Angel Eyes

[Josue Abandonato]

La Tomatina couldn't have come at a better time of year. August was the hottest month in Valencia, and rather than spray each other down with water in Buñol, the inhabitants had been throwing tomatoes at one another since the forties. As part of the local constabulary, Josue was required to attend to make sure nothing got out of hand, but he would have come regardless. It was tradition, and sometimes it was fun to make a fantastic mess no matter how old you were. Today marked the twenty-fifth time he had participated from all the way back in twenty seventeen, two years old on his mother's hip and lobbing overripe tomatoes as hard as he could, shrieking with laughter.

Josue was in uniform and staying mostly out of the thick of the mess, but his trousers were soaked from wading into squashed tomatoes to help out those who'd been pelted to their knees. The worst anyone had ever been hurt on his watch was a few bruises from particularly well-thrown fruit, and he wanted to keep it that way.
Sometimes, like today, a few journalists and writers tried to watch and record rather than participate, but they were soon splattered with tomato gore like everyone else. Josue finished helping a grateful ten year old to his feet when he spotted a writer pinned down by a group of four over-enthusiastic locals.
"Alright!" he shouted good-naturedly, "Give him a chance to breathe. Are you alright sir?" laughed Jo, taking the man's hand and lifting him upright. "I'd recommend a balcony next time if Tomatina isn't your thing."​

 

[Otello Ferraro]

Otello was people watching which, strictly speaking, wasn't quite a requirement for his paper, but it was certainly something he enjoyed. He had been moving in and out of the country for years now, and finally it was time to be able to stop by and enjoy himself a little. La Tomatina was repeated in several countries around the world, but he doubted that these imitations would live up to the real thing - and he had been right. The researcher had, admittedly, underestimated the enthusiasm of the natives. The Italian natives was happy to observe, but the part of him that wanted to participate was kept under strict control, even when faced with enthusiastic Spaniards and foreigners alike armed with tomatoes. To try and avoid these enthusiastic participants, Otello attempted to keep to the side of the celebration.

It didn't work too well, unfortunately. The streets were running red with tomatoes, and soon Otello was surrounded by a group of enthusiastic locals that decided they didn't care that he simply wanted to observe. A rubanesque woman gave him a hearty pat on the back and a grin, presumably in a comforting way, and lured him into a false sense of security right up until she discovered that he was studying the local customs. Her grin doubled, along with those of her grandsons and she informed him (quite politely) that if he were going to truly study the ways of La Tomatina, they were perfectly willing to help him out.

And that was how the thirty nine year old found himself almost entirely covered from head to toe in the juices and guts of tomatoes. Seeds could be found in his shoes, down his shirt, and a large drip was working its way down his face as he flinched away from his 'helpers', though he smiled as there really was no offence. It was a relief to find himself rescued by another local. He sighed as he was finally left alone, and wiped his face on his sleeve. "You can't see everything from a balcony," he responded to the officer, before licking his lips from habit and flinching at the strong taste. "Although... I believe I should have worn boots rather than sandals - an oversight I'll just have to grin and bear it." He couldn't help but switch right back into study mode as he looked at the officer, and he smiled kindly. From his accent, he was definitely a local, and so this was his opportunity. "How often have you attended La Tomatina, Sir?" ​

 

[Josue Abandonato]

Josue would have been just as happy to help the man up and be on his way, but as the stranger leaned against him, he felt something rather familiar pressing against his thigh. The officer seemed to freeze for a second until he realised that he, too, was carrying something much the same in his own trousers. One could never be sure if they were speaking to a wizard these days, with the small population of magical beings becoming better at disguising themselves, but Jo was one hundred percent certain that the man had a wand in his pocket. He grinned and gently towed Otello into a shaded alleyway where the action could still be seen, but he was free to help Otello clean up.

"Evanesco," muttered Jo after he removed his wand and gave the Italian a wink. "You're welcome. Nice to see another wizard taking an interest in muggle events." He brushed off Otello's shoulders automatically before stepping back and offering his hand. "Constable Josue Abandonato," Jo introduced himself. "And to answer your question, twenty-five times in as many years. There's no getting out of it when you're a local," he laughed.​

 

[Otello Ferraro]

Otello allowed himself to be towed after being helped up, and allowed himself to be towed toward the alleyway. Seeing as the gentleman was an officer in uniform, he had no concerns with being led to the shaded area, and expected that he wouldn't be pelted with more tomatoes there. He was planning to make a polite escape and clean himself off however, but couldn't quite do that as efficiently as he desired if he were with what he naturally assumed to be a muggle police officer. He gave a relieved sigh as he realised that he happened to be rescued by a wizard, who was kind enough to clean him off, and the Italian native pulled on his clothes to adjust them from their crumbled state. It was always nice to meet another member of the magical community, it made conversations easier without needing to worry about what was said.

"Thank you, for that," he made sure to tell him politely, his smile slowly becoming a grin. He grabbed his hand and gave him a firm handshake in greeting, before continuing their conversation. He could work out that the man he was speaking with was a local (or at least frequented this area many times) simply from his accent, but confirmation was always preferred. It sounded amazing to have this as a celebration to have marked on the calendar each year, however. "I see - it seems there is not much getting out of it is you're a foreigner, as well! It's a lovely festival, though," he mused, looking out to watch the joyful show, with crowds of people laughing and enjoying each other's company. "Do you come here with your family, Counstable Abandonato?" He then shut his eyes and scrunched up his nose when he realised he had yet failed to provide his name. "Scratch that, my apologies - my name is Otello Ferraro!"​

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