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"
”Smuggler” Rigby says and that very same Cheshire grin remains on Milo’s face as he shrugs his shoulders. “Never gonna confirm ‘r deny it.” He offers with a knowing glance, a playful smirk – if he knew Rigby better, he might’ve even nudged his elbow out to the other man, but he doesn’t. And so he doesn’t. Instead, finishing the cigarette in his hands, he flicks the butt off the edge of the cliff to where it might fall into the ocean below.
His attention flickers back to Rigby after a moment. “What d’ya do yerself?” He asks. If he wasn’t a smuggler nor someone from the Ark, and he hadn’t heard the kids name going around the docks where his mother and sister worked, well, Rigby was essentially a ghost. Milo had no idea where to even begin to guess what he did to make ends meet. If he did, at all.
His attention flickers back to Rigby after a moment. “What d’ya do yerself?” He asks. If he wasn’t a smuggler nor someone from the Ark, and he hadn’t heard the kids name going around the docks where his mother and sister worked, well, Rigby was essentially a ghost. Milo had no idea where to even begin to guess what he did to make ends meet. If he did, at all.
that's what everybody wants an' some more
singing "you may be the death of me"
singing "you may be the death of me"
