Nate
If it wasn’t for the fact that on some level he recognizes the voice that chirps his name, Nate would be startled out of his vegetable malcontent, but as it is, Isla is ignored until she’s right by his side, adding fuel to the fire. “Not you too.” He moans, turning to face Isla and shove the turnip under nose. “It’s white! White, turnips are orange!” The merchant takes his distraction as her chance to snatch her side of the bargain and leave the basket of turnips, offering the Overseer a polite but subtle nod as she does.
It’s another thing Nate doesn’t notice, immediately caught up by questions. “Not long. Couple hours?” He says of being away, face tipping towards the sky, though the demi-god can’t actually drag his eyes away from Isla to properly gauge the angle of the sun. “I’ve been alive again for a few days though. Been keepin’ quiet.” He licks his lips, then drops his chin again. “I’m guessin’ you wanna… box my ears, or somethin’?”
Do you read fuck-up in my walk?
Do you see fuck-up on my face?
Do you see fuck-up on my face?
Do I mean anything at all?
