[SE] festina lente

Mateo

"I suppose not," Mateo agrees with a soft smile. "I do not imagine demigods get to keep very many secrets." Is this the first time he's considering that this might also apply to his parents? Perhaps. Go Sunjata, he supposes. (Though he doubts either of his fathers would thank the Flood for being responsible for their son's revelation).

Inhaling deeply and letting it go again, as if to let those heavy thoughts go at the same time, Mateo glances back at Sunjata and tilts his head. "With the war over, maybe you could be friends again," he suggests, with the naivete of one who hasn't been alive for all that long. Of course it seems that easy to Mateo.

It's only as his attention rolls back to their surroundings that the botanist realises that there's a thick fog beginning to envelop their feet, and he raises his eyebrows. "The Mistbanks isn't just figurative, huh?"

i've told you time and time again
i'm not as think as you drunk i am

it's bad enough to see the sunlight through your seams

A sound of agreement slips from the Flood’s throat, a slight incline of his head in a nod. “Not these days.” He tacks on, his accented voice taking on a tone of what seemed not unlike bitterness. Or sorrow, if one read too much into it. For now, however, the conversation grows heavier, wearier, dragging on his shoulders in a way that seems to make him appear shorter and less looming.

He casts a glance back at Mateo with a small apologetic smile, as if knowing the naivety of youth first hand. (How he’d hoped if he was a perfect son, his father might not hate him as much as he had. He’d learned early on how sometimes things just didn’t work like that.) And when it came to Ronin, well, some things lay buried between them that can’t be crossed over.

“Unfortunately, I think too much of our relationship’s been broken.” But it doesn’t mean that he isn’t halfway grateful for the fact Ronin had kept him alive. Even if it came with the heartache of Nate’s passing – at least Nate had gone first, wouldn’t have had to experience that. It was the last thing the Lone Ranger deserved to deal with, he thinks.

Mist encases them heavier the further they step in, and it’s with an encouraging smile and a nod that Sunjata guides him through on familiar pathing. “Nope. Hope you’re wearing something waterproof.” As he says it, he partially shifts his skin to the scales of his snake skin, trying to block out as much of the water sticking to him as he can.

the flood

the thread of you and hem of me, it's bad enough in between

totally sniped from odd ilu

Mateo

"Ah," Mateo says, a little lamely, "I see. Sorry to hear it." The clogging mist and the dampening mood is a walking pathetic fallacy, he thinks, and by the time Sunjata shifts his skin (lucky), the boy is sweeping wet curls back and out of his face and wrinkling his nose. "Unfortunately not," he remarks. "But I do carry a change of clothing, so I should be alright."

Squinting through the mist, he thinks he just about makes out the bank part of the Mistbanks, and he's not sure, but he reckons it's probably beautiful if you could actually see it. "Hopefully Ghilio will be able to find my offering," he says with a grin to Sunjata, pausing at the river(?)bank and setting his bag down so he can rummage around in it. "Thank you, for showing me the way."

i've told you time and time again
i'm not as think as you drunk i am

it's bad enough to see the sunlight through your seams

“It is what it is.” Sunjata offers easily, no judgement in his tone. Sure, Mateo could apologize for it, but there was nothing for the boy to apologize for. At the end of the day it was between Ronin and him, their respective positions, and whether or not it was something that could be repaired. And Sunjata? Well, he was essentially permanently exhausted by everything that had happened that for now, he’s content to let everything else slip by.

He hums a note of agreement at the fact Mateo had brought an extra set of clothes. It was smart of him to do so. “You’d be surprised at the things deities can find when even our eyes can’t spot them.” A knowing smile is offered Mateo’s way, Sunjata hanging back until the young man’s rummaging through his bag. “You’re welcome. It was nice to see you again.” And it was. To know that he wasn’t a monster to everyone in Caido. It was a balm he didn’t know he needed.

the flood

the thread of you and hem of me, it's bad enough in between

totally sniped from odd ilu

Mateo

That might be the case but it doesn't mean Mateo has to be happy with how things are, though he's not old enough or wise enough (and when it comes to the latter, he probably never would be) to go out and start shaking up the status quo. For now it's enough to build a little bridge with his father's former best friend, the boy withdrawing a delicate little sapling from his bag of holding.

He makes sure it hasn't suffered too much for being out of the light for the trip through the Oerwoud, before producing some tools as well to plant it at the side of the Mistbanks. "That is reassuring," he says with a grin up at Sunjata, clearly not worried about getting his hands dirty, and by the time he straightens up, there's a streak of mud on his face too. "It was good to see you too," he says, and he means it. "Maybe we will run into each other again."

For now, though, there's just the mist and the water's edge, and Mateo is content enough with that.

~FIN

i've told you time and time again
i'm not as think as you drunk i am