Reunited. [ Active ]

[nicotinic.livejournal.com]

Character(s): Mello (chocolatefetish) and Matt (nicotinic).
Content: Matt shows up in Paixao with no idea as to what's going on, Mello comes to fetch him and explain. Hopefully.
Setting: At one of the cafe's close to the Vanaheim Gate.
Time: The afternoon of July 25th.
Warnings: They both have foul vocabulary, I'm sure. And later comments are definitely not appropriate for younger viewers♥

Matt poked at his journal a bit, lacking in things to be occupied with. Turning it over in his hands, he narrowed his eyes a little, evidently trying to see if he could get it apart without tools. Realizing, unfortunately, that there wasn't any possible way for him to, he turned it face up to look at the screen and see if there was anything from Mello. Noticing that was, in fact, negative, he flipped it over.

Leaning back in the chair, balancing it on its back two legs, he rocked back and forth on it. He seriously hoped he didn't fall. Dead again after two minutes of being alive; that'd take some real skill. Either way, he continued to move, back and forth, lazy rocking. It kept him entertained for all of five seconds before he stopped, checking the journal again before writing a response -- noticing his hands were shaking already from lack of nicotine -- and dropping it back to the table, leaning in to balance his chair again.

As he waited for Mello, he motioned the waitress over, ordering some baby tea; half tea, half milk, and lots of sugar. Debating on getting something for Mello, he thought about it for a moment before requesting a milkshake; chocolate, of course.

He just hoped the idiot would show up soon. Impatient much?

Comments

[chocolatefetish.livejournal.com]

Mello hated public transportation and hated the lack of his motorcycle even more. Damn trains were too fucking slow and walking, even rapidly, was even worse. He longed for speed, the wind in the hair and the ground beneath his feet moving so fast it was just a blur, but that feeling seemed forever gone, unless he could somehow find parts and make one here. Maybe that could be their next project, now that Matt was back.

Speaking of, he should be almost there. Mello looked up, scanning the tables, automatically looking for threats. Finding none, he had no trouble locating Matt; he stood out a mile among the more reserved natives, leaning back and looking ready to break his chair.

Part of him wanted to run over to the idiot and completely embarrass both of them, but he didn't, of course. Too much time and distance between them for that. Instead Mello sauntered over slowly, a seductive grin on his face, and dropped the mostly full carton of cigarettes in front of Matt. "Told you I was bringing you something."

[nicotinic.livejournal.com]

Continuing to roll back in forth in his chair as he waited for the waitress to come back, he tapped his fingers against his knee in a random beat. Looking around at the majoirty of the people, he didn't see Mello on his first glance. Tipping his head back and closing his eyes, he waited; slightly tempted to get up and start walking towards the train stop. He normally had no patience to speak of, and that was stretched thin on the fact he hadn't had a cigarette in God knew how long.

Practically falling out of his chair when he heard Mello's voice, he recovered quickly, airborn chairlegs slamming down onto the pavement. Staring at him for a second, gaze lowered to the cigarettes on the table. He was, quite obviously, beside himself at the fact of what Mello had brought him.

Matt fought the urge to launch himself from the chair and pounce on his best mate, opting to snag a cigarette from the carton instead. Rummaging in his vest and producing a lighter, he lit the end, taking a long drag off of it that burned his throat. He didn't care. The bitter taste of nicotine filled his mouth and Matt felt like he could die again, and that'd be just fine with him. Well, sort of.

Blowing the smoke out away from Mello, he grinned. "Thanks, kitten. I appreciate it." He gave a half-assed salute with the hand that held the cigarette before slumping back into his chair again.