champagne, cocaine, gasoline; and most things in between
Mateo narrows his eyes right back behind his glasses, though as he's judged and apparently deemed innocent in the botanical naming of the latest addition to the Lockwood-Hart family, he relaxes a fraction. "Very glad to hear it," he says instead of the them that is their own siblings-to-be, stretching his arms above his head and letting them hook over the back of his chair. "At least if nothing else they are good at following instructions. I gave them an explicit care pamphlet for them," he says, before smirking across at Flora. "I think I even referenced them in the plural in it a couple of times. And still nothing."
Honestly, for two demigods who have saved the world perhaps multiple times, Mateo has no idea how they get dressed in the morning without help. "Do you think we should let them know soon?" he continues, as casual as he is amused by the whole thing. "If it were not two babies involved I would be inclined to let them find out when it happens, but they will be getting the Northaven ready for one child." His brow furrows then, gently, as if realising it for the first time.
"One crib, one mobile, enough clothing and toys for one newborn." He scrunches his nose. "The last thing I want is for one of them to go without all because we found it funny."
Honestly, for two demigods who have saved the world perhaps multiple times, Mateo has no idea how they get dressed in the morning without help. "Do you think we should let them know soon?" he continues, as casual as he is amused by the whole thing. "If it were not two babies involved I would be inclined to let them find out when it happens, but they will be getting the Northaven ready for one child." His brow furrows then, gently, as if realising it for the first time.
"One crib, one mobile, enough clothing and toys for one newborn." He scrunches his nose. "The last thing I want is for one of them to go without all because we found it funny."
