GONZÁLES ! / * 🤠

🤠 pedro pascal & he/him/cis man ‷ watch out , MANUEL ‘MANU’ GONZÁLES has crash-landed into roswell !! they look forty four years old and celebrate their birthday on august 31st. they are from scottsdale, arizona, reside in greystone complex and are currently working as the owner for puhlman ranch. one thing you should know about them is that : he is the son of immigrants, an exceptionally good cook & your local cowboy & animal lover. ‷

—loved by sof ( she/her, 22, GMT-6 )

euphemisms , idioms and common phrases flew in one ear and out the other . sarcasm was something the oldest cannon never learned nor understood , and so his wrinkled eyes squinted in response to manuel’s words . his right-hand man , striker would have done anything in order to bring in business .. and that included parading around in a blonde wig and fake breasts , despite his personal vendetta against the queen of country . “ well , i ain’t much of a singer , captain , but i’ll sure as hell try . i know the words to a few cash songs but i ain’t the biggest lover o’ dolly . can we try dressin’ me like the man in black instead ?? “ it would be the first time striker had ever worn a real suit , and likely the last — unless somebody took one for the team and fell in love with him . for that moment , he wouldn’t hold his breath . “ that’s one fine name for a horse you got there . tennessee’s finest , “ the cannons couldn’t be more obvious ex-tennessee citizens if they tried . a dust cloud obscured his vision , and in that flash of sandy smoke manuel had disappeared like some cheap magician’s trick . “ you’re a fuckin’ — just ‘cus you’re my boss don’t mean you can fight dirty !! “ but manu was already out of earshot , having left striker in the dust of jack daniels’ hooves . the cannon code had taught the oldest brother of morals , of the true meaning of fighting fair , yet being born with swinging fists had equipped him with the materials to fight back . boots scuffing the famished ground he abandoned the children ( for their parents would find them eventually , right ?? ) in favour of the barn , grabbing the first set of reins his eyes focused upon , single-footing the stirrups to throw himself onto the back of one of their many horses . with shrill hee-yaw the reins were pulled taught , speeding from the barn , his steed sprinting at full pelt to catch up with the competitor . growing up with two brothers , there was a competitive streak that ran as deep as their shared DNA ; manu might not have been one of striker’s siblings , but he was held in his crosshair like one . hooves slamming against ground , he was soon within yelling distance , “ — don’t fuck with a cowboy , boss , or you’ll get stung !! “

a man of many charms and the joking demeanor that rolled off manuel’s tongue was still to be considered a phenomenon that occurred under rare occasions. still, it was no surprise that he would loosen the knots that kept his authority posture on display— the mighty owner of puhlman’s ranch— when he rode next to his partner, who he have learned not to underestimate in the least. “ why, striker, the cheesy lyrics rub ya off the wrong way or what? ” a click of his tongue, lips twisting to hide a playful smile. “ sure we can. black hat to match ‘n all— but i’ll have to herd your admirers all the way t’ the other side of the ranch, ” while he took pride on his ability to call unwanted attention whenever he visited the local bar, he knew a stetson could easily steal some looks. call it experience— or bad luck. another pat to the horse’s mane, pride in his features at striker’s admiration for the name, before he makes the run for victory.

a lame move, manu knows, for the man of honor he swears to be, but he knows it’s all fun & games— until he tugs at the wrong nerve & he hears the cowboy’s string of curses chasing him. he laughs, of course, because he has the upper hand in the situation. had it been the other way around & the only son of the gonzáles not used to the sibling banter would be muttering the same curses as the older striker. he pulls at the reins  &  hooves momentarily dig into the ground, a couple blocks away from the main busy street, both the mount & the cowboy come to a halt, allowing their chaser to catch up. “ aye, ” peeking over his shoulder with a grin that plays off his innocent demeanour, daniels slows down on his jogging. “ don’t taunt a snake or you’ll get bitten! ” a laugh strikes the air & he tips his hat, both horses now walking side by side. “ you gotta get those reflexes up n’ running, my man. you’re lucky ‘s me who you’re bettin’ with or someone might just make the most of you runnin’ slow, ” a shake of his head & a pat on the shoulder, one an older brother would give the youngest. “ ‘m kidding. let’s get you a drink. ”

   jack  of  all  trades,  master  of  none.  isn’t  that  the  old  adage?  the  former  moniker  has  been  attached  to  april  for  as  long  as  she  could  remember,  dating  back  to  volleying  her  way  through  several  different  jobs  around  seattle.  she  insists  it’s  a  lesson  in  balance,  though  a  more  discerning  eye  might  question  her  outright  refusal  to  settle  into  one  job  —  a  curious  mirror  to  her  evasive  romantic  life,  though  she’s  even  more  defensive  about  that.  fun,  everything  in  life  ought  to  be  fun,  and  if  that  means  late  nights  at  rocket  radio  followed  by  early  mornings  at  feel  good  records  or  afternoons  walking  dogs  then  so  be  it.  she  doesn’t  need  to  master  anything  if  she  doesn’t  intend  to  say  for  too  long,  right?  just  passing  through,  always  her  favorite  line,  but  she’s  forgotten  when  it  stopped  being  true. 

                  all  this  and  more  had  been  quietly  dwelling  in  her  mind  as  she  awaited  manu’s  arrival,  his  sleepy  canine  dozed  off  in  her  lap  while  she  idly  sipped  on  discounted  wine  from  the  liquor  mart.  it’s  a  reverie  she’s  thankful  to  be  broken  from  when  she  finally  catches  a  knock  at  her  door,  though  it’s  the  heavy  drag  of  his  boots  that  really  gives  the  cowboy  away.  “mm,  pop’s  here,”  she  coos  to  sweet  marshal,  whose  only  response  is  a  muted  yawn  and  a  lick  to  the  palm  of  her  hand.  it’s  only  when  she  rises  to  her  feet  that  april  notes  that  she’s  comfortably  tipsy,  humming  patsy  cline  as  she  saunters  towards  the  door  and  attempts  to  fix  a  frown  on  her  face.  “and  just  who  do  you  think  you  are?  i’ve  been  waitin’  up  all  night  for  you,”  she  eases  into  the  role  of  a  jilted  wife  easily,  but  she’s  only  capable  of  keeping  the  ruse  for  a  moment  longer  before  dissolving  into  soft  giggles.  “nah,  it’s  no  problem.  marshal  happens  to  be  my  favorite,  though  don’t  go  telling  the  poodles  at  the  park  about  that,  okay?”  she  steps  aside,  ushering  manu  inside  and  beaming  when  his  pup  approaches,  tail  wagging  and  all.  “looks  like  someone  missed  you,  even  though  i  ought  to  snitch  and  tell  him  you  were  having  fun  without  us.”  she  wrinkles  her  nose  and  offers  a  playful  pout,  lightly  pinching  the  man’s  shoulder  before  swaying  her  way  towards  the  kitchen.  “you  can  make  it  up  to  us  and  stay  for  a  drink,  though,”  april’s  already  pouring  herself  a  fresh  glass,  mischievous  gaze  fixed  upon  him  in  gentle  challenge,  “unless  you’re  too  tired  from  all  that  business  of  yours.”

freelancing around life had always been an easy choice, the most comfortable without a doubt. when it came down to both consistency & commitment to be part of manu’s life, he was certain there was still a long road ahead of him— like lazy horse riding down a path towards the horizon of an uncertain future, he dwelled between moving fast, not settling down, keeping himself busy with anything & anyone. but that, much like the stories april had kept to herself, were a story to tell over a drink. in the end, it was no surprise the lonesome cowboy was untameable ( a dramatic way to describe himself but one he had heard many use when referring to him— amongst other terms )

the untamed soul makes its way up the stairs, boots lazily dragging against wooden floor  &  when the door swings open & it’s the woman playing the role of concerned wife that greets him, a laugh erupts from his lungs. fine, he thinks, your husband is back from war. “  ey—  really? & here i was thinkin’ you’d be one hell of a happy widow if i didn’t come back  ”  he slides the hat off in chivalry,  dusting it off with one hand  &  shaking his head with a chuckle.  “  lips are sealed, sweets.  how can you not love this face?  i can’t blame ya ”  squatting down to greet the pile of fur, scratching behind his ears just the enough amount of time to earn a few licks to his own face, manu finally stands back up to his feet. “ me having fun without either of you? nah, ” lips twist into a playful pout, one that mirrors her own. “ if you wanted to herd our new girls from one side of the ranch to the other— you could’ve given me a call, mhm? we’re always in the need of extra hands ” & while that was true, he knew that he worked better off alone. head tilts to one side at the pinch of his shoulder— to him, a goodbye that was to set him on his way. he leans down, adjusting the collar around marshal’s neck before he pauses at the offer. an eyebrow raises, playful smirk playing on his lips. “ ay, cariño— me duele. bold of you to assume i’m too tired for a drink ” he dramatically places a hand over his chest, following her into the kitchen to lean against the counter. “ i’d bore you out if i told you about my business. tell me ‘bout your day ”

location : puhlman ranch

summer striked the desert like the devil himself had strode into town, heat waves rising from concrete & soil, dissolving into the suffocating air. with that time of the season came waves of tourists eager to know the supposed crash sites & while manu considered himself to be patient ( when he wanted to be ) he wasn’t the one to give tours. not to tourists, that is. locals, on the other hand— there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to earn a reputation. a selfish thought maybe, but one that had paid off throughout the years he had lived there.

today, showing off what the ranch could offer during those trying times of summer was at the top of his list as he showed mia around. after walking from one end of the terrain to the other, manu comes to a halt infront one of the many barns, hands placed on his hips & his head cocked to one side. “ alright, querida, eso es todo. ” he concludes the tour, “ these are the stables, where we keep the best of our best. ” he smiles, proud at the small wooden building & the animals inhabiting inside. one glance to his horse & he pats his side. “ the kids will love ‘em… do they know how to ride? do you know? ” a genuine question, one that naturally sounds like a challenge or the start of one of his infamous bad ideas.

ADIYA: Aww, you're welcome.. and I can't speak for that handsome stranger but I'm a boss ass bitch too. The Nicki Minaj and PTAF remix version.

ADIYA: There is nothing romantic about doing it behind an arcade unless Pac-Man gets you off. Which, hey, more power too ya.

ADIYA: I have charm!!! As well as a GPA that is out of this world and a MAGNITUDE of underwater creature facts that would knock someone's socks off on the first hook up. Pun intended.

MANU: the handsome stranger who shall not be named lost his bonus boss ass bitch points when he left me hangin'. you've got the lead! i gotta listen to that remix now.

MANU: hell no, no, not pac-man. the neon lights maybe? they can set up the mood just right if you try hard enough... well, damn. why am i talking about this with you?

MANU: i ain't sayin' you don't! romance takes a lotta charm & i dare say you're on the right road.

location : galactica gift shop

locals, visitors, tourists. manu commonly found himself fascinated by all the different kinds of people that he had gotten the opportunity to meet in the small town of his. well, it wasn’t exactly his— he hadn’t been born nor raised in roswell but those memories & whatever threads that still had him tied to his hometown back in arizona were soon to be cut off. for a man like him, honoring the life he was building by himself meant far more than remembering what his life used to be. perhaps he still felt homesick, feeling like a tourist more often than not, & maybe that was the reason why he enjoyed visiting tourist attractions, to allow himself to stare in both awe & wonder like he didn’t know anything about the place he now called home.

& because he liked the places tourists frequented. they were fun. much like the point of interest his ranch had turned into because of his & his men’s efforts at drawing the attention, the galactica gift shop remained a busy establishment where he could satisfy his guilty pleasure of browsing through the ugly souvenirs & the curious faces of the visitors that couldn’t seem to decide on what to buy. with some luck, he also thought he could even charm a tourist with that infamous sweet talking of his. he is looking around the store until one of the customers catches his attention— the newest face in town, he clearly remembered her moving in a couple months ago. “ i’d stop thinking twice n’ buy both— the cap and the shirt. the alien green matches your eyes. ”

kannika bats those butterfly lashes to heaven ,      flashing her  impossible doe eyes  ,     black as stray in a backalley ,    and just as reliable  .      the flames of a smile flicker about   ,       only ever a spark ignited by those implications ,      and her clawed hands loosen its grip on his shirt ,     not guite releasing him from its clutches just yet  .   “    luck      is just the planning you don’t see !     if you’re sweet to me ,     i promise you only the   good kind .    ”      she purls ,   the corners of her mouth reeled into an impish ghost ;     rumors are just another weapon to yield in order to get what you want ,   after all .    she’d rather let the wolves feast on bullshit than keep them starved .     “    are you telling you don’t have a horse for us to flee on?   with that moustache?   —- that’s disappointing .   i was hoping for a memorable exit .   ”

he is looking at her almost too incredulously, falling for the catch far too easy. “ aha, sure. i’ll be sweet to ya just ‘cause i don’t want in whatever you’re involved in, ya hear? ” he spins around almost too graciously, his back now facing the inminent intruder & his hands resting on top of hers. not as broad as the rest of the men in the market but enough to cover her in case a punch is delivered, manu stands as an improvised protective barrier. just great. “ you sayin’ i’m not a real cowboy? i have an alien horse parked on the back, ” he cracks a joke, loud enough for her hunter to hear, pearly whites peeking from behind the moustache. “ i can’t promise a memorable exit but— it’s a heroic save, if you ask me, ” he begins walking away from the man breathing down their necks. “ what d’you do to him? ”

a long silence outstretches between them ,   extending an invitation for quiet understanding to take a backseat  ,   nearing the borders of tranquility .   she tips back her chin ,    rabbited nose upturned ,   mouth slightly agape ;      as though there’s a question hanging at the tip of her tongue :     “     what about you ——   will you write one for me ?   ”    docility unspools from velvety tongue ;   pleading almost  ,     undeniably coquettish .    intrusions such as these seldom go amiss from adelaide’s little black book ,    in which the smallest of infractions can result in the crulest of punishments  .    she keeps count of every look ,   every forgotten appointment ,   every dismissive gesture others might brush off like a speckle of dust .      the truth is adelaide loves doling out punishment ,     like an old testament god    — except she’s decided  ,   on whim ,    that she likes this one .  in a heartbeat ,         an unspoken invitation to flirt with danger ,    spindly fingers drop her own glass into the mouth of the abyss below ,   reaching beyond the bridge of his nose to snatch his own instead ,    close enough to assault it with its feminine fragrance ,       “     cheers ,    ”      the cold rim cushions against pillowy lips ,   strong notes of oak and caramel immediately detected .   her tongue favors sweetness ,   it’s true :    bellinis , cranberry cocktails ,    white russians if it’s feeling spicy!  —   or does it ?  maybe it’d merely been easier to convince her body into accepting pre-determined assumptions and infused expectations without so much rebuttal .     regardless ,    that whiskey is    his   &   therefore ,  she wants it  .    wants it because it doesn’t really belong to her .  because nothing will ever hold a candle to making something your own  .    

victory sets on him momentarily, satisfied smile playing on his lips. if he had prevented her from falling into an abyss of uncertainty with those words, he would take the win with no hesitation. “ i am no songwriter, darlin’, but— ” words hang in the air, a melodic hum rising to fill in the doubt. manuel gonzáles was a man of many talents & while singing was definitely not one of them, his pride was heavier than the feeling of embarassment. random melody surges in his mind & slips out through his lips, “ i’m alright with a slow burn. takin' your time, let the world turn~ you’re gonna do it your way, it'll be alright, if we burn it down & it takes all night, it's a slow burn~ ” another victory— to his ears, that is— adds to the imaginary scoreboard in his head that strokes his ego. tongue tentatively runs across his teeth beneath his lips, savoring the taste of the drink that would be long gone when his lips dip down for the last sip— for the last few drops of happiness, like he likes to call them. even as one of the few pleasures of life after a day under the suffocating heat of the new mexican sun is stolen from him, he doesn’t falter. a raspy chuckle escapes his lips, eyes shift into a glare at the swift & clean steal, a bold move, even for someone like himself. “ you have one feisty spirit, querida ” an obvious observation, shoulders fall in defeat as his payment is slid through the bar. “ you wanna steal somethin’ else? ”

“ hey , hey !! those hay bales ain’t for climin’ . what d’ya think this is , dollywood ?! “ the cowboy’s voice was hoarse from rounding up tourists like they were sheep ; he had been herding strangers from one side of the ranch to the other , showing them routes to the ‘ supposed ‘ crash site that wouldn’t trample the crops , ensuring big bertha ( his best friend in cow form ) was calm despite unfamiliar visitors . although him and his brothers never did visit the country queen’s tennessee theme park before they left he imagined dollywood wouldn’t stray too far from the squealing , clambering youngsters begging to pet the chickens of feed the goats — striker wasn’t cut out for the marshalling of children , instead preferring the hard labour of slinging manure or repairing faulty wooden fences . hauling one of the many little ones off the steps of a tractor , dark eyes caught the attention of his boss . “ howdy , cap’n . i reckon they ain’t got one brain cell shared between ‘em . they’d probably fall for a big green horse — go grab some paint from fornax and get slappin’ , then charge ‘em a dollar entry . “ filthy palms patted against at thrifted levi’s . a tip of his wide-brimmed stetson bid farewell to the kids at his feet , those sticky fingers that tugged at his snakeskin boots or failed , thanks to comedic height differences , to swipe the hat clean off his head . “ i’m sick of these damn cooter-flutes gettin’ their paws all over me , i’m in . we ridin’ ?? “

an airy laugh strikes the air at the mention of good ol’ dollywood & even if manu hadn’t been there himself, ironically enough for a man like him, he knew he & his men could do something better with the ranch. “ take out your wig, maybe a button up blouse— you’re singing next time they’re here. we gotta keep the entertainment fresh. ” a wink, one that leaves up to striker’s instinct to decide if he was being serious or not. for a moment, mind wanders off in the possible refurbishment of the property— bright lights adorning the trees & the long due tourist center settled by the entrance. how horrible. if he wanted to work at a theme park, he would need to have patience & when he hardly managed to look after his child, ( that little scruffy lookin’ border collie he insisted was his own blood ) that wasn’t something for him to ever consider... so he just left striker to deal with the little  gremlins  around the ranch. a fair deal.

as said cowboy hauled the children off the hazardous places of the property, manu politely smiles to the trasspassers. “ you bet i will. we could make a fortune! don’t think jack daniels here would mind, aye? ” another pat to the horse’s mane & he smiles. most of the time, he didn’t care about the money— but on days like this— “ cooter-flutes? don’t let ‘em hear ya, ” a laugh as he gives him a nod, playfulness starting to seep into his eyes. “ yeah, we ridin’… last one there buys the round, ” a click of his tongue as he sets the rules of the game they had played far too many times. “ on three. one… three! ” & he unfairly takes off, galloping away with mind set on ( hopefully ) his price: striker cannon inviting all rounds.

location : greystone complex

the familiar sun at high noon was relentless, pale brick blocks of the complex blurred through the waves of rowswell’s afternoon heat. manu had grown familiar to the suffocating weather, it had never really bothered him, but he was glad whenever it dispersed when night fell. even on days like this, when he would come back home later than expected, way past midnight. tanned skin roughened as he worked his day away under the rays of sunlight at the ranch, all while his trusty companion was left behind in any available apartment with anyone willing to dogsit— one certain girl being the unusually most motivated to take up on the task.

as he jogged up the set of stairs & with marshal as the least of his concerns, his mind seeks for a reasonable excuse that would make him sound less of an irresponsible dog dad. knocking on her door, hands slide into his pockets as he keeps pondering at his excuses— ‘my horse tripped’. he has no time to scoff to himself when the door is opening, brown eyes widening. “ heyy… ” he exclaims in a sing-song cadence, casually leaning against the doorframe with a guilty smile. this wasn’t the first time manu had lost track of time nor the last time april was going to have to deal with his lack of an organized work schedule, but that still didn’t mean he didn’t feel pressured to offer an apology. or an attempt at one, that is. “ i know i was supposed to come back four hours ago, but… ” tilting his head forward to hide a grin, “ y’know, business—” what he really meant was staying up until late sitting on a porch somewhere in the ranch, perhaps drowning a bottle of whiskey & completely forgetting about his four legged child. he looks around the small apartment from his spot on the doorway, shoulders shrugging, “ i’ll pay you double for stickin’ with that fleabag longer than agreed, yeah? ”

location : puhlman ranch

another day, another supposed alien sighting had dragged the unlucky amount of far too many tourists into the ranch & even if that was a not so foreign thing to see for the men working there, it did mean having to ride from one end of the terrain to the other, making sure no fanatic jumped where they weren’t supposed to— preventing the animals from being scared away— but it also meant having some fun. dealing with tourists was manuel’s best & most common argument to justify taking a well deserved break, make up some alien stories the tourists might as well just buy & get himself & his men a drink. any opportunity he could find to do anything close to any of that, he’ll take.

“ ey, people— keep movin’. nothin’ to see here, ” one hand waves around absentmindedly while the other grips the reins as he stirs on the horse, away from the people to face striker. he is grinning cockily, pearly whites shinning like a revolver before a bullet is fired. “ if they keep this up, i might dip jack in green paint n’ call him an alien horse or somethin’, ” patting said animal’s side with an airy chuckle, he briefly leans over the saddle, eyes squinting under the sunlight. “ you wanna head out, compadre? call it a day? ‘cause i certainly do. ”

starter: open to everyone! @roswellstarters​​​ location: go wild

“   sorry—- sorry!   actually —- do you mind standing here for a minute?    thanks, ”      she takes advantage of the collision, angling her lean body in such a way as to make it disappear behind the shape of them.   usually she’d be far more courteous, but desperate times…  the big guy heading this way still looks  pretty mad  .    “   you have a very nice back, you know?   ”

the inertia caused by their bodies bumping into one another sends manu stumbling forward before he can even make up the face of the woman behind him  &  once he does,  he can’t help but frown.  “  ah,  shit.  they  are  sayin’  that  you  keep  bringing  bad  luck  around  town—  &  i’m  not  the  one  to  believe  in  rumors  but…”  ironically enough,  he finds himself playing her sidekick  &  complying to her request as he stands still.  “  huh,  thanks,  cariño.  you  might  wanna  jump  on  it  if  that  guy  starts  lunging  towards  us,  though— ”

starter: open to everyone! @roswellstarters​​ location: go wild

darling adelaide  ,     less girl - more fragment with each passing day  ,     waltzes across the room like a haunting ;    pale and cold  ,    hoarfrost in her eyes   &    velvet snow curdled into ball-joined shoulders ,    heels never quite touching the ground  .      she stretches her tiny fingers with the utmost grace  ,     murmuring through the damp rim of her glass ,    “     i was thinking :     if I fell from up here ,   i’d make a wonderful muse ,    don’t you think?   everybody loves a dead girl .     ”       casual detachment robs the morbid observation of its power ,    she sounds ,   instead  ,    almost intrigued  -  like a sheltered child dipping their toes into the pool for the first time .     neck long  ,    spine straight ,    she’s looking  ,    waiting ;   though for what ,   it’s anyone’s guess . 

brown eyes reflect both intrigue & concern, one unusual pair of feelings that the rather mysterious aura surrounding the woman is easy to draw out of the man. fingers tap against the bar counter with the same calculated moves that she makes, “ ay, querida… if you want a song written for you, there are easier ways to get a dedication, ” tone is comforting, as always— as words are met with a tilt of the hat he wore to get a better look at her pale complexion. “ nothin’ lasts forever, that’s true— so we gotta enjoy it while it lasts, right? cheers, ” his own glass of whiskey is lifted & tilted towards her own in expectancy.

for: @roswellstarters​ location: forbidden planet

“Don’t even think about it, that’s mine!” A laugh escaped Nick as he announced this to the person on the opposite site of the comic store, one hand pointing towards them in a playful accusation. He meant nothing by it, but he did really want what was in their hand and he had just been told it was the last one in the store. “What do you want to hand it over?”

hands raise in defeat as manu is caught redhanded— not entirely, in his defense he is doing nothing yet (the day was still young) but holding the very priced possession: a mini figure made to be displayed on a shelf, not to be a dog’s new chew toy like he intended. he looks over the stand to where the young man stood, chuckling at the offer. “ you got me, kiddo… maybe a duel to the death? a gunslinger fight? ” he is joking, of course, because he knows he wouldn’t stand a chance against his trained aim— or so he hoped for the sake of his own ego. “ maybe tell me what d’you want it for & i’ll think about it, yeah? ”

His heart catapulted to the confines of his throat as soon as he felt the elevator quake. “Shit–” he gulped, his words in unison with whatever it was the man before him said, his hand meeting the wall to his right. Judging by how quickly he knocked on the doors, Elias wondered if he’d been claustrophobic as well. Or maybe he just had a fear of elevators. Either way, this was precisely the situation Elias had wanted to avoid. Fate was an asshole, apparently.

“Uh, yeah,” he laughed nervously, his throat tightening, palms beginning to perspire. Haunted? Not likely. Walls closing in? Absolutely. “So, uh, I have this fear of tight spaces and um,” he gulped. “Yeah this is a bit of a nightmare for me. I mean at this point, if I faint, then I faint, right? Would save me from having a full-blown panic attack I guess. So, yeah, if I faint,” he shook a hand to signal nonchalance. “Just leave me there.”

the hospital was haunted, he knew it was haunted. it had to be. the cabin being brought to a halt made his head sting— or perhaps the new stitches had been stinging that bad & he had just realised it just now— either way, manu presses the ice pack further against the side of his head with a shrug. “ oh, ‘m sorry. this your first time in one of these then? glad to be sharing this memorable moment with you, ” he offers him a loopsided grin before knocking on the metal doors once more.

he then chuckles at the other’s dramatic explanation, reaching a hand over to rest it on the man’s shoulder in the poor attempt to bring at least some sense of comfort. “ ey, hombre, you’ll be fine. don’t threaten me like that. if you faint, i’ll have to carry you out & i’m not that fit. ” he presses the emergency button, which elicits a buzz from the panel but no answer. “ i’m manu, by the way, ” giving the situation where they apparently had no other choice but to wait in each other’s company, he assumes starting a conversation might do the trick of keeping both of their minds busy with something else. literally anything else. “ what brought ya to the hospital today, mister—? you alright? ”