Overview: Even from a young age, Osiel was more logical than the people around him. As a child, he liked puzzles and matching games more than colouring or stacking blocks and when he played outside with other children, he liked games with set rules and winners. He always preferred things like sports to games of chance, and thus, excels at strategy games like Hearts, Chess, and Go. He sees the world around him in numbers and lines, events and consequences, and prides himself in being exceedingly rational. He has always been able to think through problems to solutions as to pick out the best one and, much to his delight, he's usually right. Since he's so used to being right for his own self, he does have a tendency to just assume that he knows what's best for everyone, even though he really doesn't. He has been known to tell people what to do or judge people for mistakes he's sure he would never had made.
Osiel is very good at sharing with others and always has been. He is willing to lend a pen, but usually just assumes work tasks because he finds people usually prefer when they don't have to do things. He is protective of his emotions, unlike his material possessions. He hides his emotions behind a facade of humor when he's inspired to be in a group setting, though also knows the value of alone time. Despite his flaws, Osiel is not an entirely bad person, and once someone gets to know him well enough, it's plain to see that his negative feelings towards other people usually stem from discomfort with his own self. He does genuinely care about people's well being and can often be empathetic towards others when he isn't completely wrapped up in himself.
When his co-worked signed him up for a volunteer relief group that specialized in building schools for the world's most needy children as a prank, Osiel one-upped that pesky co-worker and agreed to go on the six month trip. Assigned Colombia, Osiel, almost eager to practice his Spanish roots, felt eager to step on the plane to Colombia's Metropolitan airport. Things went exceedingly well during his volunteer trip for the first few weeks: he helped worked on building a school, travelled, met the locals, tasted the cuisine, everything was great.
Until things stopped being great.[/bg][/bg]
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Name: Marisol Rojas
Age: 20
Overview: Young and sheltered, Marisol has spent most of her life in a bubble, believing the world around her and the people in it are a lot better than they actually are. A gifted violinist, an artist and generally free spirited, Marisol does not seem like the product of a generally ruthless cartel boss, though whether or not she's entirely naive to her father's line of work or she makes it a point to be oblivious isn't often easy to tell.
With no siblings, and having lost her mother at a young age, Marisol grew up on their family compound surrounded by a revolving door of approved nannies and tutors. Throughout all, however, her most favored life lessons came from the television programs she watched - old sitcoms, which ultimately instilled in her a love for American culture and it's people.
Passionate and kindhearted, Mari is virtually the polar opposite of her father, but like any good daughter ought to be, she has always been exceptionally obedient. She is not, however, without flaws...
namely a temper that, while incredibly rare, can be quite volatile.
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Was she? Sure? Did she really think that it was something she was capable of? Was it something she wanted to be capable of? Lying? Betraying her father? What if what her father said was true and these were bad people and she helped him escape? What if she had simply walked right into a trap, guided there by a handsome, miserable face and a heartfelt story? She was so conflicted, and for a moment it showed across her face, etched into her eyes, dark in the dim lighting of the underground dungeon.
Sniffling softly, she studied him for a moment, considered the question... considered it and weighed it. "I don't know. Honestly, I don't think I'm capable of much at all. But... but it feels wrong, sitting there, doing nothing. Maybe it's a mistake and maybe I'll regret it, but I know for a fact I'd regret letting this happen without trying." Brushing her cheeks dry, she nodded, "No. I am sure. I have to do this, Osiel. I have to... or I won't be able to live with myself, and certainly not with my father."
What he'd done... she'd never be able to forgive him for it - regardless of his motives, which she couldn't imagine were justifiable in any sense. But to sit and do nothing and try to live under the same roof as the man? To pretend like she saw nothing... knew nothing? It would destroy her. All of it. It would crush her, until she couldn't breathe... The guilt would be her undoing. Managing a small, weak smile of her own, she shrugged, feeling the strain of the tension rolling through her suddenly heavy limbs,
"...If we make it out... and they make a movie of us... do you think someone from Friends will play my part? That, I think, would be very nice." Biting her lip, she stepped away from the cell, "I will find a way. I will get you. But I must go, or my father, he will get suspicious. Later, I will bring you food, when he's gone to bed." Hesitating for a moment, she crouched down and reaching through the bars, gently grasped his arm, "Try... try and hold on. Soon, you will see your family again. I promise, I will do what I can, if only you hold on."
Trapped with no way out.
He had searched for something for the first few days, anything, a crevice, a seal, but the walls were hard cement with no clues on how to get out. The metal bars held firm in their hinges and no amount of shaking and trying to pry them apart caused them to stir. His prison was a perfect cube, the corners of which were just reachable if he extended his arms out like a starfish. The claustrophobia was a gift and a curse. It felt like the walls were closing in and he just wanted to curl his hands in to fists and punch right through them. They weren't actually moving, he knew that, but it felt like they were.
Of course, he continued to search for a way to escape with all the methodology of a bouncing ball, but he had had already ground his fingers to bloody points and had now given up. Without Marisol, there simply was no way out and yet there she was, saying she wanted to help. His tired eyes landed on her and studied her for a moment and he could see it in her eyes… the guilt. He understood the feeling well because guilt had a way of burning through a person like gasoline through their intestines… painful and extremely burning.
"Heh-" his dried lips pulled back into a small smile, or at least an attempt of one. Perhaps 'smile' wasn't the right word for it. The top row of his teeth were showing and there was a faint curve to the lips, but there was now crease below the eyes, no movement of the cheeks. On anyone else, it would be a grimace, at best, but on Osiel's face, given his circumstances, it was a sign of bliss.
"I guess that would be kind of nice, having someone from Friends play you, but aren't they all comedians? This doesn't really feel like a comedy." He gave her a nod, but he wasn't holding his breath. He didn't want his expectations to get too high and he, honestly, figured this would be the last time he saw her. Still, he appreciated her words and even if she was unable to follow through on her promise, she appreciated the recognition all the same. Even if she couldn't act, the fact that she saw the problem was almost enough. The warmth of her skin against his arm caused his eyes to rise, meeting her with a soft quiver in his brow.
