Isla
Seeming more than pleased with the arrangements on the deck, Isla is already setting up the blankets and pillows accordingly, only for her movements to slow at Remi's remarks. The face she pulls is exactly what he might expect (a mix of horror and disbelief), and she gazes down at them suspiciously. "I got these from his linen cupboard," she says slowly, "so I very much hope so. The bedsheets looked clean on anyway, though."
Come on now, Remi - there's a reason Mateo hadn't been willing to part with La Verbena until the evening. He's a whore, not a slob.
Clearing her throat awkwardly, it appears it doesn't matter whether the memories of making starmaps beneath the night sky is fresh; Isla's mind is still some place it would rather not be. "You know far too much about your son's nighttime activities," she says instead, smirking and slipping off her shoes so she might sit among the blankets.
Come on now, Remi - there's a reason Mateo hadn't been willing to part with La Verbena until the evening. He's a whore, not a slob.
Clearing her throat awkwardly, it appears it doesn't matter whether the memories of making starmaps beneath the night sky is fresh; Isla's mind is still some place it would rather not be. "You know far too much about your son's nighttime activities," she says instead, smirking and slipping off her shoes so she might sit among the blankets.
sooner or later, we all have to wake
and try forgetting everything
and try forgetting everything
