they laughing at the top like they can't see the bottom

Mateo

Champagne, cocaine, gasoline
and most things in between

Rain hammers against the glass window-wall of The Last Word, creating quiet music and blurring the world outside into something grey and smudged and uninteresting to most. But Mateo finds himself gazing at it for longer than he intends - there's something about the quiet misery of the weather today that reminds him of Stormbreak, and he's still unsure whether that's a good or a bad thing for him. Tearing his eyes away at last, he settles back in the booth he's taken up residence within, sipping at his drink (an obnoxious margarita with a pink salt rim) and then setting it aside to get back to work.

Well. 'Work' is a generous term for what he's doing. Before him sit a few seedlings on the table that he's transplanting into larger pots that he'll use to decorate his sister's new bar; The Hanged Man had contained a wide variety of specimens he'd grown, from the gorgeous to the innocuous to the downright dangerous, and this place deserves a slice of that. Besides, it isn't as though he has anything better to do.

It's just past midday though you wouldn't know it from the world outside, and around him a few regulars have been drinking since well before he'd arrived. It's quiet though, currently, without the bump and grind of whatever chaos will likely spill over as the sun starts to set, though perhaps the rain will keep people home today. Mateo rather hopes not - he quite enjoys a bit of bumping and grinding himself.

I roam the city in a shopping cart
a pack of Camels and a smoke alarm

Through the blurred windows the bar, the rain slicking through his hair and into his eyes, Finch can just make out the edges of the figure he's been trying to track down. The grapevine in Torchline is a long and elaborate one, winding and knotted and deliberately hard to track, but many thieving hands had pointed to Mateo as the one to go to for this particular task, and Finch had followed the winding path to The Last Word. Thankfully here, and not some damp portion of Rae's Fingers or somewhere else equally slick and miserable, because Finch could really use a drink to warm him out. 

He pushes against the door with a wet shoulder, exhaling a relieved gasp as the warmth of the bar hits his skin. A lithe hand wipes the water from his eyes, flicking it onto the floor and he rolls his shoulders back like an acrobat preparing for a performance. In a way, he felt like he was. He stalks up to the bar, taking a strategic seat a stool away from his target and orders the cheapest thing the bartender would call drinkable; it turns out to be some murky-colored thing of ambiguous liquor that tastes vaguely like ale and of sad yeast. It warms him up, though, and after sipping for a calculatedly normal amount of time, he turns his head towards Mateo, letting a roguish grin spread up his face that hopefully looks more 'dashing and devilish youth' rather than 'feral and mysterious criminal.' 

"You're Mateo, right?" He says, lacing the words with trepidatious familiarity. "Sorry. Don't mean to ambush you. Some friends pointed me in your direction. I've been looking for a gardener. My old one recently retired" -- read, pissed off the wrong person and disappeared, "and I'm looking for someone to help me get some interesting new plants for my garden." He keeps his words light and friendly, expecting and demanding nothing, and with just enough casual friendliness that if Mateo turns him away, he could feign like this whole thing was a misunderstanding.

Mateo

Champagne, cocaine, gasoline
and most things in between

The door to The Last Word briefly opens, bringing with it a brief gust of cold air and the smell of salt and rainfall, but Mateo doesn't look up from his repotting. His fingers are careful as they press and adjust the seedling into its new home with a variety of other plants he's certain will get along with one another, and only when he's satisfied does he set the pot aside. Wiping his hands off on a damp cloth and reaching again for his margarita, as it hits his lips, a voice draws his attention from across the bar.

"I certainly was the last time I checked," he says with a lopsided smile, his accent hugging each word in a way that makes it sound vaguely whimsical. Setting his drink back onto the bar, he turns just enough to face the bedraggled stranger, handsome in that hungry sort of way that crooked people often are. "Well, I do not have nearly as many plants to offer as I once did, but depending on what you are after I can do my best to help."

He arches an eyebrow, knowing better than to think this is about perennials or rose vines; men with scars and deep pockets don't tend to come to a bar to ask about that sort of gardening.

I roam the city in a shopping cart
a pack of Camels and a smoke alarm

The eyebrow arches and Finch knows he's been understood, nodding slightly. His eyes wander to where Mateo's fingers had pushed into the dirt, studying the pot of dirt with open curiosity. It doesn't look familiar to him, but he's only been acquainted with a few kinds of plants -- some, unfortunately, on the receiving end -- and the one he knows would be very unlikely to be out at a bar like this. Even if they have not yet sprouted. 

The thief takes another careful sip of the swill, matching Mateo's body language and trying not to grimace as the sludge burns his upper lip. His cards are still tucked into his pocket after that singular beginning flash he gave the man and he's reticent to pull them all out all at once. A new contact, after all, is still a new contact, and Finch lingers on the wrong side of the law. Though Mateo does as well, who knows what he does with the information he accrues? Finch tilts his head sideways slightly, taking in the head of dark curls and sharp jawline. His voice lilts musically and light as it glides through his words, and though Finch wants to lean in and start trying to figure him out, he holds himself back. For now.

"I'm looking for plants that can help get rid of weeds and predators," He says, still casual, still deniable if needed, half-ready to run. "Do you still have those in your collections?"

Shell fragments click against one another within its body. Splintered sticks jut out at uneven angles, some polished smooth by salt or wind, others hooked and sharp. The bones woven through its centre are similarly weathered, though not all of them look as though they belonged to small creatures. Beneath the shifting sand, its limbs remain tightly coiled. A sudden roll sends shells and bone fragments skittering in its wake; when its branches open, they move like a living trap made from every hard, sharp thing the shore or desert has discarded.

---

You've encountered a Tangleweed Variant

---

Tangleweed Areas Found: Hollowed Grounds, King's End, Hak Etme — Common Appearing like nothing more than an amalgamation of sticks, the Tangleweed is actually an arguably sentient creature. For the most part it appears spherical in nature, keeping its many limbs tightly pulled against itself to form a round shape. It moves as if blown by the wind, suddenly rolling forward on the hard packed earth and then stopping just as suddenly. Having almost no natural predators, these creatures are found in great numbers especially along large, flat areas. It is often impossible to tell if a Tangleweed is dead or alive unless they are touched. If interacted with, the branch-like limbs will lash out and close quickly on whatever they can grasp, at which point a poison is released which causes the skin to numb. Then, quite like other species of carnivorous plants, the Tangleweed slowly begins to digest its prey. Challenge Rating: Easy HP: 30 | To Hit: 2 | Dmg: 14 Movement: Roll 20 ft.; Lurch 10 ft. (limb-propelled); Creep 5 ft. (against wind) SPECIAL SKILLS Lash & Latch: branch-like limbs whip out and close quickly and effectively on anything they can grasp; Numbing Poison: contact venom causes skin to go numb where seized; Slow Digestion: like other carnivorous plants, it digests prey over time once secured; Grip Net: multiple limbs interlace into a living snare that tightens with struggle

TRAITS Stick Camouflage: looks like an ordinary tumble of twigs and branches; Spherical Compact: limbs tuck tight to form a rolling, round body; Wind-Feign Locomotion: advances in sudden windlike rolls, then freezes; Dormant Deception: impossible to tell alive from dead until touched; Field Congregation: commonly accumulates in large, flat areas; Few Predators: little in the wild bothers a tangleweed’s dry, woody mass ACTIONS Sudden Roll: bursts forward in a short, windlike tumble to collide with a target; Limb Lash: snaps out hooked twigs to seize wrists, ankles, or gear; Numbing Seep: exudes the numbing toxin along gripping limbs to deaden sensation and resistance; Enfold & Digest: wraps prey into its core and begins a slow digestive process