One: People who are beautiful on the outside are not always beautiful on the inside.
He has a growing sense of Mesnyi’s disinterest in him. And he knows that surely the poor weather has pushed her to boredom and thus desperation. But she’s still the most beautiful thing he’s seen in days and it makes him feel a little holy just to stand next to her, a little holier to share breakfast.
Two: How to tell when someone was lying.
“A pleasure, miss Jasmine. I’m Mateo.” He dips into a bow that is overly formal, especially considering how he had just been smacking his lips on a pastry and writing childish things on the wall. Such formalities were so reflexive that they became to him, paradoxically, informal.
Three: How to think ahead.
He stretches his large black wings as though physically warming up for a performance. Internally, his mind is scrambling for two truths wild enough to be mistaken for a lie. Some might think the lie was the difficult part of the game, but it was really the truths that would distinguish winner from loser.
Lying was not a skill he would ever claim to be proud of, and not one he practiced much in day to day life, but it was a skill he possessed. All bards and storytellers need to know how to lie convincingly, and what was he if not a bard and storyteller? (Yes, we omitted the adjective "failed" that should have come before "bard"– but only because such digression would ruin the story. Think of the story!)
"Well," he clears his throat, "I’m a published author. My father is one of the benevolent. And," he grins, "I don’t believe your name is Jasmine."
He was very proud of his lie, and almost as proud of his truths.
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@Mesnyi <3 (sorry for the wait, I forgot how to write him for a minute)
