Hello! Sorry i took so long, if you're a follower of mine you'll know that I'm pretty awful at keeping my writing up. But here's something, at least. I wanted to write something a little bit fun, so I hope you enjoy! (PS I don't have Word on my Laptop so I'm going without spellcheck; please excuse any spelling mistakes! I'm also not a Spanish speaker, so if I screwed anything up majorly, please let me know!)

Mornings in San Angel were usually a calm and gradual affair as the pale dawn slipped over the heads of it's residents, filling the space that darkness left behind with powdered sunlight and a pale golden glow. The chill in the air that the night left behind was warmed gently, and the breeze was soft as a breath, a laughing tickle that brushed the hair at the nape of your neck and kissed your cheek in welcome.

Manolo knew these mornings better than either Maria and Joaquin, as he had trained bathed in the soft light almost every morning of his life. After Maria was sent off to Spain to study, and Joaquin had galloped headlong into the sunset to become a Hero, Manolo had tried to fill the gap with Papa's training and playing guitar with the Mariachi brothers (and by 'playing guitar' he actually meant 'getting absolutely hammered' about sixty percent of the time). He had tried to please his Papa, he really had made an effort to take his training more seriously. He was meticulous with his footwork, he was precise in his motions and he wielded the cape like an extension of his own body, but still the thought of killing an animal, torturing it for the entertainment of others, sent ripples of revulsion through his very core. His family had never really understood, but at least now he knew that they were proud of him anyway.

Blinking out of his thoughts, Manolo realised that he was no longer sitting on the front step of Casa de Sanchez where he had been enjoying the atmosphere of the quiet morning. Instead, his feet had carried him to the Arena. The path from the house to the Arena was one he had travelled well, but as he stared at the small archway in front of him that he had walked under so many times, he was struck by a sudden sense of wrongness. He wasn't sure what he expected when he stood there, staring at the solitary shadow on the ground that stretched beyond the archway and mingled with the shade of the corridor that he and his father had walked side by side, so many times. Maybe the ghost of a hand on his shoulder, or the scent of his father's tobacco on the breeze.

There was nothing but gently swirling dust and an ache in his chest.

...

Joaquin grunted as he shifted on the bedroll that he had laid out in Manolo's front room, squinting against the light that pervaded the room. He'd been awake for a few hours, early rising being a habit that was deeply ingrained, but the light was aggravating his headache. He lay there for a few minutes more before giving a sigh and dragging himself upright, bracing his torso with his elbows on the floor.

The pain in his eye socket greeted him almost immediately, but it was only a throbbing ache that he could easily ignore. He looked towards the open doorway after a few moments of deep breathing, a little glad that Manolo hadn't returned from wherever he'd heard him wander off to. He'd only fuss and worry when he saw him in pain, like he and Maria had both taken to doing whenever he so much as winced, and Joaquin-whilst he appreciated that they cared so much- would rather pretend that the whole 'missing eyeball' thing wasn't that much of a big deal.

He rolled onto his side and slowly stood, stretching with his arms above his head and revelling in the feeling of his cramped muscles loosening. With a yawn that cracked his jaw, he made his way to the doorstep, standing for a short moment in the open with little care for the fact that he was dressed only in his under things, before settling himself on the cool stone to wait for Manolo.

"Good morning."

With a yelp, Joaquin flung himself upright, spinning on his heel to see Maria standing in her nightdress in the doorway to the room, laughing at him with just her eyes and a tiny smile. Her loose brown curls caught the slowly strengthening sun, turning them to pure gold as she stepped barefoot towards him.

Clutching a hand to his heart, he slumped against the doorway in a mock-faint and rolled his one eye to the heavens before grinning back at her and reaching out to ruffle her hair as she shrieked and tried to leap away.
"What are you trying to do, kill me?" he laughed as she batted his hands away "I'm not immortal any more, I'm susceptible to heart attacks."

Matching his grin, Maria shook her ruined hair out of her face.
"Heart attacks? You're more likely to give me one with the way you screech, amigo."

He didn't anticipate a surprise retaliation, so he was off his guard when Maria grabbed him in a headlock and used her knuckles to muss his morning hair even more (or at least, that's what he would tell Maria later). He gave only token resistance as they both giggled like children. He had missed this, just spending time and being silly with Maria and Manolo, like before they had gone their separate ways, before rivalries and tragedies and expectations had weighed them down. The three had reconnected and filled each other in on what they had each missed of each other's lives- Maria had told exciting stories of Europe, how she had snuck out of the convent to attend parties and dances , the people she had met and the adventured they had together. She spoke a little sadly of the friends she had made, and she promised that they would all come visit, and that they three would visit Spain, 'soon' she affirmed 'you have to see EVERYTHING, I just know you'll both love it there.'
Manolo had (rather sheepishly) relived some of his more entertaining drunken exploits with the Mariachi brothers, one of which involved a horse, a jar of honey and not a lot of clothes.

They had laughed until they cried, until it was late and the air was cold and the candles had burned low.

Now, Joaquin and Maria's play-fight migrated across the living room and into the Sanchez' small kitchen, where a sack of flour was leaning against the wall in the shade. Joaquin's flailing foot clipped the bag and a plume of white powder shot into the air, startling them both.

After a second, Maria's grin became wicked.

...

Manolo's expression was blank as he made his way back to the house. The morning was moving on now, the sun climbing higher and the air getting warmer. He was glad that he was only wearing his thinnest night shirt and trousers, as it seemed the day would be just as hot as the last. He quickly wiped away the wetness that gathered in his eyes and tried to turn his thoughts away from his Father, and his Grandmother. It was no use dwelling on such thoughts, he had his closure, and a chance to properly say goodbye to them.
He knew that, but their absence still hurt.

As he rounded a corner, he suddenly became aware of shouting close by. It sounded almost like an argument up ahead, in the street. Breaking into a jog, Manolo found himself following the sound to his own house, hurrying over the cobblestoned path past the pig pens and taking the stone staircase two steps at a time.
The shouting was louder, and he could see a few people staring curiously down the next street, his street, from which a strange amount of dust was billowing, visible in the rays of sunlight that streamed down.

Speeding up, he skidded around the bend, and was greeted with a face full of flour and Maria's laugh- the slightly wheezing one that meant she was probably doubled over with tears in her eyes.

Blinking, frozen in place, he surveyed the scene. The door to the house was open, as he had left it.

The street was most certainly not as he had left it. Flour covered every surface. The street had a thick blanket of powder, the marigolds in the window boxes of the houses around had turned white, and powder hung thick in the air.

It looked like it had been snowing.

And in the middle of it all, darting about with the children who had run out to play, still in their nightclothes, were Joaquin and Maria.

Also covered in flour.

...

As Joaquin spun around to toss another handful over maria's head, he caught sight of Manolo standing stock still in the street with wide eyes, and froze.

"Oh my God."

The torrero's hair was streaked half white, and there was an explosion of powder coating the left side of his face. He seemed to be struggling for words as Maria also stumbled to a halt too, as he scooped up some flour from the top of a barrel, staring at it and rubbing it between his fingers as if in utter disbelief.

The children gasped as Manolo shook himself and stood at his full height (still quite short) and turned his gaze from the flour to the perpetrators of this Gigantic Mess. He stalked over with narrowed eyes and his lips pressed together, and they slowly edged behind the knees of the two adults, peering out from behind the skirt of Maria's nightdress.

The tension hung in the air almost as thick as the flour as Manolo marched right up to his friends, looking them each in the eye before shaking his head...and bringing out the two handfuls of flour he'd concealed behind his back with a grin and a shout of triumph before flinging them into their faces, darting back down the street as they spluttered to gain more ammunition.

The Flour Fest started up again in all it's raucous glory as the children shrieked and whooped, covering themselves and their clothes in white that would refuse to wash out of hair for days, making a mess that would take weeks to fully disappear, and enjoying every minute of it.

Manolo laughed so hard at the sight of his wife and his best friend covered in flour with the most ridiculous hair that he had ever seen that had to hide behind 's vegetable cart for a good few minutes before rejoining the fight.

Maria smiled a secret smile to herself as she ran back into the kitchen to fill her skirts with more flour. It was about time her boys lightened up a little. She hadn't had fun like this since the pigs incident.