Mateo
Should'a seen what I wore
I had a cane and a party hat
I had a cane and a party hat
Mateo tuts as if Vesper's answer is a source of hurt and disappointment, though his thoughts betray him, flush with the image of the other man tangled with another person. The farthest thing from jealous that someone can be, the botanist, if anything, finds the imagined tryst a turn on, his mental gymnastics sending a trill of heat down his spine. "Well, hopefully that will not be a problem any more. You can see exactly where I live from outside these doors." There aren't many personal skyships draped in lavender hovering above houses, after all.
"It does sound fair," he agrees, eyes darkening ever so slightly over the rim of his glass as he feels Vesper's shadows continue to taunt him, and he purposely doesn't look over his shoulder as the demigod crosses the bar to ward off any potential customers. The drag and caress of those same shadows are what finally draw him to his feet, Mateo ferried lazily along in Vesper's wake towards the newly created private space.
As he opens the door, the botanist sidles past - a little too close for it to be accidental, but what of it - to admire the room; his fingers brush across the padded edges of the shelving, dancing along the deep plum paint and gripping at one of the fixtures to give it a teasing shake. It doesn't budge, and he flashes a catlike grin over his shoulder at Vesper. "Very nicely done," he agrees. "The mirrors are a great touch."
"It does sound fair," he agrees, eyes darkening ever so slightly over the rim of his glass as he feels Vesper's shadows continue to taunt him, and he purposely doesn't look over his shoulder as the demigod crosses the bar to ward off any potential customers. The drag and caress of those same shadows are what finally draw him to his feet, Mateo ferried lazily along in Vesper's wake towards the newly created private space.
As he opens the door, the botanist sidles past - a little too close for it to be accidental, but what of it - to admire the room; his fingers brush across the padded edges of the shelving, dancing along the deep plum paint and gripping at one of the fixtures to give it a teasing shake. It doesn't budge, and he flashes a catlike grin over his shoulder at Vesper. "Very nicely done," he agrees. "The mirrors are a great touch."
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
