angel, rogue bastard
he / him
twenty-six
july 21st
alto mare, johto
heterosexual
pilot
nautica owner
TAG WITH @angelo
angelo vestri
[nospaces] [attr="class","angelo"] “I hate to break it to you but if Razz can’t call me – someone with zero authority over him – by my first name, then you’ve got no chance.” A hand, daring to venture from the confines of his pockets, reaches out to give the head ranger a pat on the shoulder. Less of a gesture of comfort and more of a wishing of luck. ‘Tough shit’, it seems to say, ‘you’re stuck with it and you know it.’ [break][break]
Angelo grins, “you’ll be Mr Anderson forever, even after you retire. I can bet on it.”[break][break]
Would Angelo prefer that Raziel Beckett called him by his first name? Absolutely. He definitely wasn’t going to give up on trying to get the young ranger to kick his overly formal habit when addressing him but, as of yet, he hadn’t reached the level of frustration to threaten physical violence. Unlike some.[break][break]
“Well apparently, according to the source himself, she’s already punched him,” a soft laugh clouds from his lips, remembering his first meeting with Razz and the subsequential conversation that floated around the topic of a certain Miss skyler dross . On how the teenager had looked nervous when he asked Angelo not to tell her that a ‘Miss’ had slipped past his tongue, all the while rubbing at his arm where a phantom pain must have lingered. “Eh, she’ll never actually deck him. Can’t say Razz’s arm muscles will survive for much longer if he keeps it up, though.” [break][break]
Listening as Lars begins to explain his theory on why the wild pokemon hadn’t attempted to take a bite out of his vegetable patch, Angelo rocks on the balls of his feet and occasionally shifts his stance, attempting to get feeling back into his frozen toes as they stand idle. Fuck, it was cold…. How Lars wasn’t shivering with his hands hidden in warm pockets like he was, was beyond him. Guy must have a good tolerance. [break][break]
“And that’s why you’re the boss ranger,” he muses, cold lips curling. “Lars, the musk connoisseur.”[break][break]
He reaches out to take hold of Orion’s scruff as the adventurous (and foolhardy) Lycanroc starts to sniff towards Lar’s carrot; pulling her back before her tongue has the chance to become welded to the frozen vegetable. [break][break]
[break][break]
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