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 one thing to visit Torchline for an extended vacation, but another thing entirely to have committed to moving there. And whilst he does still spend most of his time aboard La Verbena, which he has moored jauntily above Flora's house (he still sees it as her house even if she isn't currently living in it), even he has to admit it's quite nice to have the beach and the sea on his doorstep, and the best of the region's tropical nonsense at his fingertips.
He ducks into The Hanged Man early one evening, when the light outside matches, for once, the perpetual twilight of the bar, taking off the straw hat he'd been using to get a little shade from the sun and hanging it on a hook probably meant for something entirely different. The bar is busy as ever, despite the change in ownership, and though Mateo is here to drink, have fun, and absolutely flirt with a particular barman, he's also here to check on the place. Flora would want to know after all, even if their conversations are by letter and by yelling across a few feet between the perimeters of the shield.
Sliding onto a barstool and leaning an elbow against the polished counter, he tucks his sunglasses into a loose linen shirt embroidered with tiny golden pineapples, and peruses the new specials as he waits to be served. (Served what is entirely up to said barman, of course).
He ducks into The Hanged Man early one evening, when the light outside matches, for once, the perpetual twilight of the bar, taking off the straw hat he'd been using to get a little shade from the sun and hanging it on a hook probably meant for something entirely different. The bar is busy as ever, despite the change in ownership, and though Mateo is here to drink, have fun, and absolutely flirt with a particular barman, he's also here to check on the place. Flora would want to know after all, even if their conversations are by letter and by yelling across a few feet between the perimeters of the shield.
Sliding onto a barstool and leaning an elbow against the polished counter, he tucks his sunglasses into a loose linen shirt embroidered with tiny golden pineapples, and peruses the new specials as he waits to be served. (Served what is entirely up to said barman, of course).
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
