Mateo
Champagne, cocaine, gasoline
and most things in between
and most things in between
"A broken... egg thing?" It all starts to sound increasingly unlikely as Flora keeps explaining, Mateo grateful for her warmth beside him (hovering or otherwise) and considering leaning back on his free hand before remembering the scrapes on his palm. "This looks like the sort of reception room you would have before you go into Mort's realm, but somehow even worse," he decides, wrinkling his nose at the pulsing, eldritch symbols and the pods set back into the walls.
"Gods, do you think this is where the Family..." Were born hesitates on his lips, because he doesn't like the sound of that one bit, but he gestures to a few of the broken pods as if Flora might be able to put two and two together from it. "I wonder if that broken egg was supposed to be their god, or something. Remember how some people had those dreams about it?" It feels like a lifetime ago now, and yet intimately familiar in this strange and foreign space.
"Gods, do you think this is where the Family..." Were born hesitates on his lips, because he doesn't like the sound of that one bit, but he gestures to a few of the broken pods as if Flora might be able to put two and two together from it. "I wonder if that broken egg was supposed to be their god, or something. Remember how some people had those dreams about it?" It feels like a lifetime ago now, and yet intimately familiar in this strange and foreign space.
I roam the city in a shopping cart
a pack of Camels and a smoke alarm
a pack of Camels and a smoke alarm
