At that moment, Nik was probably the last person in the world Slav felt like talking to. He would rather talk to their mom, and listen to the laundry list of things he was doing wrong or had done wrong throughout life, rather than talk to the Oldest. The middle Jones boy turned to look over his shoulder at his haphazard looking older brother, before returning to what he was doing.
"No, I don't know any Miguel," he finally answered, reluctantly, as he chose another pot whose bottom fit the notch in the shelf's surface and lifted it. "What, he someone else who fucked up your life without realizing it?" Slav was in an unusually smart ass mood at the moment. Not his usual head space at all, but like a wounded animal, he was lashing out.
Flowers weren't his thing, too delicate and fleeting, compared to the possible eternal life of a car. With the proper care and love, of course. Slav would pretty much give his left...arm for a chance to be working on the latest project in the shop right then, instead of on this ship.