Mateo
Should'a seen what I wore
I had a cane and a party hat
I had a cane and a party hat
It's dark when Mateo bursts into the Pacifist Plaza and marches his way towards his friend's apartment, and all but those stalls selling sweet iced wine and street food have shut up shop for the night. Late - much later than he'd ever dream of encroaching his presence on Ever unless he's fucked up somehow - the botanist nevertheless bustles up the steps to his door, reaching out to thump on it a few insistent times.
Having come straight from the Celestine, his clothes barely buttoned properly and his gift from Frey wrapped in a silk handkerchief and cradled in his palm like something precious, something delicate (because it is, gods), he clears his throat and calls out for good measure, in case the aviator thinks it's something more nefarious than Mateo on his stoop.
"Ever!" he trills, stepping back a bit to peer up at the windows and squint, trying to see if there is light shining behind the shutters and curtains. "Ever, it is Mateo! Can I come in? This is quite important. In a good way!"
Having come straight from the Celestine, his clothes barely buttoned properly and his gift from Frey wrapped in a silk handkerchief and cradled in his palm like something precious, something delicate (because it is, gods), he clears his throat and calls out for good measure, in case the aviator thinks it's something more nefarious than Mateo on his stoop.
"Ever!" he trills, stepping back a bit to peer up at the windows and squint, trying to see if there is light shining behind the shutters and curtains. "Ever, it is Mateo! Can I come in? This is quite important. In a good way!"
I was the king of this hologram
where there's no such thing as getting out of hand
where there's no such thing as getting out of hand
