something's fucky

champagne, cocaine, gasoline; and most things in between

The earthquakes have been causing much more than simple unease for Mateo, though it's true that even the botanist's usually breezy attitude has been put to the test over the past few days. The tremors have been growing more frequent and he's even spotted a few hairline cracks in the walls of his shop, which is what leads him to close it early so that he can investigate the potential for further damage. 

Anyone passing by will still be able to see Mateo inside, of course - probably better than usual too, seeing as he's moved a lot of the leafier plants on display out from in front of the windows, letting in more light for him to scrutinise the state of the building. It's while he's doing this that he notices a secondary problem; one that, in his professional opinion, is even worse than earthquakes.

When Ever enters the shop, because although he's flipped the sign to say Closed the door is still open, he'll be able to hear Mateo's string of expletives in the travelling tongue right away. The botanist is crouched over a cluster of plants, his expression a mix of frustrated and upset. They're wilting, their leaves spotted with something and their soil damp from root rot, and when Mateo says this sort of thing simply doesn't happen in his shop, he means it.

I will not be great, but I'm grateful to get through

Ever arrives on one of the skyships with his shoulders already a little too tight, fingers worrying at the strap of his bag the whole way down, the rhythm of the city below him never quite syncing with his breathing. He stops on the way through the Plaza, weaving carefully through the press of people, and picks up two bottles of the fizzy sodas Mateo likes best, checking the labels twice to make sure he’s got the right ones before tucking them carefully into his bag.

The sign on Mateo’s shop says Closed, and that gives him pause, his steps slowing automatically as his eyes flick from the sign to the door itself, which is still open. He hesitates, standing just outside for a moment longer than necessary, taking in the way the windows look wrong somehow, too bare, too exposed. Ever can’t remember a time when he’s been able to see straight into the shop like this, can’t remember Mateo ever moving the plants away from the glass. Plants liked consistency. They liked finding a place and staying there. His stomach tightens, unease threading together with the deeper discomfort that comes whenever something familiar has been rearranged without warning.

He nudges the door open anyway, carefully, like he’s entering a space that might shatter if he does it too fast. As he hears the swearing, Ever blinks, eyebrows lifting in surprise, and he leans a bit further inside, the door still half-open behind him as if he might retreat at any second. "Mateo?" he calls, voice tentative, pitched to carry but not intrude. "...If this is a bad time," Ever adds after a beat, already shifting his weight back toward the door, fingers curling around the strap of his bag, "I can come back. I didn’t mean to interrupt."

champagne, cocaine, gasoline; and most things in between

The stream of expletives continues for a couple of seconds after Ever first steps into the shop, before Mateo seems to realise quite abruptly that he has company. It's another second before he recognises the sound of said company, and whatever polite tone he'd been about to affect dissolves away to his true emotions. "Everest, Stormbreak is cursed and everything is ruined," he announces, reacting proportionally as always as he comes flouncing through the shop towards his friend.

He's still in his florist apron and his hair is up in a loose knot to keep the worst of the heat off the back of his neck, but there's a smudge of soil on his cheek and dirt on his knees as he gestures back through the warren of vines and leaves. "There are cracks in my walls and some of my plants are dying," he continues, his tone confirming that it's the second point he's really annoyed about, before he gives an exasperated huff and forces himself to focus on his friend. 

"Anyway, hello. It is good to see you - sorry about all of the mess."

I will not be great, but I'm grateful to get through

Ever freezes for half a heartbeat at the declaration, eyebrows lifting as his eyes flick instinctively around the shop, to the door, the windows, the ceiling, as he tries to decide whether this is Mateo being Mateo or something genuinely new and dangerous. The return of the Family, perhaps?

He follows Mateo deeper into the shop, steps careful, gaze snagging almost immediately on the thin fractures spidering through the walls. That part, at least, is undeniable, and his mouth presses into a small line as he studies them. Ever’s eyes move over the plants more slowly, searching for obvious signs of distress and finding very little that stands out to him, though that any plant could be failing under Mateo’s care feels wrong in a way he can’t quite articulate, like a rule of the world quietly being broken.

"Do you have any idea what’s causing it?" he asks, voice gentle but threaded with concern, attention flicking once more from the cracks to the greenery and back again, trying to build a shape out of incomplete information. Only then does he refocus properly on his friend, tension easing just a fraction as Mateo’s presence settles into something familiar. "Hello," Ever parrots, softer now, the corner of his mouth lifting faintly. "It is good to see you too." 

He glances around the shop again, at the rearranged displays and the unfamiliar openness of the space, discomfort prickling under his skin. "It's okay." He says off the mess, even if the words aren't convincing. He's learned long ago that the world won't remain the same simply for his comfort, least of all the spaces Mateo usually occupies.

High above the city, a pale, serpentine shape drifts through the clouds. A Cloud Wyrm glides effortlessly on unseen currents, its long body looping slowly through the open sky.

It casts a faint, passing shadow across the streets below before climbing again, content to remain distant and untouchable.

The wyrm continues its lazy circuit, a serene presence against the endless blue.

---

Cloud Wyrm Areas Found: King's End, Torchline, Stormbreak, Hak Etme — Uncommon Cousins of the dragon, these small and serpentine creatures boast no wings or destructive breath. Rather, they breathe clouds. Their four-legged white bodies can be seen slithering through the air, puffy clouds streaming from their mouths to ease the intensity of the sun on the plains. They never get any bigger than a weasel, are known as docile, playful creatures, and they seem to enjoy collecting shiny things. Challenge Rating: Easy | Mythical HP: 84 | To Hit: +30 | Dmg: 16 Movement: Fly 40 ft. (hover); Walk 10 ft. SPECIAL SKILLS Friendly Bond: when befriended, will linger overhead to provide moving shade and soft breezes; Sky-Slip: glides through still air with ease, ignoring most gusts and turbulence; Downy Silence: featherlight motion makes them almost soundless even at speed

TRAITS Cloud Breather: exhales soft, cooling vapour rather than flame; Docile & Playful: avoids confrontation, preferring games and gentle curiosity; Shiny Collector: irresistibly drawn to glittering trinkets and coins; Sunshade Trail: drifting cloud-streams cast welcome shade over travellers ACTIONS Cloud Puff: releases a dense little cloud to obscure vision or cool overheated allies; Zip Dash: darts in a looping burst of speed to evade grasping hands or predators; Chiming Trill: a bright, musical chirr that soothes nerves and encourages calm

champagne, cocaine, gasoline; and most things in between

"The cracks? I believe it is related to the earthquakes," Mateo says through a frustrated sigh, heading back towards his ailing plants with Everest at his heels, the botanist catching sight of the shadow of a cloud wyrm through the bare windows but paying it no mind. "Stormbreak has been experiencing tremors for the past few days," he adds, realising that it's something that could really use some clarification. "I do not know why, though. Hopefully it does not get any worse."

If it does - or if he can't find the cause of the rot spreading through his shop - Mateo will have to consider much more drastic action. Lingering now by the wilting cluster of plants and brushing the soil from his knees, he does his best to put all of it to the back of his mind to better focus on his friend. "Shall we go for a walk and find somewhere shady to sit?" he suggests; he also feels out of sorts to see his shop in such disarray, and so Ever is guaranteed to be rattled by it. "I imagine it is even hotter down in Stormbreak this season."

I will not be great, but I'm grateful to get through

Ever’s frown deepens as Mateo explains, not in disbelief so much as quiet confusion, his eyes lifting toward the ceiling as if the answer might be written there. "But...Stormbreak is floating," he says, the words slipping out before he can stop them, more thought than challenge. "How can a floating island have tremors?" The question lingers, unsettled, because it refuses to slot neatly into anything he knows about how the world is supposed to work, and that makes his chest tighten all over again.

When Mateo suggests a walk, Ever nods almost immediately, relief softening his posture despite the unanswered questions. "A walk sounds nice," he agrees. As his hands slide into his pockets, his fingers curl around one of the small chunks of wood Isla sent him, the familiar texture grounding in a way that feels instinctive now. He rubs his thumb along its edge, anchoring himself to the present, to the steady pressure and grain beneath his skin and the memory of how this particular specimen tastes.

"Torchline has been really warm," Ever agrees after a moment. "Isla and I have been swimming quite a lot to keep cool."

champagne, cocaine, gasoline; and most things in between

"I have no idea, but I do not care for it," Mateo says, equally as confused and already unfastening his apron so he can lift it over his head, revealing the tank top beneath made of a sheer blue material that deepens the colour of his eyes. "I was thinking of going to bother the researchers at the Observatory to see if they could tell me anything. Everyone knows it is happening but there have not been any announcements, so..." So either they've got no idea what's going on, or they just aren't informing the citizens about it. Neither is encouraging.

Collecting his shop keys and a pair of sunglasses, Mateo perches them jauntily on his nose and leads them out of the building, locking up and immediately falling into step with Ever in a way that feels familiar and grounding; all the things Stormbreak isn't lately. "Shall we go through the Celestine?" he asks, gesturing around the plaza as if to tell Ever he can feel free to choose the route that makes him most comfortable.

"Oh, I bet," he adds, grinning at the prospect of his friend taking a cool dip in the water with his smoking hot girlfriend. "Though I would have thought Isla would enjoy the hot weather. Ancients like it that way, no?"

I will not be great, but I'm grateful to get through

Ever nods, once, slow and thoughtful, because he doesn’t care for it either and the fact that Mateo has to live inside whatever is happening here makes his chest feel tight in a way he doesn’t quite have words for. Stormbreak has always been so orderly. He nods again at the mention of the Observatory, because that at least sounds like the right kind of next step, the sort of place where questions are meant to be asked. "That sounds like a good idea," he says quietly, before hesitating and then frowning just a little. "Our Stormbreak's leaders doing anything?" Ever asks, brow creasing as he searches his memory for who the current leader is, having not been paying attention with everything going on in his own life as of late.

When Mateo gestures about their route, Ever gives a small shake of his head. "I think I’d rather get to a bench as quickly as possible," he admits, fingers tightening briefly around the piece of wood in his pocket before he stills them again. He takes a breath, then adds, "There’s...something I want to tell you." The words come out carefully and deliberately, as if he’s placing them somewhere safe between them.

At the mention of Isla, Ever’s expression softens despite everything, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. "She does enjoy the heat," he agrees, nodding. "But she likes swimming too. It’s good exercise, and it’s good for her joints."

champagne, cocaine, gasoline; and most things in between

Nodding his agreement and making a quiet plan in his mind to visit the Observatory when he next has the chance, that Ever is of the same mindset assures Mateo in some ways that he's not going too far in digging into this; the aviator is nothing if not logical, after all, and if he believes it's a good next step then it almost certainly is. "Hm? Oh, Zavien?" His brow furrows, Mateo shaking his head gently. "I am sure he must be, but perhaps there is not much to say right now about it." It's not as though people are maliciously trying to break Stormbreak apart, right? (Right??)

At the mention of getting to a bench as quickly as possible, Mateo is already angling them towards one opposite a stall selling shaved ice. The reason for their sitting down is what catches him, though, and even as he picks up his pace so he might plop down onto the bench and melt against it, he's watching Ever with a careful amount of interest. "I am all ears," he assures him, forgetting entirely about what he's just said regarding Isla (ironic, given that Ever's news largely involves her). "That is to say, I am listening whenever you are ready."

I will not be great, but I'm grateful to get through

Ever nods again, quietly, the uncertainty sitting heavy in his chest without quite tipping into panic. The possibility of Stormbreak tearing itself apart is something that's too big for his mind to wrap itself around, the edges too illdefined, and so, for someone prone to losing himself in the details, the aviator finds it shockingly easy to let this particular problem go.

When they reach the bench and Mateo announces that he’s all ears, Ever gives him a look, brief but pointed, the ghost of something almost amused flickering across his expression. It’s the kind of phrase that once would have tripped him up immediately, sparked a correction he couldn’t stop himself from making, and even now there’s a flicker of relief at the quick clarification that follows. He settles onto the bench carefully, shoulders drawn in, hands still tucked into his pockets as his fingers worry the familiar piece of wood.

He takes a breath, deep and deliberate, just as he’d practised in his head, lining the words up in the right order before letting them out. "Because Isla is an Ancient," Ever begins, voice even and measured, "sometimes medical things don’t work on her the way they’re supposed to." He pauses, only long enough to make sure Mateo is still with him, then continues, tone still practical, almost clinical. "We didn’t intend for it, but she’s pregnant." Another small breath. "We’re going to have the baby," he adds, the words steady despite the weight of them. "And we’re happy about it." Only then does Ever turn his head to look properly at Mateo, eyebrows lifting just slightly as he waits, attentive and open, for his friend’s reaction.

champagne, cocaine, gasoline; and most things in between

More than accustomed to Everest arranging himself and his words into the appropriate order before giving them voice, Mateo doesn't watch his friend or otherwise scrutinise him, giving him the space to talk in his own time. He's already deciding on his third favourite flavour of snowcone (fully planning to get one after this) when the aviator begins, and Mateo's attention resettles on him as something gentle and open. 

His expression grows a touch concerned at the immediate reference to medical things, but because Isla is a doctor he forces himself to remain calm, trusting that if this was anything terrible and life-changing (true on one count, Mateo) then Ever would have mentioned it right away. "Mmhm," he says slowly, to show he's still listening, but as his friend continues things take a very extreme right turn, sharp enough that the world slides along with it.

Mateo blinks a couple of times. Isla, pregnant? Like, with a baby? His mouth has dropped open of its own accord, raw shock on his face as the bombshells keep dropping. Luckily he's been best friends with Ever for long enough that a robotic sounding we're happy about it isn't enough to entirely trip him up, and by the time it's started to properly sink in the start of a delighted smile is already starting to take over his expression. "Ever, you're going to be a dad?" he blurts.

"Auguri, fratello!" Knowing the other man will Everest Hart about it and not caring in the slightest, Mateo lurches across the bench to hug him tightly, kissing both of his cheeks as well for good measure. "I mean, - holy shit." Laughing and sitting back with his hands raised in apology, Mateo is grinning hard enough now to show his dimples. "That is wonderful news. How long have you known? Are you okay, do you need anything?"

I will not be great, but I'm grateful to get through

Mateo’s words land oddly, not wrong so much as angled in a way Ever hasn’t quite looked at yet. A dad. His head tilts to the side without him meaning to, the motion sharp and curious and decidedly canine. His mouth parts a little as the idea tries to rearrange itself in his mind, shifting from having a baby—concrete, specific, definable—into something larger and much harder to map. Fatherhood stretches out ahead of him in a way that makes his thoughts briefly skid, catching on possibilities he hasn’t prepared for.

Then Mateo is suddenly there, arms around him, kisses pressed to his cheeks, and Ever stiffens for a fraction of a second on pure instinct. He’s worked hard on this, on letting unexpected contact pass without panic, and Mateo is safe, familiar, predictable in his enthusiasm even when the timing isn’t. Ever exhales slowly and lets himself be held, shoulders easing as he waits for the moment to pass rather than fighting it. "She told me about a week ago," he says once Mateo pulls back enough for him to speak, his voice steady and practical again. He nods when asked if he’s okay. "I am." A small pause, then a shake of his head, almost apologetic. "I don’t need anything."

He hesitates, fingers tightening briefly around the piece of wood in his pocket before he looks back at his friend. "Well," Ever adds, considering, "maybe one thing. I was thinking...when I go to visit my mother, could you come with me?" His eyebrows lift slightly, hopeful but wary. "I want to ask her if she still has any baby books, and I worry that she'll manage to make me stay longer than I want to." Mateo, he knew, was as good as getting out of things as he was getting into them.

champagne, cocaine, gasoline; and most things in between

"So you still have a ways to go before the baby is here?" Mateo says, half conversation and half confirmation - knowing nothing, of course, about how being an Ancient might make the process much more chaotic yet again. "Gods, that... Ever, that is amazing news." His cheeks hurt from smiling, and there's so much that he wants to say, that wants to burst out of him, and yet whilst all of it is for Ever, none of it seems appropriate to say to him. 

Well, apart from one thing. 

"I am very proud of you," he tells him, turned fully to face his friend at the bench. "I remember speaking with you once and you telling me all the things you wanted but that you did not see yourself ever having. And now..." A girlfriend, a baby, a life in a tropical paradise? Mateo almost wishes he could take himself back in time and tell the kid version of Everest Hart how much he has to look forward to.

"Hm...? Oh, of course I will," he agrees immediately. "Just tell me when you want to go and visit, and give me a nod when you are ready to leave." It's obnoxiously easy for Mateo to make an exit and to make it seem both unplanned and inevitable.