MILO
now they're standing in the door
singin' "that's my shit, that's my shit"
singin' "that's my shit, that's my shit"
He had been raised near the sea, all things considered, and so it’s no surprise that their accents (while similar) are alike and different all the same. It doesn’t bother Milo at all, the dismissal that’s easy to find within Rigby’s tone. But Milo is nothing but persistent, flashing the other man an easy grin, pulling out a pack of smokes from his pocket to pull out one and put it to his lips. “’m sure.” He rumbles, seeing right through that lone wolf façade as if it were nothing more than a sheer cloth.
“Y’got a light?” He asks, wiggling the cigarette in his lips for emphasis, before he steps closer and plops himself down next to Rigby with an easy grin. “I’ll give ya one fer the trouble.” Milo offers, flashing an amused grin Rigby’s way as he pats the pack with the cigarettes enclosed within it as if to explain what he meant.
Perhaps it’d be enough to stay in Rigby’s company, though he wouldn’t stop the other man if he chose to leave.
“Y’got a light?” He asks, wiggling the cigarette in his lips for emphasis, before he steps closer and plops himself down next to Rigby with an easy grin. “I’ll give ya one fer the trouble.” Milo offers, flashing an amused grin Rigby’s way as he pats the pack with the cigarettes enclosed within it as if to explain what he meant.
Perhaps it’d be enough to stay in Rigby’s company, though he wouldn’t stop the other man if he chose to leave.
that's what everybody wants an' some more
singing "you may be the death of me"
singing "you may be the death of me"
