It is the feastday of San. Bartolome, the town patron saint and the whole village is celebrating its fiesta. The barangay plaza is alive with music, banderitas fluttering overhead, lechon and pancit on the tables, and a rondalla band playing lively tunes. Guests arrive in elaborate costumes for the fiesta dance.
The plaza glittered with lights and laughter. People danced, sang, and feasted. Yet beneath the joy, darker secrets stirred.
At the center of the celebration we find Don Facundo Buitre, a wealthy hacienda owner in his 70s, wearing a golden-embroidered barong and polished shoes. His eyebrows are so bushy they look like two squirrels arguing above his eyes. He wears oversized glasses that magnify his eyes to cartoonish proportions—like he’s permanently surprised. He trots, with an air of arrogance and entitlement. Charismatic but proud, he enjoys flaunting his wealth and influence, often making enemies with his arrogance. His charm hides a reckless streak.
He is talking animatedly with Rosenda, the middle-aged fiesta organizer. She is always seen bustling around, busy as a bee.
Rosenda: “Don Facundo, your golden-embroidered barong is magnificent!” “Ah, Rosenda, wealth must be displayed, otherwise what use is it?” Don Facundo nods haughtily.
Behind the congenial façade of superficial exchange lies the bitter wound of some unforgotten offense. In the distant past, Don Facundo once refused to lend Rosenda money to buy medicine for her seriously ill mother. As a result, the mother died without receiving medical attention.
“I’ll get even with you. You miserly and haughty old man!” she murmurs.
Don Facuno is with Isabel “Bel” Cortes. She is dressed like a Santacruzan queen, whose colorful terno shines brighter than the lanterns. She is the fiancée of Don Ramon, whom she met while working as a bar girl in one of the city’s seedy nightclubs. Don Ramon was smitten with the beautiful young woman and captivated by her charm. Since then, the old man relentlessly pursued Bel, showering her with all sorts of expensive gifts so she will remain enamoured with him. He isa in short Bels willing sugar daddy. The two can be seen together and seem inseparable.
The guests whisper with knowing looks. Benita (to her gossip circle, with a pause like a telenovela narrator): “Mark my words… that girl is after his money. My sources say she’s plotting something.”
The rumor is that Bel is only into Don Facundo for the money. She will drop him like hot potato the very first chance she gets – that is, if as soon as she is able to drain his bank accounts.
In the middle of the dance floor Benita and M are doing the slow dance, in sync with Matt Moroe’s love song “Softly as I Leave You.
Always armed with her trusty folding fan, which she snaps shut like a judge’s gavel whenever scandal is brewing, Benita's dyed jet black sways with the music.
Benita uses her charm to catch every bit of rumor about her neighbors, well practically about every person shhe knows. She is so adept at her hobby such that she is the unofficial leader of barangay's gossip club. With a sharp-tongued and quick-wit, she has the uncanny ability to know everyone’s business before they do. She is the unofficial broadcaster of news, rumors, and love affairs.
Mang Tino is the barangay’s self-proclaimed playboy. In his heyday, he had the uncunny reputaiton of being terrible infantes with women. His smile? Weaponized. It could probably sell ice to an eskimo or convince your lola to join TikTok. His wardrobe? A rotating collection of “casual but calculated”—shirts unbuttoned just enough to say mysterious, but not enough to say arrested for public indecency. His conversations? Half flattery, half comedy routine, sprinkled with just enough “accidental” wisdom to make you wonder if he’s secretly a philosopher in disguise. In short, he’s the kind of guy who thinks “wingman” is a job title, and whose calendar is less about meetings and more about managing fan clubs.
At 68, he still thinks his charm will work, although the ladies call him "lolo" or grandpa teasinbgly.
Despite the seeming overconfidence, and reputation for getting his way with women, Mang Tino is in fact obsessed with Bel. “Bel should be mine, not his (Don Facundo). One day, I’ll show Don Facundo who’s the real lover boy.” However, his secret did not go unnoticed from Betina and to her gossip circle. They kow. Well, everybody knows.
Mang Tino winks at every woman who passes by, convinced his “signature move” still works.
Nicanor staggers in, bottle of gin raised like a trophy. He bumps into Don Facundo, who scowls. “Watch out, you fool! I don’t want to see your face ever again in my Hacienda!”
Nicanor, with the perineal bottle of gin in hand, answers with a sheepish grin. Despite his insouciance, Nicanor is deeply hurt by Don Facundo’s rebuff, saying to himself: “Facundo shamed me me in front of may people … tonight, I’ll teach him a lesson.”
Father Ernesto chuckles to defuse the tension, spectacles sliding down his nose.
Outwardly, Father Ernesto, the minister is the voice of calm and reason, urging everyone to “keep the peace.” But secretly, he thrives on the barangay’s endless drama—love triangles, gossip wars, and Mang Tino’s dance floor disasters. He’s like the barangay referee, except he enjoys the chaos more than the game.
“Peace, peace, my children. Let us enjoy the fiesta!”
Kapitan Ingo blows his whistle, exasperated.
Kapitan Ingo (muttering):
“Ay naku… eto na naman sila.” (Here we go again)
The capitan del barrio is a stern looking man, always in a neatly pressed barong, with a whistle hanging from his neck and a clipboard he never actually uses. His brows are perpetually furrowed, as if the fiesta itself is a personal headache.
Observing keenly along the sidelines is Erkulo, who stands on the sidelines with his loyal friend, Cardo Ramirez.
Erkulo, a retired Manila police officer and now the barangay’s wise elder. But his distant and aloof demeanor makes him a mystery to many, one to avoid, if possible.
Erkulo turns to his companion and, in a hushed tone, saying: “Observe, my friend. The guest’s demeanor is never worn at random. They reveal the soul.”
“I agree, A person’s outward behavior or mannerisms are not accidental—they reflect something deeper about who they are inside” Cardo remarks in agreement.