Mateo
Having to move a few such throw pillows to make room on a patchwork couch for them to sit, Mateo is already ducking under the gauzy purple hammock he uses when the skies are rough at night to reach his kitchen countertop. It might be very early morning but he's still set on making tea, since his father is visiting the place where he lives and all that. "Winged shoes," he almost whispers, the smile still plastered to his face. "It sounds like a dream come true."
And Mateo should know, being one. (Eyoooo).
Having set the kettle on the stovetop to boil, the botanist turns as la verbena hits the air and, purely by coincidence of course, a wayward breeze outside sets the ship's wind chimes to gently tinkling. "I think she likes it," he murmurs softly, gazing around at the schooner. "La verbena, eh? It is about time you were called something," he says with no small amount of pride. "Do you think nonna would have liked skyships?"
And Mateo should know, being one. (Eyoooo).
Having set the kettle on the stovetop to boil, the botanist turns as la verbena hits the air and, purely by coincidence of course, a wayward breeze outside sets the ship's wind chimes to gently tinkling. "I think she likes it," he murmurs softly, gazing around at the schooner. "La verbena, eh? It is about time you were called something," he says with no small amount of pride. "Do you think nonna would have liked skyships?"
i've told you time and time again
i'm not as think as you drunk i am
i'm not as think as you drunk i am
