Mateo
Champagne, cocaine, gasoline
and most things in between
and most things in between
"I would like a refund on these shoes." If Flora had any doubt about Mateo still being alive then that ought to dispel it, the botanist groaning as his sister pushes back his hat enough that he can squint up at her. There's a nasty scrape on his cheek and matching injuries on his palms, but other than that and a fuckton of bruises he won't feel until tomorrow, he's in one piece. "That is one way to get down here quickly, I suppose. I do not think I will find any plants now, though."
He doesn't seem to care at least, not when the alternative is potentially sliding to his death - and worse, having to tell their parents about it. Groaning and levering himself into a sitting position, he flashes a quick but bright smile up at Flora before gesturing around the strange and suddenly much more organised space they find themselves within. "Where the fuck are we now?" he wonders. "This is like a funhouse but every room is less fun than the last."
He doesn't seem to care at least, not when the alternative is potentially sliding to his death - and worse, having to tell their parents about it. Groaning and levering himself into a sitting position, he flashes a quick but bright smile up at Flora before gesturing around the strange and suddenly much more organised space they find themselves within. "Where the fuck are we now?" he wonders. "This is like a funhouse but every room is less fun than the last."
I roam the city in a shopping cart
a pack of Camels and a smoke alarm
a pack of Camels and a smoke alarm
