"He cooked," is Boba's response. It's not refuting Miguel's guess, but if he wants to believe that's all there is to it, he's free to.
Boba finishes arranging the knives and goes back to the closet. It takes a moment of digging, it's really shoved back in a corner, but he does grab something large and round-ish. He holds it protectively in his arms, covering as much as he can, but the silver and blue paint, and the range-finder sticking out the top, is hard to miss.
He stands in front of the altar. After a moment of hesitation, he places the plastic replica helmet in the center of the higher tier with a reverence that doesn't fit the cheap toy in his hands. It's perfectly framed by the candles he set out earlier. He fusses with it for a moment, wanting it to be displayed as perfectly as possible.
Boba drops his hands to his sides. He doesn't turn around to face Miguel.
"I'll need a lighter," he forces his voice to stay neutral.
no subject
Boba finishes arranging the knives and goes back to the closet. It takes a moment of digging, it's really shoved back in a corner, but he does grab something large and round-ish. He holds it protectively in his arms, covering as much as he can, but the silver and blue paint, and the range-finder sticking out the top, is hard to miss.
He stands in front of the altar. After a moment of hesitation, he places the plastic replica helmet in the center of the higher tier with a reverence that doesn't fit the cheap toy in his hands. It's perfectly framed by the candles he set out earlier. He fusses with it for a moment, wanting it to be displayed as perfectly as possible.
Boba drops his hands to his sides. He doesn't turn around to face Miguel.
"I'll need a lighter," he forces his voice to stay neutral.