drink in the wild air

Mateo

Should'a seen what I wore
I had a cane and a party hat

"And nor am I," Mateo purrs in response. He had been far from complaining at the time, and the memory is one he keeps tucked away for the rare nights he finds himself alone with little more than his hand and his imagination for company. Letting his smile turn a touch sly as he pointedly ignores the rest of the patrons in the bar - and the increasingly teasing press of shadows around his legs - the botanist's thoughts flush like crushed velvet and fever dreams, blooming dark scarlet as he recalls their time in the supply closet.

"On the contrary," he trills, smiling indulgently at Vesper, "when it comes to things like that, I hardly consider it work at all." However much effort it might take, it's always a pleasure to bring pleasure, in whatever form it might cum in. "As for your shiny new room, I do hope that shelf I settled on is still there. It did a hero's work that night."

Sighing out his regret as Vesper turns away to make another drink (or two as it happens), at least he gives Mateo something good to look at, and the botanist accepts his fresh cocktail with a purr of gratitude in the travelling tongue. "Shame, really. I would think you were entitled to a break."

I was the king of this hologram
where there's no such thing as getting out of hand