Mateo
champagne, cocaine, gasoline
and most things in between
and most things in between
"No one ever stands me up, Kaisel," Mateo says with his cocktail poised halfway to his lips, his tone breezy and somehow more certain for it. "Perhaps you'll have a tale or two to share, though?" With a dimpled smile - and a halfway traitorous look towards his sister, because that's the weakest burn he's ever felt if it can count as one - the botanist settles into his window seat to watch the rain cover the amber glow of sunset.
Whether he's been ignoring Remi's presence or genuinely hasn't noticed it is something that will stay a mystery, but as the Bastion speaks up in the lilting language of the travelling tongue, Mateo turns towards it like a sunflower towards light. He blinks at his father as if seeing him for the first time in years, or like he's suddenly pulled a sheet off his head and shouted BOO! (another one for the ghost stories). The silence stretches between them for a beat too long, it's true, but when the botanist breaks it, it's with a soft smile.
"È fatto con rum, non con gin," he explains as he gets to his feet, knowing his father's preference for the latter. "Quindi, se non ti dispiace, certo." Heading back to the liquor cart and setting down his drink, he reaches for the various bottles to make another mai tai.
"Cosa ne pensi di Kaisel?" he asks after a few moments, not bothering to hide his smirk. Because what's the point in speaking another language if you can't abuse it and gossip?
Whether he's been ignoring Remi's presence or genuinely hasn't noticed it is something that will stay a mystery, but as the Bastion speaks up in the lilting language of the travelling tongue, Mateo turns towards it like a sunflower towards light. He blinks at his father as if seeing him for the first time in years, or like he's suddenly pulled a sheet off his head and shouted BOO! (another one for the ghost stories). The silence stretches between them for a beat too long, it's true, but when the botanist breaks it, it's with a soft smile.
"È fatto con rum, non con gin," he explains as he gets to his feet, knowing his father's preference for the latter. "Quindi, se non ti dispiace, certo." Heading back to the liquor cart and setting down his drink, he reaches for the various bottles to make another mai tai.
"Cosa ne pensi di Kaisel?" he asks after a few moments, not bothering to hide his smirk. Because what's the point in speaking another language if you can't abuse it and gossip?
I roam the city in a shopping cart
a pack of Camels and a smoke alarm
a pack of Camels and a smoke alarm
