"...so I'm very glad you called me, Hector. Of course, if you need me to cover a few of your classes, you just let me know. Just promise me you'll stop giving me bullshit excuses. You seem to forget, I know who you are. And I have an idea what you were doing, when the attack on Gotham finally stopped. You don't go anywhere, I'll see you in ten minutes. Order me two Pollo Grandes, huh? Make sure they don't skimp on the queso dip."
Luis Martinez, El Sasquatcho's former mentor and present supervisor at the Gotham Cultural Arts Center, had always looked out for the young hero. He had known the hairy lug since the first day he set foot in his High School, almost immediately recognizing what he was and what he could be if he took the wrong path in life. It was quite probably his influence that prevented El Sasquatcho from becoming a dark and terrible force of nature, bent on raw, hellish vengeance without regard to anything else, least of all his own safety.
The fact El Sasquatcho called him while wrestling with a hard decision spoke volumes, psychologically. He knew what the right thing was. What the almost legendary Luchador needed was someone to talk him out of doing the wrong thing.
Eight minutes later, the late-model sedan of the Martinez family barreled into the Taco Hut parking lot and came to a rubbery, squealing rest next to the only 1970 El Camino in present. Luis, a man of Latino descent in his late 30's, hopped out and jogged into the vaguely cumin-smelling establishment.
It was easy to spot the Luchador in the restaurant; the youth was dressed down in a pair of jeans and a black band tshirt (Pollo Negro '08 tour), and was cowled quite effectively in his trademark brown and black sugar skull wrestler's mask. He couldn't have laid low in this place if he had tried. Upon seeing his approach, El Sasquatcho rose from his seat and extended a hand in greeting.
He was met by a rough slap to his face.
"What is wrong with you? You know what to do!" began Mr. Martinez, without so much as a salutation.
<SMACK>
"You are El Sasquatcho!"
<SMACK>
"Blood of Saints!"
<SMACK>
"Last of your people!"
<SMACK>
"Aw, boo hoo," he said mockingly, "Me and my friends beat an army and saved the day, but we didn't win exactly how I wanted us to... Look, I don't pretend to like what you're doing. But answer me, Sasquatch, your friends - do they have a better chance of living if you're there, or if you're gone, huh? You gonna quit? You gonna let more people die? Or are you gonna get back up and fight?"
At least Luis stopped hitting him.
"The bell is about to ring, El Sasquatcho. You getting back up? Or are you going to run?" his voice softened, and arms extended as a man about to give an embrace. "Now, come here. You've had a rough week."
The two clasped each other in a long, brotherly hug. El Sasquatcho, in full view of everyone, wept openly. He may have found his way back on the right path by himself, but his mentor could shove him back there with much needed haste. Luis rasped a low whisper into El Sasquatcho's ear, "You got my burritos, right?"
Two giant bags of Taco Hut cuisine rested in the passenger seat of his El Camino, still warm and steamy from earlier. The burly Luchador stepped lively out of a convenience store, a couple of two liters and handful of scratch-off lottery tickets. Couldn't hurt, maybe he'd get lucky.
El Sasquatcho kicked at the bottom of the door to one of their rooms until someone opened. His hands were full, you see, and he really didn't feel like engaging in a three way battle with gravity and a hinky keycard. His mostly jovial attitude returned, thanks to the catharsis of his conversation just earlier.
"Ok, El Sasquatcho brings you gifts of Burritos and Soda! Si si, there is more than enough for everybody!"
It was at this time that he acquired full notice of their newest member. The presence of a stranger in their midst seemed to be taken with an fair amount of acceptance and simple "going with it", as he queried, "You, new girl! Do your people partake of the yummiful Taco Hut Burrito Grande? ...you're going to want a box of rice with that, too..."
Sequestering a bag for himself, El Sasquatcho pulled the bottom half of his mask up to allow for his speedy consumption, as he set to horking back one burrito after another, practically swimming in white cheese sauce. He sat on the floor, up against the wall, and set to his repast with raging gusto, as if he had very recently remembered how to be hungry after a long fast.
When the assault slowed, he took a fingernail to his tickets.
Were one looking very carefully at what his expression might be under his mask, they would note muted surprise and a light tremor in one hand. His eyes shifted around the room, taking in the people around him with detached observation. He composed himself fully, and let out an optimistic inquiry:
"Ok, here we are. El Sasquatcho is curious as to our next move, eh? Where do we go from here?"