Post by Deleted on Apr 6, 2016 18:37:45 GMT
DATE: 03.29.1999
LOCATION: SAN JUAN DE DIOS MARKET, GUADALAJARA, MÉXICO
TIME: 11:53AM
The narrow hallways of Guadalajara’s largest marketplace was bustling with people for the weekly farmer's market. The heat of mid-day made the day a bit unbearable but it didn't keep tourists from whisking up the bargains offered at the market stalls. There was a pungent smell floating above the storefronts and a buzz in the air. Footsteps clacked and dragged on the uneven sidewalks. Children ran to and fro, playing and laughing, while their family members gawked at produce and merchandise. Many of the vendors had music playing from secondhand AM/FM stereos to the beat of their country's rhythm. But the loudest sound of all was the chorus of accented and broken English shouts from the merchants selling discounted goods.
One particular vendor was short and stalky. He wore dirty designer clothes and shoes like a living mannequin of the counterfeit goods that were sold in the market. He also wore a long, white, fruit-stained apron where he kept several pieces of fruit and a knife to cut samples of his produce for passing customers.
Merchant: "MANGOS! BANANAS! MANZANAS! GIT YUR FRUTA HEERE! OLL FRESH! GUD PRYSEZ!"
The wide smile on the merchant's face faded a bit at the sight of salt and pepper haired man dressed in clerical black and walking towards him. He cursed under his breath then heigned it with a smile when the tall cleric neared his storefront. The merchant cut a small piece of sun-dried mango and extends it towards the minister.
Merchant: "Sweet mango for yuz, Gringo Padre?"
The cleric looked at the solar cooked fruit and grimaced. He shook his head with a scowl and kept the fruit at arm's length as he continued on his way. At the end of the farmer's market, a block down, was the Cathedral of St. John the Divine. When the cleric was a couple feet past his storefront, the merchant made a snide comment that stopped the minister in his tracks.
Merchant: "Cheep ass beech. Choorch always take money but never give back."
The merchant wiped sweat from his brow with his hand and flung the beads of sweat towards the cleric. The cleric took a deep breath, sighed audibly, then continued forward. Suddenly piercing screams took hold of everyone's attention. All eyes turned toward the northern block of the market as a raucous ensued. A young boy was being chased by two very fit security officers. The kid was weaving past people, doing anything he could to shake the pursuit. While all eyes were on the commotion, an older portly German woman came up to the merchant's storefront and began to inspect the produce on the table. Desperate for a sale, the merchant turned his attention to the woman.
Merchant: "Nutin but the best heere, Senora. I give good pryse."
The portly woman frowned at the sun-dried fruit on the table.
Portly Woman: "BLAH! THIS FRUIT IS ROTTEN!"
The merchant's face scowled in anger and began to wave his arms violently while hushing at the woman.
Merchant: "SSSHHH! STUPEED BEECH! SHUT YUR FAT FACE UP!"
The woman's mouth dropped in shock. She grabbed her purse and was about to use it as a weapon on the merchant when the previous commotion with the fleeing kid found them in mid-battle. The young boy's head was turned back towards the two security officers when he slammed into the portly woman's bossom and sent her flying into the merchant's fruit table.
Portly Woman: "AHH!"
The fruit table broke in half with a soggy crunch. The woman began to cry as she realized that she had smashed rotten fruit plastered to her body. The young boy was knocked to the ground. The merchant was livid at his luck and pulled out his fruit knife. He pointed the knife at the kid as the two officers reached the scene.
Merchant: "GOT U, BASTARDO! U WEEL PAY FOR THEES!"
The young boy got up to his feet quickly and was about to bolt when he was elbowed in the back of his head by one of the officers. The attack sent the kid down towards the feet of the merchant, slamming his head on the pavement. The other officer rolled the kid onto his back and placed his heavy boot on his lower neck and chest. An authoritarian voice yelled out, silencing the crowd.
Voice: "I told ya we'd catcha one day, kid! Your luck has finally run out!"
The man behind the voice was the Security Supervisor who walked up with a devilish smile. The kid tried to wiggle away but the officer only pressed his boot further. The supervisor chuckled in satisfaction as the boy convulsed in pain.
Supervisor: "Pick his ass up!"
The officers firmly grabbed the boy and shoved him in front of their leader.
Boy: "LET ME GO, YOU FAKE ASS COPS! I'M HOMELESS! I WAS STARVING!"
The supervisor looked carefully at the dirty and battered kid before sending a hard right into the kid's face. The other two officers held the boy tight and laughed as the kid's head bobbed back and forth and oozed blood down on the sidewalk. No one around the scene made any attempt to help the boy and stop the injustice. To cover their heinous actions the supervisor belted out some orders.
Supervisor: "HOLD HIM TIGHT, MEN! HE'S A THREAT TO THE PATRONS!"
The supervisor reached for his taser gun, further complicating the situation. The young boy's eyes were glassy. He was too groggy to speak. In a small moment of clear vision, the boy saw the taser gun pointed at him. He struggled violently only to be restrained by the two officers. An authoritative voice stopped the supervisor from sending electricity into the kid.
Voice: "LET THE BOY GO!"
The voice wasn't exaggerated but it was chilling. The supervisor raised his eyes to see who dared impede his villainy. From behind the crowd stepped the tall cleric dressed in black.
Cleric: "I said, Let the boy go!"
The supervisor lowered his taser gun and returned it to its holster. He walked up to the minister with an evil smirk on his face. They stood toe-to-toe but the cleric was not intimidated in the least.
Supervisor: "Mind your own goddamn business, Padre. This is official business and you're hindering an investigation."
Cleric: "Let the boy go. I'll pay for his stolen item."
The supervisor looked the minister up and down. The cleric's eyes narrowed.
Supervisor: "This isn't about the stupid piece of fruit. This is about setting a precedence. JUSTICE must be served. Now I'm more than willing to give you the same lesson in justice if you don't get out of my face and your ass back to the church!"
The minister didn't respond. He remained stoic and silent. The demeanor only angered the supervising officer more.
Supervisor: "ARE YOU DEAF?! I SAID GO!"
The cleric bore a icy look at the two officers; his eyes relating a message to release the kid. The two officers looked each other, uncertain about their next action. Finally, they shoved the boy down to the ground. The supervisor, at this point, lost it. He could not tolerate the insubordination.
Supervisor: "SONOFABITCH!"
The supervisor unclipped his gun holster and reached for his taser gun. Before he could aim and discharge it, the cleric moved on him quickly, turned the tazer gun inward as the supervisor discharged it. The vile security supervisor shook violently as electricity coursed through his body. He fell to the ground, next to the bleeding boy, with rhythmic convulsions. Upon seeing their supervisor down, the two other officers lunged at the cleric.
Officers: "FREEEEEEEZE!!!"
The officers never got the chance to finish their sentence. They were now on the defensive as they concentrated on blocking the cleric's surprising attack. The cleric jabbed at their throats with precision. At superhuman speed, he launched himself towards one of the officers, separating them, and dodged dodged his retaliatory strike. Using his own momentum against him, the cleric turned the officer's fist back on him and snapped his wrist. Bone break echoed in the street followed by an agonized scream. The cleric decided to compassionately finish this squabble as soon as possible. He pushed the officer with the broken hand aside and smashed an elbow into the back of the head of the other officer. An uppercut into the abdomen followed by another to the face set the second officer up for a sleeperhold. The cleric tightened his grip around the officer's neck like an anaconda, cutting off air and consciousness. The officer gasped for air, spazzed for a couple moments, then went limp as his eyes rolled back into his head. The cleric let the unconscious officer drop to the ground mercifully.
The silver haired minister looked around at the fallen officers as the crowd cheered for him. He ignored the adulation and over to bloodied young boy and crouched down to help him up.
Boy: "Th-thank you, Your Holiness."
The voice was weak and hoarse. Yet something told him there was more to this kid than met the eye.
Cleric: "I wish it were true, kid, but I'm just a simple servant of God.
Sirens blared in the background.
Cleric: "But I better get you home before the police start asking too many questions."
The boy looked down at the pavement in embarrassment.
Boy: "I'm-I'm homeless, sir. My parents are dead. But I can make on my own!"
The hint of sadness in the boy's voice crushed the cleric's bravado. He took a closer look at the child; his eyes revealed grit, determination, and a never-say-die spirit. The kid was a definitely a survivor. But what if he could be something more?
Cleric: "What's your name, kid?"
The boy looked up and answered confidently.
Boy: "Xandor, sir. Xandor Kalel"
The minister extended a hand and they shook hands. The grip was strong.
Cleric: "Nice to meet you, Xandor. I'm Reverend Keir."
The police sirens drew closer.
Keir: "You know what? Let's get out of here. Who don't you come with me to the Cathedral? I have to tend to some business there and the police don't have jurisdiction in there. Afterwards, my wife can come pick us up and take us out for a late lunch. Cool?"
The boy's eyes lit up as he nodded excitedly.
Keir: "Come on. You're life is about to change, kid."
Xandor's eyes furl together inquisitively.
Keir: "Not only am I going to teach you to survive in this world. I'm going to teach you to save it."
Thus is the birth of the Patron Saint.
LOCATION: SAN JUAN DE DIOS MARKET, GUADALAJARA, MÉXICO
TIME: 11:53AM
The narrow hallways of Guadalajara’s largest marketplace was bustling with people for the weekly farmer's market. The heat of mid-day made the day a bit unbearable but it didn't keep tourists from whisking up the bargains offered at the market stalls. There was a pungent smell floating above the storefronts and a buzz in the air. Footsteps clacked and dragged on the uneven sidewalks. Children ran to and fro, playing and laughing, while their family members gawked at produce and merchandise. Many of the vendors had music playing from secondhand AM/FM stereos to the beat of their country's rhythm. But the loudest sound of all was the chorus of accented and broken English shouts from the merchants selling discounted goods.
One particular vendor was short and stalky. He wore dirty designer clothes and shoes like a living mannequin of the counterfeit goods that were sold in the market. He also wore a long, white, fruit-stained apron where he kept several pieces of fruit and a knife to cut samples of his produce for passing customers.
Merchant: "MANGOS! BANANAS! MANZANAS! GIT YUR FRUTA HEERE! OLL FRESH! GUD PRYSEZ!"
The wide smile on the merchant's face faded a bit at the sight of salt and pepper haired man dressed in clerical black and walking towards him. He cursed under his breath then heigned it with a smile when the tall cleric neared his storefront. The merchant cut a small piece of sun-dried mango and extends it towards the minister.
Merchant: "Sweet mango for yuz, Gringo Padre?"
The cleric looked at the solar cooked fruit and grimaced. He shook his head with a scowl and kept the fruit at arm's length as he continued on his way. At the end of the farmer's market, a block down, was the Cathedral of St. John the Divine. When the cleric was a couple feet past his storefront, the merchant made a snide comment that stopped the minister in his tracks.
Merchant: "Cheep ass beech. Choorch always take money but never give back."
The merchant wiped sweat from his brow with his hand and flung the beads of sweat towards the cleric. The cleric took a deep breath, sighed audibly, then continued forward. Suddenly piercing screams took hold of everyone's attention. All eyes turned toward the northern block of the market as a raucous ensued. A young boy was being chased by two very fit security officers. The kid was weaving past people, doing anything he could to shake the pursuit. While all eyes were on the commotion, an older portly German woman came up to the merchant's storefront and began to inspect the produce on the table. Desperate for a sale, the merchant turned his attention to the woman.
Merchant: "Nutin but the best heere, Senora. I give good pryse."
The portly woman frowned at the sun-dried fruit on the table.
Portly Woman: "BLAH! THIS FRUIT IS ROTTEN!"
The merchant's face scowled in anger and began to wave his arms violently while hushing at the woman.
Merchant: "SSSHHH! STUPEED BEECH! SHUT YUR FAT FACE UP!"
The woman's mouth dropped in shock. She grabbed her purse and was about to use it as a weapon on the merchant when the previous commotion with the fleeing kid found them in mid-battle. The young boy's head was turned back towards the two security officers when he slammed into the portly woman's bossom and sent her flying into the merchant's fruit table.
Portly Woman: "AHH!"
The fruit table broke in half with a soggy crunch. The woman began to cry as she realized that she had smashed rotten fruit plastered to her body. The young boy was knocked to the ground. The merchant was livid at his luck and pulled out his fruit knife. He pointed the knife at the kid as the two officers reached the scene.
Merchant: "GOT U, BASTARDO! U WEEL PAY FOR THEES!"
The young boy got up to his feet quickly and was about to bolt when he was elbowed in the back of his head by one of the officers. The attack sent the kid down towards the feet of the merchant, slamming his head on the pavement. The other officer rolled the kid onto his back and placed his heavy boot on his lower neck and chest. An authoritarian voice yelled out, silencing the crowd.
Voice: "I told ya we'd catcha one day, kid! Your luck has finally run out!"
The man behind the voice was the Security Supervisor who walked up with a devilish smile. The kid tried to wiggle away but the officer only pressed his boot further. The supervisor chuckled in satisfaction as the boy convulsed in pain.
Supervisor: "Pick his ass up!"
The officers firmly grabbed the boy and shoved him in front of their leader.
Boy: "LET ME GO, YOU FAKE ASS COPS! I'M HOMELESS! I WAS STARVING!"
The supervisor looked carefully at the dirty and battered kid before sending a hard right into the kid's face. The other two officers held the boy tight and laughed as the kid's head bobbed back and forth and oozed blood down on the sidewalk. No one around the scene made any attempt to help the boy and stop the injustice. To cover their heinous actions the supervisor belted out some orders.
Supervisor: "HOLD HIM TIGHT, MEN! HE'S A THREAT TO THE PATRONS!"
The supervisor reached for his taser gun, further complicating the situation. The young boy's eyes were glassy. He was too groggy to speak. In a small moment of clear vision, the boy saw the taser gun pointed at him. He struggled violently only to be restrained by the two officers. An authoritative voice stopped the supervisor from sending electricity into the kid.
Voice: "LET THE BOY GO!"
The voice wasn't exaggerated but it was chilling. The supervisor raised his eyes to see who dared impede his villainy. From behind the crowd stepped the tall cleric dressed in black.
Cleric: "I said, Let the boy go!"
The supervisor lowered his taser gun and returned it to its holster. He walked up to the minister with an evil smirk on his face. They stood toe-to-toe but the cleric was not intimidated in the least.
Supervisor: "Mind your own goddamn business, Padre. This is official business and you're hindering an investigation."
Cleric: "Let the boy go. I'll pay for his stolen item."
The supervisor looked the minister up and down. The cleric's eyes narrowed.
Supervisor: "This isn't about the stupid piece of fruit. This is about setting a precedence. JUSTICE must be served. Now I'm more than willing to give you the same lesson in justice if you don't get out of my face and your ass back to the church!"
The minister didn't respond. He remained stoic and silent. The demeanor only angered the supervising officer more.
Supervisor: "ARE YOU DEAF?! I SAID GO!"
The cleric bore a icy look at the two officers; his eyes relating a message to release the kid. The two officers looked each other, uncertain about their next action. Finally, they shoved the boy down to the ground. The supervisor, at this point, lost it. He could not tolerate the insubordination.
Supervisor: "SONOFABITCH!"
The supervisor unclipped his gun holster and reached for his taser gun. Before he could aim and discharge it, the cleric moved on him quickly, turned the tazer gun inward as the supervisor discharged it. The vile security supervisor shook violently as electricity coursed through his body. He fell to the ground, next to the bleeding boy, with rhythmic convulsions. Upon seeing their supervisor down, the two other officers lunged at the cleric.
Officers: "FREEEEEEEZE!!!"
The officers never got the chance to finish their sentence. They were now on the defensive as they concentrated on blocking the cleric's surprising attack. The cleric jabbed at their throats with precision. At superhuman speed, he launched himself towards one of the officers, separating them, and dodged dodged his retaliatory strike. Using his own momentum against him, the cleric turned the officer's fist back on him and snapped his wrist. Bone break echoed in the street followed by an agonized scream. The cleric decided to compassionately finish this squabble as soon as possible. He pushed the officer with the broken hand aside and smashed an elbow into the back of the head of the other officer. An uppercut into the abdomen followed by another to the face set the second officer up for a sleeperhold. The cleric tightened his grip around the officer's neck like an anaconda, cutting off air and consciousness. The officer gasped for air, spazzed for a couple moments, then went limp as his eyes rolled back into his head. The cleric let the unconscious officer drop to the ground mercifully.
The silver haired minister looked around at the fallen officers as the crowd cheered for him. He ignored the adulation and over to bloodied young boy and crouched down to help him up.
Boy: "Th-thank you, Your Holiness."
The voice was weak and hoarse. Yet something told him there was more to this kid than met the eye.
Cleric: "I wish it were true, kid, but I'm just a simple servant of God.
Sirens blared in the background.
Cleric: "But I better get you home before the police start asking too many questions."
The boy looked down at the pavement in embarrassment.
Boy: "I'm-I'm homeless, sir. My parents are dead. But I can make on my own!"
The hint of sadness in the boy's voice crushed the cleric's bravado. He took a closer look at the child; his eyes revealed grit, determination, and a never-say-die spirit. The kid was a definitely a survivor. But what if he could be something more?
Cleric: "What's your name, kid?"
The boy looked up and answered confidently.
Boy: "Xandor, sir. Xandor Kalel"
The minister extended a hand and they shook hands. The grip was strong.
Cleric: "Nice to meet you, Xandor. I'm Reverend Keir."
The police sirens drew closer.
Keir: "You know what? Let's get out of here. Who don't you come with me to the Cathedral? I have to tend to some business there and the police don't have jurisdiction in there. Afterwards, my wife can come pick us up and take us out for a late lunch. Cool?"
The boy's eyes lit up as he nodded excitedly.
Keir: "Come on. You're life is about to change, kid."
Xandor's eyes furl together inquisitively.
Keir: "Not only am I going to teach you to survive in this world. I'm going to teach you to save it."
Thus is the birth of the Patron Saint.
