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[fabienoliveira-blog]

It was night. It was quieter like this. Gentle. Fabien found it incredibly ironic that the only time he could successfully plan a riot was when everyone else was quiet. No cares. He found Callista in her room, presenting a bottle of mezcal as he entered (what was a plan without the drink?), and shrugged off his blazer. He unbuttoned his sleeves at the wrists, rolling them up, one a time, as he commented, “Everyone is going to think we’re sleeping together.” Maybe it was better that way anyway.

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[fabienoliveira-blog]

[fabienoliveira-blog]

[fabienoliveira-blog]

Fabien’s eyebrows lifted, forcing amusement onto his features as he attempted to wither the panic. Perhaps a semi-private room was not the place to lay out the latest plans from the pending revolution, but... he’d tried to make due with the little time he had. He gathered the papers together as quickly as possible, stuffing them into the manila folder he’d used to carry them. “Wedding plans,” he said, realizing just as quickly that she would, likely, want to see them. “My mother’s ideas. They’re terrible. Something involving dyed blue roses and a mariachi band.”

“What on earth are you doing?” Klarisza asked, brows furrowing as she watched on. She had simply been looking for a familiar face, and hadn’t been expecting to walk in on…well whatever this was.

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Marlon Teixeira by Gui Paganini, Made in Brazil