Milo tapped on his empty wine glass sadly. He wondered what kind of hand gesture you performed in western Europe to signify you wanted more alcohol. He looked absently towards where the server had went, until Lucina called his name. He made a grunting noise when she paused, and then finally turned to face her. Seemed she knew him too well, he would’ve gladly ignored her if not for the fact that she had made eye contact with him. He learned over the table, one Slavic eyebrow raised skeptically.<br/><br/>He seemed to mull over her request about requiring help, as if wondering if he could add anything scathing while he simultaneously agreed to her requests. When he could come up with nothing, he nonchalantly shrugged, and was about to say something, when Vicente decided to tell Lucina not to worry. His eyes narrowed a bit, and then followed Lucina as she tilted her head towards him.<br/><br/>“Of course I’ll help,” he said with just enough sincerity to make it believable. “And then afterwards, we can both relax. It will be nice.” He kind of side-eyed her a little bit as he finished what was left of his wine, which was nothing but a sip after he’d downed it and realized he wasn’t drinking hard liquor. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, because he was classy like that.<br/><br/>What Milo didn’t let show was the fact that he gripped his sleeping-aid a bit tighter than he would have normally while the airplane was descending. He didn’t like heights, and therefore, didn’t like flying. Once they had successfully landed, he beat Lucina on purpose to the door, and then stepped to the side as if to allow her to go first.<br/><br/>—<br/><br/>“Oh, you know,” Eli said with a shrug. He actually didn’t know what he was doing because he had only heard snippets of what was actually going on, but he wasn’t going to make that something that Drake could taunt him about. “Heard there’s a meeting going down. And, I know, that you know, that we know—yes, it’s for the clans. But I feel like I would be missing out on some things if I didn’t go, so. Here I am, in the good ol’ US of A. DC still has the pothole problem, I see,” he muttered absently. He graciously accepted his boomerang, and slung it back into a little holster he had for it on a belt that was hidden way under an oversized shirt.<br/><br/>Eli turned his head slowly when Drake snapped at him about living here. Ah, right. Drake was American—how could he forget? Eli made a mental note to put that into his mental notes. And then the stream of insults started. “Ooh,” Eli mumbled, feigning being offended, and then gave them both a small smile. “Sounds like someone missed me. And no. I don’t think ‘shit’ will go down. Hopefully not, or, yes, I will leave immediately. I have a bit of a record where longevity is concerned, and I really don’t want to break it.”<br/><br/>Eli’s stream of retorts were cut short when Mariko spoke up. Instead of speaking, he just nodded quietly. While he didn’t look to pick fights, messing with Drake once a decade was just too fun, and Mariko was always a joy to be around. He wasn’t going to end it there quite yet. He watched them walk off, and then tailed behind them, his braid bobbing with every step he took. “Where’s quiet, exactly?” he asked, wondering if they had anything in mind.