Mateo. She supposed it was an easy enough name to remember, if she’ll even remember it at all. Sloane has never been one of those girls that can lock away names and pull them out at the drop of a hat. She has always ignore people in general, so trying to remember their names had never been someone she cared all that much about. But then again, she was trying to be less bitchy and a little more social, at least that’s what she keeps telling herself. Perhaps she should make a change and try to remember a name or two. If she remembered his name the next time they met, perhaps he should feel special.
She tells him he’s lucky that he landed on her island vs the island inhabited by the fire-starting squirrels. He doesn’t seem to quite grasp the concept she was trying to impress upon him. Those squirrels would have killed him and she has yet to make her own move, so he’s lucky to be alive on either front. But he reminds her a lot of Ipomoea, happy and chipper and excited about life. All the things that make her want to vomit. Was that a little vomit she tasted just now?
He was going to live the charmed life until he was nice and old, or so he says, and Sloane simply shrugs him off. She would probably die young of natural causes, she was sure. Their outlooks on life were vastly different, though she didn’t necessarily knock his way of thinking. She was not overly conversational, so picking this fight seemed rather insignificant. She would rather argue over something that really mattered vs arguing over whether or not their attitudes would get them well into old fart status or into an early grave.
It is the next thing that comes from between his pursed lips that has her cocking her head ever so slightly as her yellowed gaze turns to him. Fucking squirrels. That was her language, something that didn’t seem like the sort of thing he might be interested in. She had seen stranger things, she supposed. But she says nothing, only watches him as he begins to rustle his feathers as if he’s getting ready to take off or fight.
However, before she can ask him how long he plans to stay (because she likes to think she has plans and cannot keep any sort of company), he asks her if he can stay for awhile, at least until the storm passes. She can feel the way her eyes roll, the look of annoyance so plainly obvious. Sloane has never been overly good at hiding her true emotions. She has no poker face. The one good thing about Sloane is that she is not a very good liar. She says things how they are and she doesn’t give a rat’s ass if the comments or wanted her warranted. "What? Don’t like storms?" The bad weather made her feel powerful and alive. She almost felt as though she could take on the world when she was standing in front of such raw power. Storms were dangerous and unpredictable. Perhaps that’s why she liked them.
But then she remembers that she hasn’t exactly answered his question about whether or not she will allow him to stand on her island until the storms pass. With a heavy sigh and another roll of her eyes, she concedes. "As long as you leave it the way you found it." That was Sloane nicely telling him that as soon as the storm had passed, he better fuck off without a single grain of sand misplaced.
@Mateo
