Cesare Borgia (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} il_valentino) wrote in ![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} seasidecafe, |
He can smell his sour sweat, battling it out with expensive cologne. His armpits are clammy. And then he feels dizzy, if only because he's forgotten how to breathe.
La santisima muerte.
"Mea culpa," he wheezes. He wipes his dripping palms down his pants. "Forgive me if I... if I or any of mine inconvenienced you." Che pazzia; this is insane. He is not apologising to la Morte, is he?
Gawping at the smoke curls, he motions for the 'waitress'. "And what would you have. Sir." Cesare gulps audibly. Just then he thinks he sees Miquel, slumped over a neighbouring table, his narrow shoulders heaving with laughter. Testa di cazzo, what is this?
La santisima muerte.
"Mea culpa," he wheezes. He wipes his dripping palms down his pants. "Forgive me if I... if I or any of mine inconvenienced you." Che pazzia; this is insane. He is not apologising to la Morte, is he?
Gawping at the smoke curls, he motions for the 'waitress'. "And what would you have. Sir." Cesare gulps audibly. Just then he thinks he sees Miquel, slumped over a neighbouring table, his narrow shoulders heaving with laughter. Testa di cazzo, what is this?