wasn't necessarily asked to do. Whatever anyone seems to want, he's willing to give it.

E - T̝̞͕̻͌ḥ̱͙̪͂͂̈́̇̾̔e̶̿ͨ́̅̅͒ ͒͌P͍͚̭̱̿͌e͎͉̞͌ͥͭ͆ͬͫ͐r͇ḟ̥͎̰̃ê̥̺̮̅̈͛̌͑͝c̛͈͓̬̬t͎̞̳̫̊̊ͨ̎ ̟̮̌͞M̩͉͚̝̦̓ͮ͠a̶̯̘̙̍̓͛́͛n͔̞͓̗̎͗̊̏́ͅ?̵̤̹̻͔͌́ͦ̽

Whatever anyone wants, he's not just willing to give anymore. He's desperate. His smile holds in place but looks pained now. His eyes are clearly vacant. There's a frantic note to his voice and an unsteady shake to his hands. He all but begs others to let him do something for them-- and when that fails, begging is still on the table.

For that matter, nothing, it seems, is off-limits...