Koa
There's an art to life's distractions
It's Koa's second day of his extended stay in Torchline, and already he's feeling like his chest is lighter, the weight of heartache (and the respiratory stress of living at high elevation) eased by cheerful seaside air. It's also hot, which aggravates Pipsqueak to no end and is new and somewhat unpleasantly stick for Koa, but honestly? Could be worse. He's been delighting in almost everything: the way the water curls on his bare calves, the refreshing taste of a cold coconut, the sensation of sand beneath his toes.
Not that there's much sand to be found on the Rainbow Road, and Koa, naive outsider that he is, has already cut his feet on the lava rock more than once due to being thoroughly unprepared.
And then there's Flora. He'd expected to see her during his time in Torchline, would have (eventually) even sought her out, but to find her here here? Right now? Carefully... arranging... fruit...? Koa knows he ought to leave her to whatever this art project is, but he's deeply curious now, and also kinda lonely.
So he continues walking up behind her, figuring the splashing of his feet is enough to alert her he's there. He tilts his head to the side curiously, as he watches though his eyebrows rise from beneath his shades when she starts to maybe remove her shirt. "You do know you're in public, right?" Koa is one to talk: his short-sleeved shirt is mostly unbuttoned, and his shark-print bottoms are doing their very damndest to live up to the word short. Still, it seems terribly rude to let her strip in front of him. Unless she wants to, in which case, he certainly shan't complain.
Not that there's much sand to be found on the Rainbow Road, and Koa, naive outsider that he is, has already cut his feet on the lava rock more than once due to being thoroughly unprepared.
And then there's Flora. He'd expected to see her during his time in Torchline, would have (eventually) even sought her out, but to find her here here? Right now? Carefully... arranging... fruit...? Koa knows he ought to leave her to whatever this art project is, but he's deeply curious now, and also kinda lonely.
So he continues walking up behind her, figuring the splashing of his feet is enough to alert her he's there. He tilts his head to the side curiously, as he watches though his eyebrows rise from beneath his shades when she starts to maybe remove her shirt. "You do know you're in public, right?" Koa is one to talk: his short-sleeved shirt is mostly unbuttoned, and his shark-print bottoms are doing their very damndest to live up to the word short. Still, it seems terribly rude to let her strip in front of him. Unless she wants to, in which case, he certainly shan't complain.
To somehow escape the burning weight, the art of scraping through
