Wincing mentally for the poor boy, the Portuguese waited for Luciano to convert the number on his phone, sipping from his Somal and watching him turn colors. "So, I'm guessing you don't have enough. Well, there's no way to get to Brazil besides flying, so.."
So, this was awkward. Stroking his beard as he thought, Afonso weighed their options. "It seems like you're out of luck. Or.." The journalist winced a little, his barebones wallet already singing in pain. "..I guess I can pay for your flight back. But you have to wait until I get paid at the end of the week."
That meant a week. Alone. With the pau who had kidnapped him.
His reluctance showed on his face as he toyed with the (weird looking) feijoada on the plate in front of him, pushing the (weird) white beans from one side to the other.
"A week? Então, that means I have to put up with...a week of roofie stew, weird feijoada, some old guy who doesn't know what refri is, and estupid weather?"
What a little brat! Afonso shut his computer and set it aside, meeting Luciano with a flat expression. Well, it was to be expected--he'd sort of shown nothing but being a brat since he showed up--and Afonso sighed through his nose. "It means a week of someone taking care of you, buying you clothes and a plane ticket, especially considering its someone who's not in the best of financial situations right now."
This kid was going to cost him an arm and a leg. He tried not to think about it as he picked up Luciano's empty can and went to go throw in it in the trash. "I have an extra room across the hall from mine you're welcome to, I guess.. And I'll take you shopping or something for some clothes that aren't for sub zero. Are you sure you didn't bring anything..?"
"I didn't, unless you went through my closet when you kidnapped me, velho. How did you get me through customs anyway? Então, I don't want to know. Don't treat me like a little kid, meu Deus. You could be a little more gracious, since you're doing the whole 'guilty conscience kidnapper' thing and acting like you feel bad for me. I'm stuck here in a country where everyone waves around guns and you're treating me like the burden when I'm...not...aaactually sure how I got here."
Luciano pushed the weird white beans around a few more times before fixing Afonso with a penetrating stare.
"So how did you get me through customs? Or were you like a pirate and did the boat thing? Do you have a jar of dirt just in case?"
"What? No! This isn't a movie, if you haven't noticed." A pirate? What was even with this kid? Still, it made him laugh, and he raised his brows at the stare, not intimidated. This guy really did seem like a little kid. It was pretty cute, although he wouldn't say it out loud. Mostly because that would really make him sound creepy. And he wasn't. Taking a sip of his sumol, Afonso continued.
"And no one's waving around guns, promise. Liberty is actually pretty boring most of the time." When weird things weren't happening. "So be grateful. You've got a safe place to stay for a week. The only threat here is the dog, and he's more like a teddy bear than an animal."
He grimaced as he accidentally dropped his fork to the ground and leaned down to pick it up.
"What's the bigger joke," Luciano muttered, "is him saying that I'm safe with hi--OW."
Luciano's head collided with the underside of the table with a loud bang, causing him to let loose the foulest string of slang and swear-addled Portuguese in the western hemisphere.
That sounded painful. Afonso set his cup down and started to get up, moving to go help Luciano. "Are you o--madre de Deus, watch your mouth!"
...That probably wasn't something he was supposed to say to another adult, but Afonso couldn't help scolding him, and he moved across the table to put his hand on Luciano's back. "Please don't give yourself a concussion, jeez."
"OYE! ABRE LA PUERTA!!" Jodienda, the Argentinian thought, {I have to speak English...} "Oy- LISTEN! I am not knowing who you are, but open door right now or I will open!" Martín Hernández had managed to track down Luciano with the GPS chip on both of their phones. "LULUZIÑO!" he cried, hammering his fist against the door and forgetting that was an embarrassing name. "I say, open door! Luciano, if they hurt you- if is your fault, te voy a matar!"
Just as Afonso reached over to check Luciano's head with his hand, there was a loud shout and a thudding noise of someone banging on his door. His Spanish wasn't that great, but he certainly picked up on the two colorful phrases, and Afonso eyed the boy on the ground. "Looks like someone's here for you."
Getting to his feet, Afonso went to open the door and stopped, realizing there was blood on his hand from where Luciano had banged his head. Hurriedly, he wiped it on his slacks before opening the door to a very loud, very Latino blonde, still banging at hte door as if it was there. Afonso caught one of his fists. "Whoa-- whoa, calm down! Who are you, now?"
"S-soy Martín Hernández," the Argentine replied, swallowing and stepping back, pulling his fist away. "W-where you have my n-novio?" he asked, frowning. "He is short and very estupid and probably flirt even with trees."
He looked pretty furious, but Martín thought ever-so-slightly more logically than the Brazilian; he was pretty sure the only threat Afonso was was a threat to, well... a small fly, even if that.
SO MUCH ESPANGLISHfoundtheindiesJuly 16 2011, 06:50:34 UTC
Novio? That meant boyfriend. (God knew he'd heard it enough times back at home.) Wrinkling his nose, Afonso quickly connected the dots and opened the door, pointing to the Brazilian sitting by the coffee table and looking at Martín, deadpan. "I'm assuming he belongs to you?"
...And then it hit him. Afonso had blood on his hand, and Luciano had some on his head from when he fell.
I'M LOVIN' IT. TIME FOR PAINFULLY BAD SPANISH THAT WILL PAIN ME TO WRITE.nas_tintasJuly 16 2011, 07:03:56 UTC
"Tincho?" Luciano chirped from the floor, scowling as a trickle of blood ran down the side of his face. He wiped it away irritably with the back of his hand.
"¿Por qué estás aquí? Ah ...estás...estás perdiendo también?" he offered the question with an uneasy smile, unused to speaking in Spanish.
"Pero pero pero!" he continued, "este es el tipo que me secuestraron y, probablemente, hizo lo que quiso con mi cuerpo inconsciente!"
He grinned widely for his namorado and leaned forward to stage-whisper conspiratorially.
"PORQUE ESTAS SANGRADO!?" Tincho yelled, grabbing Luciano's cheeks and rubbing at his forehead with his sleeve. "Carajo, mierda- que asco, Luciano- you kidnap him?!" his attention shot to Afonso immediately.
"You kidnap an idiot? Are you a 'pimp'?" he asked, growling. "Estop that- you can not steal him!"
Well. He gauged that one about right. Although from what he could pick out with Luciano's comments--something about kidnapping and bodies, neither of which could be good--it was probably about ten times worse.
Staying calm, Afonso held his hands up as if saying no harm, no foul. "I don't know what your boyfriend's telling you, but he's lying. He bumped his head on the table, and that's why he's bleeding. And I'm not a pimp."
Making a mental note as to how full his liquor stock was, Afonso sighed through his nose, explaining for what felt like the millionth time today, "He just showed up on my doorstep. And now you're here. Hopefully to take him home."
Luciano glanced between his recently-arrived..."boyfriend" and his unwilling elderly host, choosing to gnaw on his thumb nail rather than try to follow the conversation they were having.
In English.
"Can I finish my feijoada while you two do...whatever?" he piped up in Portuguese, unknowing of the blood that was starting to slide down his face again.
"Take him home? Pero-" He stopped, looking absolutely mortified.
He hadn't told anyone where he was going. He hadn't taken account the exchange rate. He hadn't even bothered to notice, until now, that there was no /way/ Afonso could have kidnapped Luciano when it would have taken much, much longer to get to America and Martin had seen him the day before.
"Lu.ci.a.no." Slowly Martin turned around and slammed his hands on the coffee table, starting to speak in Portuguese. "{This is your fault! How did you even get here?! We don't have any money and all of the Americans are going to kill us!}"
Wincing mentally for the poor boy, the Portuguese waited for Luciano to convert the number on his phone, sipping from his Somal and watching him turn colors. "So, I'm guessing you don't have enough. Well, there's no way to get to Brazil besides flying, so.."
So, this was awkward. Stroking his beard as he thought, Afonso weighed their options. "It seems like you're out of luck. Or.." The journalist winced a little, his barebones wallet already singing in pain. "..I guess I can pay for your flight back. But you have to wait until I get paid at the end of the week."
Reply
Alone.
With the pau who had kidnapped him.
His reluctance showed on his face as he toyed with the (weird looking) feijoada on the plate in front of him, pushing the (weird) white beans from one side to the other.
"A week? Então, that means I have to put up with...a week of roofie stew, weird feijoada, some old guy who doesn't know what refri is, and estupid weather?"
Luciano shrugged.
"Sounds like the university dorms."
Reply
This kid was going to cost him an arm and a leg. He tried not to think about it as he picked up Luciano's empty can and went to go throw in it in the trash. "I have an extra room across the hall from mine you're welcome to, I guess.. And I'll take you shopping or something for some clothes that aren't for sub zero. Are you sure you didn't bring anything..?"
Reply
Luciano pushed the weird white beans around a few more times before fixing Afonso with a penetrating stare.
"So how did you get me through customs? Or were you like a pirate and did the boat thing? Do you have a jar of dirt just in case?"
Reply
"And no one's waving around guns, promise. Liberty is actually pretty boring most of the time." When weird things weren't happening. "So be grateful. You've got a safe place to stay for a week. The only threat here is the dog, and he's more like a teddy bear than an animal."
Reply
He grimaced as he accidentally dropped his fork to the ground and leaned down to pick it up.
"What's the bigger joke," Luciano muttered, "is him saying that I'm safe with hi--OW."
Luciano's head collided with the underside of the table with a loud bang, causing him to let loose the foulest string of slang and swear-addled Portuguese in the western hemisphere.
Reply
That sounded painful. Afonso set his cup down and started to get up, moving to go help Luciano. "Are you o--madre de Deus, watch your mouth!"
...That probably wasn't something he was supposed to say to another adult, but Afonso couldn't help scolding him, and he moved across the table to put his hand on Luciano's back. "Please don't give yourself a concussion, jeez."
Reply
Jodienda, the Argentinian thought, {I have to speak English...}
"Oy- LISTEN! I am not knowing who you are, but open door right now or I will open!" Martín Hernández had managed to track down Luciano with the GPS chip on both of their phones. "LULUZIÑO!" he cried, hammering his fist against the door and forgetting that was an embarrassing name.
"I say, open door! Luciano, if they hurt you- if is your fault, te voy a matar!"
Reply
Getting to his feet, Afonso went to open the door and stopped, realizing there was blood on his hand from where Luciano had banged his head. Hurriedly, he wiped it on his slacks before opening the door to a very loud, very Latino blonde, still banging at hte door as if it was there. Afonso caught one of his fists. "Whoa-- whoa, calm down! Who are you, now?"
Reply
He looked pretty furious, but Martín thought ever-so-slightly more logically than the Brazilian; he was pretty sure the only threat Afonso was was a threat to, well... a small fly, even if that.
Reply
...And then it hit him. Afonso had blood on his hand, and Luciano had some on his head from when he fell.
This was going to look very, very awkward.
Reply
"¿Por qué estás aquí? Ah ...estás...estás perdiendo también?" he offered the question with an uneasy smile, unused to speaking in Spanish.
"Pero pero pero!" he continued, "este es el tipo que me secuestraron y, probablemente, hizo lo que quiso con mi cuerpo inconsciente!"
He grinned widely for his namorado and leaned forward to stage-whisper conspiratorially.
"Yo lo llamo el hombre un viejo."
Reply
"You kidnap an idiot? Are you a 'pimp'?" he asked, growling. "Estop that- you can not steal him!"
Reply
Staying calm, Afonso held his hands up as if saying no harm, no foul. "I don't know what your boyfriend's telling you, but he's lying. He bumped his head on the table, and that's why he's bleeding. And I'm not a pimp."
Making a mental note as to how full his liquor stock was, Afonso sighed through his nose, explaining for what felt like the millionth time today, "He just showed up on my doorstep. And now you're here. Hopefully to take him home."
Reply
In English.
"Can I finish my feijoada while you two do...whatever?" he piped up in Portuguese, unknowing of the blood that was starting to slide down his face again.
Reply
He hadn't told anyone where he was going.
He hadn't taken account the exchange rate.
He hadn't even bothered to notice, until now, that there was no /way/ Afonso could have kidnapped Luciano when it would have taken much, much longer to get to America and Martin had seen him the day before.
"Lu.ci.a.no." Slowly Martin turned around and slammed his hands on the coffee table, starting to speak in Portuguese. "{This is your fault! How did you even get here?! We don't have any money and all of the Americans are going to kill us!}"
Reply
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