The Forgotten...? ••• 𝐂.𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐥

(24) 𝐒olutions and disagreements

Narrator's POV:

"...No." The eldest swallowed, the beat of her heart, the rushing of her blood pumping through her ears nulled the quiet to a never-ending silence.
"Oh Dios, por favour... no." She whispered, pleading with the gods above. She prayed unintentionally as she scanned the gentlemen's figures that were closer to her family than she would have liked. The only thoughts brushing through her unorganised head were to get her family out of this situation.
Get them out.

Get them out, now!

"Má?" Pepa questioned, jabbing her mother out of her dazed state as her—non held hand—comforted Alma, placing it on top of the elderly women's hand that was still harshly gripping Pepa's raw arm. But the comforting gesture held no reaction as the senior glared at the newcomers, the said strangers were bantering amongst themselves before someone stupid enough spoke up.

"...Abuela? Who are they?" Alma gradually compelled her eyes to meet Mirabel's, who was uneasily stood in front of her, stiff as aboard. She didn't utter a single word after her Abuela met her eyes. The questions got stuck in her throat, choking the possibility of any sound over a whisper, to be heard from her.

"Ah, I see. You didn't tell you're pathetic little family, that we would be dropping by for a visit?" The—seeming—leader taunted, raising an eyebrow a malicious grin pulling at the corners of his lips.
"Ha, yeah! Pathetic!" One cackled, slapping another's arm as he agreed with the "leader" and in turn, the men beside him chimed in, as he joked with the group.

"What are you doing here... in my Encanto?" The elder Madrigal finally piped up, her previous quietness broken as she worded her thoughts and every single one of them dripped with bitterness and venom. She moved elegantly towards the front of her gathered family, standing in front of Mirabel and Isabella, protectively. She waited for their next words, insults, or god forbid actions in peace, but as she stood there she scanned the visitors. Looking for any indicators of hostility, weapons, anything that could be a danger to her own, to the town.

The group of bandits stood still for a moment, the others glancing at the leader as if confused by the sudden shutdown of conversation as well. No one dared to say a word, make a move, except Alma. She took steady, measured steps back, her arms that were held behind her pushed out to her 2 granddaughters, ushering them to move back with her. The rough and tough group of four seemed to simultaneously catch onto their attempts at a stealthy escape and this only angered the intruders.
"Alma! If you won't play by my rules." The burly head of their disorganized pack, screamed, he turned to the other members in his band of hooligans his arm outstretched to the Madrigal's direction and the three followed their master's orders.

"I won't play by yours either." He growled, his heavy, gruff steps making dark imprints into the dirt as he trudged his way closer. His men ran ahead of his, running at an even, almost in sink pace, their movements frightfully similar to one another's.

But the 4 not so gentle, gentlemen rushed towards the group with ease and with the equal intent of harming them or doing something as mutually evil. Alma was the first on her toes as she yelled out to her family.
"Go. NOW!" The elder screeched. She grabbed the nearest person to her which so happened to be Mirabel and sprinted—as fast as an elderly lady can sprint— having to go through pathways in-between houses instead of their usual, large road to their home.

The cloud of black smoke had long stopped, or at the very least lessened but the grey, rumbling clouds and heavy pours of rains were something brought on by the emotionally unchecked Madrigal. The foggy, thick rain put a blurred veil between the family and the pursuers but it also put a hazy fog over their surroundings and each other.