the only enemy you can't live without

Mateo

champagne, cocaine, gasoline
and most things in between

Positively cackling as Flora catches on, Mateo accepts the swat to his arm without complaint, merely reaching across to clink his glass against his sister's and finish off his drink, immediately tapping the bar for another. "That is all I need to know to give you my approval, not that you ever needed it in the first place," he tells her breezily, shifting to shrug the shoulder of his robe back up a little. "Where is he today, then? Ooh, do not tell me - I see him as someone who broods. Darkly. On the prow of some ship, or in the corner of some rough tavern." He waggles his fingers.

As for using her death to his advantage, he has committed more to using it as an excuse to continue being a mess, in truth, but she's right - he has never struggled to find a bed-mate, and being woeful and grief-stricken had definitely helped. (Even if those who had gravitated towards him had been a mix of awkward and downright kinky).

Hissing out a soft curse in the travelling tongue as the conversation swivels back to their parents, Mateo can only wrinkle his nose and accept his new drink. "He has never spoken to me like that before. I cannot say I cared for it," he mutters. "Beh. No matter, right? It is not as though he came to visit more than a couple of times a year anyway."

I roam the city in a shopping cart
a pack of Camels and a smoke alarm