Archive of Our Own ^beta

Tati’s purse. Un misterio, wrapped en un enigma, envuelta en rosa pleather. Like the turducken of supernatural phenomena.

Ursula, Renaldo and Andres knew it contained something beyond chicle picante, pens and tampones. Something that allowed Tati to swim through el tiempo and pluck something like the promise of valves from the ether of el universo.

Ursula, more than the others, probably had opportunity to steal a glance into la cartera. But, her practical nature kept her espantosamante incurious about those parts of the world beyond day to day survival. After all, if she followed Tati down every madriguera del conejo, who would pay the rent and buy queer vegan food? Ursula had a reoccurring dream in which she was walking down la calle tethered to tres globos. Un azul, un negro y un rosa con un tapa plana. The balloons would become mas y mas buoyant and she would have to remind them of the physics of noble gasses and gravedad to not be pulled into the sky.

Renaldo was intrigued by Tati’s purse, but he respected other’s limites and preferred to keep imagining. His nature favored the optimista pondering of el potencial de futuros rather than the realidades del presente.

So, when Tati went to the bathroom during a Los Espookys planning meeting, it was of course Andres who drew el bolso de preguntas towards him with un dedo curioso. He grasped the zipper with forefinger and thumb, his other three fingers gracefully fanned out to the side, and he pulled…

A shimmering luz naranja lit Andres’ face. His ojos confundidos widened as his pupils constricted and he placed a forefinger to his lips. Then he closed his eyes and muttered, “Dios Luna, ayudame.” The zipper closed with a shimmer of silver sparkles and Andres shoved el monedero across la mesa before beginning to play with his dangly earring.

“Well?” Renaldo y Ursula asked at the same time.

“No es nada.”

“Comenzar, Andres,” said Renaldo, “you can’t look into the depths of Tati’s purse and pretend it never happened.”

“Oh si puedo.”

“Andres,” Ursula begins to prod gently.

“No. Es demasiado grande y demasiado terrible. We must never speak of this again.”

Tati returns from the bathroom and rubs the zipper of her purse, her fingers coming away covered in silver sparkles. “Ah, has mirado en el fondo de mi bolso, Andres.”

“No, no yo nunca.”

“No estoy enojada. It was foretold.” Tati says in a matter-of-fact singsong.

“Tati,” Andres reaches out to lightly caress her hand, “how do you gaze upon todo de eso and continue to live as you do?”

“Like chicle picante, you get used to it.”

“Odelay.”