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"So they are alright then?" Travis seemed absorbed enough in his new gear that it probably wouldn't be a problem. That was fine. Armando would not have minded spending money on Travis, but it was good to know that he probably wouldn't be the sort to try to weasel money out of him. He'd met people like that, and even though he'd eventually figured out their motive for sticking so close to him, Armando had still been unable to refuse them anything they wanted.
He tilted his head, trying to see Travis' face, as if that would hold some clue as to what his assistant was thinking, but couldn't between the slight gloom and the angle of the man's head.
Armando set the lamp on the counter next to the bundle of things, ridding the area of the last patches of shadow. He craned his neck, eventually leaning over the counter to peer up under Travis' bangs.
"You're bright red, you know." Armando pointed out helpfully, the frowning face somehow reassuring, though what he was being assured of, Armando did not know.

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"You're a b*****d, you know that?" Armando winced, clutching his chest.
"That hurts, you know," He said, but he was grinning again. Armando watch Travis absently, his elbows propped on the counter top, all thoughts of work having flown from his head from the time his new assistant had set to work on the old car.
He liked watching that deep red color crawl up Travis' face from somewhere under that heavy scarf he still wore. Maybe it was a little bit sadistic to enjoy watching him squirm, though metaphorically speaking, as he didn't think he'd ever catch Travis actually squirming, and he would probably loose his eyes to the man if he ever did.
Armando straightened, flinching as the joints of his right hand clipped his jaw. He would have to be more careful about that. He sighed, though not unhappily.
"We should get some dinner." Sure it was a little early, but it wasn't like the food would hurt. Besides, Armando was, for once, not in a mood to spend the evening working over a hot engine, not when it was already this warm. Once again, he wondered at how Travis could keep that scarf on this late in the summer. Working together all day, almost everyday, they would probably end up eating many meals together, so they might as well get accustomed to it now.

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Distracted from thoughts of dinner, Armando took the napkin. For a moment, he was unsure of why Travis was giving it to him, not having noticed that he was bleeding. He glanced between the napkin and his assistant quizzically, before noticing Travis' gaze resting on his face. Quickly he pressed it to his jaw, almost embarrassed that he couldn't even handle the mechanical hand he'd had for almost six years without injuring himself.
"Thank you," He said, a little sheepishly, glancing down at the napkin. He was relieved to see that he had only nicked the skin. That aside, Armando's thoughts returned to food.
"It does please me. Food pleases me. " Armando said seriously, or as serious as a man with a napkin pressed against his face and a far away expression could look. His head perked up as he thought about it.
"I know this great place with spicy food, if you like it. Though I suppose that is a stall, not a restaurant... They've got great shrimp ceviche though. What do you like?"

((Sounds like a plan. I'm so excited - I got my flash program in the mail today! Sorry, that was irrelevant.))

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Cat? That seemed rather unusual to Armando. He couldn't think of a single place that... Oh. There was that crossing of the arms, that slight downward tilt to the head. Sarcasm. He supposed that working with Travis would teach him to know the difference, but until then he felt that his life would be full of these small confused moments.
"Then to Picante's it is," Armando announced with a dramatic flick of the wrist, failing to notice the mood Travis had fallen into, though it might be difficult to tell one surly expression of his from another. Leaving the now dirty napkin on the counter, thinking he could would just throw it away in the morning (though it was this theory that kept his kitchen in the filthy state is was), Armando crossed to the front door and stuck his head out.
Though the day had been hot, the evening was balmy.

((Yes!))

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Unlike other stalls, Picante's was just barely popular enough that it could afford to stay in the same general area. For regulars, like Armando, this was helpful, though at this point he was following his nose more than his sense of direction.
Armando did not notice how uncomfortable Travis seemed, though he did catch a few vendors craning their necks to get a second look at them. He just smiled and nodded occasionally, assuming that they were only looking for business. If anything, he was surprised that the vendors were not being more pushy, something they often were.
The corner of his mouth twitched at Travis' name for him. He half hoped that it would not stick, but had the uncanny feeling that it would. He may have gotten out of 'Junior' as a child, but his luck with nicknames seemed to have ended there.
"How, in the name of all things dark, are you always so happy?" Armando thought about this for a second, a little thrown off my the question.
"Funny, no one's ever asked me that before." He said, scratching the back of his head with his right hand, as he chose his next words.
"I guess I just don't like being sad." Armando explained with a shrug and a smile. He was naturally a cheerful person, always had been. Except for that one time. Unconsciously, Armando let the mechanical hand fall to his side.

((I think so.))

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Picante's was easily recognizable, as it was painted an accosting purple with a brights green trim and 'Picante's' written in orange on the front. A man with a slightly bored expression and a cap pulled low over his hair, was helping a woman with a toddler balanced on her hip over a built in counter.
"They've got good shrimp ceviche," Armando repeated, turning his head to the side to look at Travis. He paused, confused by the pastry that had appeared in his assistant's hands. His eyebrows came together in bewilderment and he opened his mouth, about to ask where Travis had gotten it, only to think better of it.
Instead he stepped forward place his order. The man behind the counter waved at him, with a little smirk and a roll of the eyes, producing a large piece of wax paper, which he expertly rolled into a funnel and filled with the ceviche without consulting Armando. Apparently he knew what he already knew what his customer was about to ask for.
If he did not finish it quickly, the juices from the dish would soak through the bottom of the funnel. This had never been a problem for Armando though, even with only the tiny, flimsy, wooden paddle no larger than his thumb. He always made quick work of it.
Armando thanked the man, and returned to stand next to Travis.
"Do you know what you want?" He asked, a small piece of avocado already in his mouth.

((Is that Galythia-code for "let's do something exciting?"))

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It was spicy, but not in a burning sort of way, not to Armando at least. If there was some hurt to the dish, it was a good hurt, in the way alcohol burning the back of one's throat did not stop one from drinking it.
When he was a child, his aunt used to make a ceviche with fish instead of shrimp, but they would not have it often. Fish was a questionable substance when you lived miles from the sea.
Shoveling the bits of shrimp and vegetables into his mouth distracted Armando enough not to object to Travis' paying. It was he who had offered that they eat out, so he ought to pay, but by the time he had noticed, it was too late.
"Y'didn' hav t'do dat," He mumbled around the mouthful. Armando swallowed hastily, holding the makeshift paper cup in his right hand, while digging in his left for the coins in his pocket.

((...Because I know you so well? What kind of exciting things are we talking about? There is some irony to the spicy food situation here...))