Mateo
champagne, cocaine, gasoline
and most things in between
and most things in between
"Good!" Mateo calls in response, because the gods know he doesn't got it. Where his father has taken himself off to play kitchen bitch (not something the botanist is complaining about, by the by), he's arranged himself in the lounge and is currently trying to make the most of the liquor cabinet and the cocktails he might persuade out of it. Yes, yes, that's technically under Flora's purview, but when in Wildering House... something something.
Successfully concocting himself a mai tai and presenting it to the room at large as though it's something sacred, regardless of the calibre of company (it might just be companions for all he cares), Mateo sweeps over to one of the wide bay windows and settles himself there to watch the sun try to set behind the veil of rain that has just started to hammer down outside. "If it gets stormy, can we tell ghost stories?" He grins over his shoulder.
Successfully concocting himself a mai tai and presenting it to the room at large as though it's something sacred, regardless of the calibre of company (it might just be companions for all he cares), Mateo sweeps over to one of the wide bay windows and settles himself there to watch the sun try to set behind the veil of rain that has just started to hammer down outside. "If it gets stormy, can we tell ghost stories?" He grins over his shoulder.
I roam the city in a shopping cart
a pack of Camels and a smoke alarm
a pack of Camels and a smoke alarm
