Bobo might tell you he's damn pretty and don't forget that. It might come with a lot of alcohol, but he might still say it.
"What? I'm not allowed in civilized house?" He takes it wrong that he's not allowed in the Inn at all. "Is it because I'm in night clothes?" Fighting through that cultural line, not getting it because he's measuring this world by the world he's known.
He pokes at the thing on his wrist. "How is that..." He frowns, this being the first thing he's truly found an issue with. Most the rest at least generically made sense to him.
"No, you don't get to stop like that. Come on, Mexican. Try and tell me there's something I don't look good in. Even this," he says, tugging at the scrub top. "You can't name anything."
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"What? I'm not allowed in civilized house?" He takes it wrong that he's not allowed in the Inn at all. "Is it because I'm in night clothes?" Fighting through that cultural line, not getting it because he's measuring this world by the world he's known.
He pokes at the thing on his wrist. "How is that..." He frowns, this being the first thing he's truly found an issue with. Most the rest at least generically made sense to him.
"No, you don't get to stop like that. Come on, Mexican. Try and tell me there's something I don't look good in. Even this," he says, tugging at the scrub top. "You can't name anything."