Mateo's opion-- and he's shared cups with just about everyone in Delumine who would let him-- is that as far as drinking companions go, you can't get much better than the monks. They were always thoughtful, even when plastered, and he liked that. And they liked to sing. Their tavern songs were different from the morning rituals, decidedly less serious and some would say less beautiful-- but when they sang they did so with soul, and that resonated with him.

Besides, they were like family to the young pegasus. They were like home, if you want to get sentimental. Which he does, because he's been drinking with them tonight. He grew up with the monks, all except the newest of them. They call him little brother, heckle him like one too, and sometimes they even treat him like a son.

It is the most precious gift for a boy without a father, and he could not ask for more.

He's wandering the court, walking the drink off before sleep. He's knee deep in his thoughts when he nearly walks sideways into "Pavvetta!" His smile is crooked. Does he sound drunk? (did I say her name right? It didn't sound right) Does he look drunk? Is she drunk too? What is she doing at this hour? Ten other scathingly self-aware questions cross his mind as he speaks. "The loveliest emissary in all the land!" He was good at that, talking sweetly while thinking of other things entirely. Planning what to say next, how to act. The compliment is hot air-- the truth, yes, but spoken playfully. It isn't exactly like there is a lot of competition. Word hasn't come to him of Moira's promotion, in fact he knows nothing of the fiery woman. Eik is the only other emissary to his knowledge, and, well... there are no songs sung of his beauty.

After his words he bows with startling grace for his condition. (was I too heavy on the greeting?) Bowing is second nature to him, as easy as blinking. He's done it all his life and he does it without thinking. (my thoughts are rhyming, heheheh) When he straightens he looks at her intently for a moment. (sweet oriens, she's pretty) "You're very pretty." This time it is not hot air at all.

(Did I just... ?
Maybe...
Fuck...

Why did I say that.)