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notapaladin · 4 years

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have you heard? (what they’re saying on the street)

A group of women gather on a rooftop to watch the army return from war. They wind up seeing (and talking about) much more interesting things than the number of captive prisoners. Such as the High Priest of the Dead, and whether he should really be looking at the Master of the House of Darts like that...

Because outside perspectives on relationships are fun! As always, can also be read on AO3.

The army was returning from war, and Citlalmina watched from her sister’s roof. Xochitl had managed somehow to marry a nobleman (Citlalmina suspected it had something to do with her weaving, which turned out cloaks lighter than clouds) and so they, unlike her, rated a two-story house with an excellent view of the warriors below. She could even see the Revered Speaker, and from this distance there was no possibility of anyone punishing her for looking at his face. Not that she especially wanted to; the Revered Speaker had been unwell since his ascension, and was not pleasant to look upon.

Not like his younger brother Teomitl-tzin, anyway. The Master of the House of Darts was roughly her age, tall and strong, with a handsome, open face. He was married already—to the new Guardian, the younger sister of the High Priest of Mictlantecuhli, and hadn’t that been a scandal—but she was sure he had room for a second wife. Or a third, she wasn’t picky. Of course, she was still supposed to be mourning the husband taken by the plague, but...well, she’d never liked him that much. His teeth had been as bad as his temper.

“You’re ogling.” That was Xochitl, smirking knowingly at her. It was an effect that was spoiled somewhat by the fact that she’d clearly done her hair herself that morning, and one of her braids was starting to slip down over her ear.

She flushed, batting her sister’s hand away. On her other side Etalpalli was giggling, which didn’t help. “I am not!...and if I was, can you blame me? Really?”

Xochitl tilted her head, studying Teomitl-tzin herself. “...He is very handsome. Not so much as my Chimalli, though.”

Now, that was rank favoritism; Citlalmina’s brother-in-law wasn’t bad-looking, but he was certainly no warrior. She decided not to mention that, and only gestured towards Teomitl-tzin. “You see?”

Tonalnan shrugged, motioning for one of the slaves to pour her more maguey sap. Of them all, she was the only one seated on a low chair instead of a mat, a symbol of her status as Chimalli’s mother and the effective leader of the household. Citlalmina wanted to grow up to be just like her someday; Tonalnan was never fazed by anything. “Married, though. And his wife is fierce.”

“I’ve met her.” Icnoyotl’s voice was so quiet that it took a moment for any of them to register she was speaking, and then they spun towards her almost as one to deluge her with questions.

“You what?”

“The new Guardian? Really? What’s she like?” She must be beautiful, Citlalmina thought.

Icnoyotl looked slightly panicked, shaking her head as though that would ward off their curiosity. “...Normal.”

Citlalmina shook her head. “...Impossible.” She’s the Guardian! She must be radiant—glorious! Not like us, even if her parents were peasants.

Icnoyotl seemed to find some spine somewhere, because she huffed, “I’m serious! She was a very good student in calmecac, but none of us ever thought she’d go on to be, well…a Guardian. She loves her family and I’m pretty sure she had names picked for all her children by the time she was twelve.”

She’d been expecting that, but it still made her wince. “So…don’t go after her husband, is what you’re saying.”

Etalpalli set her skewer of grilled frog down, patting her shoulder. “Definitely do not do that. Oh, look—there she is, with the High Priests!”

That got everyone’s attention, and they all crowded closer to the edge of the roof for a better look. The High Priests were crossing the plaza in full regalia, looking imposingly dignified. Citlalmina had no trouble spotting Quenami-tzin in the crowd—he was a tall and reedy man, with a face that was mostly long nose and a headdress that only made him taller—and from there it was impossible to miss Acamapichtli-tzin’s square, stocky build and Acatl-tzin’s skull mask, worn askew on his forehead in concession to the baking heat of the plaza. Mihmatini had to be behind them somewhere.

Xochitl jostled her excitedly. “Can you see her from here?”

It was Icnoyotl who responded, after piercing her ears and whispering a quick spell for keener sight. “...She’s rather short…” And then her eyes lit up. “Oh, no, I see her! And her brother! And…the other ones.”

Tonalnan frowned at her. “Is there something wrong with the other High Priests?”

“Well...no...but…” Suddenly, it seemed to be vitally important that she pinch her earlobes to stop the blood.

Citlalmina couldn’t help but smile, even as Xochitl sank back onto her mat and elbowed her. “They’re not Acatl-tzin. You can say it!”

Icnoyotl turned crimson, hunching down in her seat. “I wasn’t going to! But...yes.”

A sigh rippled around the younger women, and Etalpalli shook her head wistfully. “He is so handsome. I know the gods choose their priests, but couldn’t they have picked someone else? Someone with a face like a dog’s backside, maybe? It’s a crime.”

Citlalmina chewed her lower lip thoughtfully, studying Acatl-tzin below. She supposed she could see what Etalpalli was going on about; Acatl-tzin was neither tall nor muscular and the lines of a frown were seemingly etched permanently between his eyes, but he had a pleasingly regular face and the smile he turned on his sister made him look years younger. “Ollin says she knows a man who grew up with him, and apparently most of the girls and a few of the boys all agreed with you. Nobody was happy when he became a priest.” She shrugged. “He’s not at all my type.”

“Oh? Who is?”

She’d finally spotted Mihmatini-tzin in the crowd. Despite the splendor of her regalia, Icnoyotl had been right; she was short, and didn’t stand out that much under all the feathers and gold. Citlalmina’s heart did a flip to think it was possible that they might even have passed each other in the street unawares. Now that she saw her, she couldn’t look away. Hastily, she gestured at the warriors below. “...Oh, look, they’re approaching. And there’s the chant…”

They were silent for a long moment, and Citlalmina closed her eyes as the voices below washed over her. This was her favorite part of any occasion—the music, the sound of voices joining together to make something bigger than any of them could ever manage on their own. Even the Revered Speaker addressing the crowd with a voice like a sick dog couldn’t cut through the surge of peace she felt.

Unfortunately, Xochitl could. “Hmmmm.”

It was the same tone of voice she used when inspecting her weaving for flaws, and it had Citlalmina instantly on the alert. “What?”

She pointed, eyes gleaming. “Look down there, at Acatl-tzin and his sister. See where they’re greeting the Revered Speaker and the generals? Look at their faces.”

Tonalnan chuckled indulgently. “...Ah, Xochitl, you noticed. She does not look impressed.”

“But Teomitl-tzin is a great warrior!”

Etalpalli was more matter-of-fact. “She looks like she’s watching an annoying little brother present her a dead bird.” With seven younger brothers of her own, she would know.

And while Citlalmina sat there in shock at what was written plain across Mihmatini-tzin’s face, Xochitl fairly cackled with mirth. “She does! She does! There must be some trouble in that relationship, and them not even married a full year. What a shame, and Teomitl-tzin looking at her with his heart in his eyes.”

Icnoyotl drew closer, frowning as she studied the scene below. “...I don’t think…”

“Hm?”

She gestured towards the priests. “I don’t think he’s looking at her.”

He was looking in his wife’s direction, at least, but Citlalli knew a longing gaze when she saw one, and it was not aimed at Mihmatini-tzin. It was, in fact, focused on a point a few inches to her left. “Oh. Oh, Duality.”

Etalpalli leaned over her shoulder, nearly vibrating in excitement. “What? Who’s he looking at? You think there’s a girl in the crowd?”

She shook her head slowly, still reeling internally. “No. No, I...look at Acatl-tzin!”

They were going through the ritual greetings now; while the Revered Speaker launched into yet another speech, his Master of the House of Darts had locked eyes with his High Priest of the Dead, who was unashamedly staring back. And the look on his face! Even half-hidden by his mask it was enough to make Citlalmina blush, and she’d been married. Her husband had certainly never looked at her like that—soft and wondering, as though the sun had risen unexpectedly after a long, cold rain, but with the heated focus of a starving man at a banquet. She half expected him to start licking his lips.

Her friends were quick to pick up on it.

“Oh.”

“Ohhhhh…”

“That’s…”

Icnoyotl winced. “The Revered Speaker can’t have noticed, can he?”

Xochitl snorted, swatting at her without taking her eyes off the men below. Citlalmina couldn’t blame her; this was the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen at a victory ceremony. “He’d fly off the handle, so no. But wow. Just...wow. They are not being subtle.”

Etalpalli just looked baffled. “What are you talking about? Didn’t Teomitl-tzin used to be Acatl-tzin’s student? Of course he’s happy he’s back, right?”

The look Xochitl gave her could have withered corn. “...I was apprenticed to old Mazatl-tzin, and if she looked at me like that I would have called my brothers and the guards.”

Citlalmina sat back on her haunches, blinking. It didn’t help. She was never going to forget that look on Acatl-tzin’s face, not to mention the way Teomitl-tzin had been blatantly eyeing him back. “Southern Hummingbird blind me. No wonder all the girls back in his calpulli pined in vain!”

“But...but priests are supposed to be celibate.”

Tonalnan cackled. “Oh, that doesn’t count! I could tell you stories from when I was in calmecac—“

Etalpalli made a face. “Please do not. But...purely in the interest of speculation, do you think they’re...together...yet, or…?”

Against her better judgement, Citlalmina looked down again. There was the Master of the House of Darts, standing tall and proud and perfect, gazing at the High Priest of Mictlantecuhli like he put the sun in the sky. There was the High Priest, gazing back. There was the Guardian by his side, all but rolling her eyes at both of them. Well, if they are, I don’t think she’s upset about it. She bit her lip, studying Acatl-tzin a little more closely. “I…can’t say.”

Icnoyotl muttered, “Well, I certainly wouldn’t turn down Acatl-tzin.”

“Oh, he would never make the first move. It had to have been Teomitl-tzin!”

While her friends teased each other behind her, Citlalmina watched the men below. She saw them break eye contact for a moment, only to turn their faces towards each other again. She hadn’t seen them greet each other personally yet. “...I don’t think they are. They can’t seem to look at each other for long, but they can’t seem to look away either.”

Icnoyotl sucked in a breath. “They’re pining. How tragic!”

Xochitl commented, “I think it’s romantic.”

“Pft, young love. It will fade.”

“Tonalnan-tzin, you’ve been married for ages, how could you say that?!”

“And I very quickly learned my husband was an idiot, so—“

Citlalmina tuned them out, distracted; Teomitl-tzin had finally looked at his wife, and they seemed to belatedly realize they should be happier to see each other alive and in one piece. There were some truly terrible attempts at smiling going on. She wondered if Mihmatini-tzin was lonely in her chambers; from the way Teomitl-tzin’s gaze flicked back to the High Priest, he wasn’t planning on visiting her tonight.

She hoped he and Acatl-tzin would be happy, at least.

#obsidian and blood #teomitl #acatl #teocatl #paladin writes stuff

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falloutmexico · 5 years

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El Perdido / The Lost

A wasteland tribe known as El Perdido used ancient technology they found in the Museo de Antropología (Mexico City), ancient native knowledge about mathematics, science, medicine and architecture, to rebuild their society. The Perdido were founded by an old world linguist and anthropologist named Dr. Zelia Gamio who was transformed into a ghoul. She knew how to read, write and speak many of the old native languages, allowing her to use the data in the codices and old native texts. She gave this knowledge to other survivors she found, founding the Perdido tribe. She is still alive, but dying. She refuses to use their superior medical technology to save her life, saying that it is time for her to die. The Perdido style themselves after the ancient natives of Mexico, cultivating a hodgepodge of an identity from the various native peoples and the pre-war culture. The Zelia’s successor will be her apprentice, Citlalmina. Zelia is inspired by the anthropologist, sociologist, archaeologist and founder of the indigenismo movement, Manuel Gamio and his mentor, Zelia Nuttall. Citlalmina was chosen by the Perdido to be Zelia’s apprentice for her intelligence and leadership qualities. She is fairly young, but learning quickly.

Have some of the best medical care in the wasteland. Can help you with your quest to _____ using their technology. You can also steal their ancient texts and technology for your own means.

They inhabit the Museo de Antropología, as well as the Zoológico de Chapultepec, Casa del Lago Juan José Arreola and the Modern Art Museum nearby. Their main source of water comes from Lake Chapultepec (lago de Chapultepec) near the Casa del Lago Juan José Arreola and botanical gardens. Ghouls are rare among the Perdido because they are able to produce anti-radiation chems to protect themselves. The few ghouls among them are usually new additions to the tribe. You can find anti-radiation showers at the entrances of their buildings. They will often wear gas masks and other equipment to protect themselves when outside, but their buildings are protected by insulted anti-radiation technology. Their radiation technology is highly sought after by outsiders and is their main source of income. They are one of the few groups producing not only pre-war chems, but medicine of their own.

Though the Perdido are happy to sell their chems and provide medical care to outsiders, few are allowed inside their territory without first proving themselves. You must do a quest for Zelia before you are allowed to enter. To become one of the Perdido is much, much more difficult, but possible.

#el perdido #factions #ideas

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