+- Court of the Fallen (https://cotf-rpg.com)
+-- Forum: Out of Character (https://cotf-rpg.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=26)
+--- Forum: Important (https://cotf-rpg.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=27)
+---- Forum: Archives (https://cotf-rpg.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=38)
+---- Thread: tryna get my Usher on but I can't let it burn (/showthread.php?tid=11928)
RE: tryna get my Usher on but I can't let it burn - Flora - 08-26-2025
Flora bites the inside of her cheek, a smirk curling like smoke in the corners of her mouth as her eyes glint over at him. [say]"Space is almost never what I actually want,"[/say] she purrs, dragging the words out as if it’s a confession, sultry and sharp all at once. Then again, Kaisel probably didn't need Flora to spell out that particular lesson; the past few weeks had been one long, chaotic example of just how she reacted when she was left on her own.
His flick of water earns a shrug and a wicked glint. [say]"Seems like having your mouth open’s gotten you in trouble again—"[/say] SNAP.
Outside, Flora's yelp has several hels suddenly taking flight from where they were perched on the Sugartide's mast. She squeals, half-laugh and half-offended gasp, the sound catching in her throat like it’s afraid of what else might follow. [say]"FUCK,"[/say] she coughs, hand flying to her ass as if expecting to find shrapnel embedded in the denim. [say]"Did you just—?! How dare you!"[/say] She spins with righteous fury, eyes wide and scandalised. Apparently, Jack’s weren’t going to be the only bruising marks on her body that Kai would find.
[say]"You want spice?"[/say] Her eyes flash as she lunges, snatching the nearest weapon within reach—a spatula, naturally—and aims a sharp, vengeful whack at his arm. [say]"You’re lucky my daggers aren’t nearby, or this cheese would be your last supper."[/say] Whether or not the peppers and meats survive the counterattack is on him. Flora’s ass has declared war, and she's prepared for hunger to be a casualty if it means victory.
RE: tryna get my Usher on but I can't let it burn - Kaisel - 08-26-2025
So she just called him a mouth breather, huh? The snap is 100% deserved.
The sound of the hit is satisfying, but nothing could top the curling pitch of her indignation. It's a victory he'll laugh about for days on end afterwards whenever he reimagines it, making everything that follows more than worth it.
His wolf's smile is the only response to the wide eyes that rise with all the fire of revenge towards him, stoked so hot it's nearly impossible to catch the familiar sea-green beneath the red glow. A sharp, terrified laugh erupts in answer as to how much spice he'd like, the board of pepper and meat suddenly feeling like a shield of cardboard being lifted against a torrent from a dragon's mouth. He jumps back as her spatula swings—the nacho toppings cartwheel through the air, some scattering into the pan, the rest tumbling to the counters and floors as edible confetti.
[say]"GaaAAAah!"[/say] he cries out as the metal connects with his forearm, not fast enough to evade her wrath. [say]"But it's not even supper time!"[/say] he blurts out unhelpfully as he backs up, waving his cloth back and forth like nunchucks that he would not be opposed to whipping at her tit if it came to it. Unfortunately her kitchenette doesn't provide ample space for a war, so his retreat is cut short by the bump of a counter behind him. Cornered. [say]"I can kiss it and make it better,"[/say] he tries to reason.
RE: tryna get my Usher on but I can't let it burn - Flora - 08-26-2025
As toppings go cartwheeling to the floor like fallen soldiers in a noble sacrifice, Flora doesn’t even flinch. Let them fall. They were pawns in a much larger war, and frankly? Cheese and chips were the only true allies she needed. The hot sauce had better pray it didn’t betray her lest it too be subject to her wrath.
She stalks forward like a queen who’s spotted rebellion in her kitchen and plans to quash it with a spatula and a smile. The whack to his arm had been satisfying, yes—but not nearly as much as the sight of him cornered, cloth flailing in a feeble defence that she tries to interrupt with another sharp strike, this time aimed at tangling up his weapon entirely. [say]"You started this,"[/say] she hisses, raising the spatula like a sword. [say]"And I refuse to accept anything less than your complete surrender."[/say]
His back hits the counter and her grin turns near-predatory. The offer he throws out lands between them like a clumsy white flag, and she laughs—a short, incredulous bark of sound that says oh, you wish. [say]"Kiss it better?"[/say] she echoes, arching a brow. [say]"With what? That mouth that can't even keep sand out of it or handle heat?"[/say].
RE: tryna get my Usher on but I can't let it burn - Kaisel - 08-26-2025
He whips her second strike away with the towel, successful at dodging another welt, but at what cost? The fabric wraps around the handle that connects the spatula head, such that when she yanks back she disarms him. A wiser man might lift his hands in a plea for mercy, but he's never been accused of wisdom. He also knows she is usually distinctly lacking in mercy—this is a queen that would see heads roll, especially his.
His attempt to kiss up and make up flops, rudely so, which only steels his resolve. There's no negotiating with terrorists like her. He might have lost his towel, but he has not lost his will to fight. A simper sweeps in, scattering all his fear with a gleam to his eye. [say]"Surrender?"[/say] he says with all the delivery of Scrooge at Christmas bah humbugging. [say]"Never."[/say]
He stoops suddenly and dives low, one knee hitting the floor, a viable sacrifice (as only youth could ever think). He surges back up, arms grabbing for her legs, intending to throw her waist over his shoulder like a fireman done arguing with an irrational victim. This would perfectly put her ass in range of his reach, after an adjustment of his hold, something he means to take advantage of with a series of swift spanks, one for each word. [say]"I could happily show you what my mouth can do."[/say]
RE: tryna get my Usher on but I can't let it burn - Flora - 08-26-2025
As Kaisel dares to defy her demand for surrender, Flora lifts her chin with dangerous elegance, the corner of her mouth curling into a smirk that spells certain doom. Her voice drips with mock-sweetness, the kind of theatrical cruelty reserved for villains poised to activate the laser—smooth and smug, all menace dressed in honey. [say]"Ahh,"[/say] she purrs, stretching the syllable with delight, [say]"so you’ve chosen death, then."[/say] She barely has time to enjoy the villainous flourish of it before he drops. Straight to his knees.
[say]"What the fu—"[/say] is all she manages before she’s snatched, flung up and over his shoulder like a sack of rebellious flour.
[say]"KAISEL!"[/say] she screeches, legs kicking in a flurry, more bird than queen now, rattling like a parrot locked and shaken in a cage. Her palms slap against his back for balance or punishment—unclear which—as her ass becomes the battlefield, each smack punctuated with her increasingly outraged shrieks. [say]"Oh? Besides get you in TROUBLE?"[/say]
Well. Two could play that game.
Her fingers dart low like striking vipers, slipping down the back of his pants with wicked purpose. She finds her prize—the waistband of his underwear—and yanks. A full, merciless, textbook wedgie, drawn up with all the righteous fury of a woman wronged and a queen dethroned. Her laughter peals out like bells over a battlefield, victorious and entirely unrepentant.
[say]"That’s for manhandling your queen, you toad."[/say]
RE: tryna get my Usher on but I can't let it burn - Kaisel - 08-26-2025
His grin is something else entirely, curling with all the devious success of the Grinch that's just hoisted up a tree instead of a queen. It's effort to combat each flail in order to land his palm against the curve of her cake, laughter splitting through the drum of each word as her strikes pitter patter across his back like angry rainfall. [say]"Punish me then, Ro,"[/say] he teases, utterly drenched with a low smoke of suggestion. It ends up being more the foreshadowing of his own demise, the inevitable downfall of his arrogance and foolish belief he's untouchable.
The feel of her little racoon fingers digging around at his waistband makes him still for a moment, head turning into her. [say]"Floraaaa,"[/say] he warns, bouncing her up a bit to disrupt the ploy and jostle her, but she's already snagged what she needs. [say]"Do no0000000000000aaai!"[/say] His words climb into a yelp at the absolute cinching that occurs around his balls, immediately crippling him. It's all he can do to flop her towards the counter as he sinks back to his knees, bending over them as he sucks in a breath while both hands clutch and claw at the vice of his boxer briefs around his groin.
He can't talk, he can only suffer.
RE: tryna get my Usher on but I can't let it burn - Flora - 08-26-2025
Had Kaisel not already wound her up past the point of mercy, had he not slapped her ass like a war drum and hoisted her like some screeching, writhing prize, she might’ve actually considered punishing him the fun way.
But alas. This was a war he started—and Flora was a queen who finished things.
As he groans and curls in upon himself like a wilted fern, she stumbles forward from the unceremonious drop, landing in a half-spin against the counter. One hand reaches back instinctively to adjust her jeans—still stinging—while the other delicately claims a chip, still cold and half-covered in shredded cheese. She crunches into it with theatrical flair, her victorious little hum almost drowned out by his wheezing suffering behind her.
[say]"Oh noooOoOooo,"[/say] she murmurs around the chip, voice full of false sympathy as she turns toward him, [say]"You know better than to start something you can't finish with me."[/say] The nachos—no longer even pretending to be anything more than dairy-coated carbs—are gathered up and tossed unceremoniously into the oven. She shuts the door with a decisive clang, brushing her hands together like a job well done.
Then, she glances back over her shoulder at the mess of a man doubled over in her kitchenette. [say]"Want me to call Spice?"[/say] she asks sweetly, innocence painted all over her features like frosting on a poisoned cake. [say]"She could ice your balls for you, and by the looks of it, that's the only amount of heat you can handle."[/say]
RE: tryna get my Usher on but I can't let it burn - Kaisel - 08-26-2025
While she munches away he rolls onto his back, resorting his junk and its containers back into something that's not quite so castrating. With the gut-wrenching ache of the assault still unwinding through him, he's content to starfish on the floor, head flopping over towards her, gaze leaping from spilled pepper to abandoned bit of meat. [say]"Is it finished?"[/say] he wonders with a dizzying lilt to his voice, normally reserved for pulling off the Sound of Music spins in fields.
He can't quite tell if spice is actually being offered as a suggestion for help, or just in answer to his question, which is a resounding no. Since he can't quite picture her subjecting Spice to being his personal ball-cooler, he's safely certain it's the latter.
[say]"No, no,"[/say] he lifts on hand and it flops weakly at the wrist with the words. [say]"I'm good. Just need. A minute."[/say] The temptation to pick up a pepper and flick it at her is one he resists in favor of laying still and not throwing up.
RE: tryna get my Usher on but I can't let it burn - Flora - 08-26-2025
[say]"No,"[/say] she snickers, tossing her curls over her shoulder with a self-satisfied little flair, [say]"you started your nonsense before I even got it in the oven. So unless your death throes can preheat a cabin to melt cheese, we’ve still got a few minutes."[/say]
She flicks the dial on the oven and leans against the counter with a huff, arms crossing lazily as she casts a glance down at him. The image of Kaisel starfished out like he’s just been felled by a mighty beast—and not, say, his own hubris—earns him nothing but a theatrical roll of her eyes. Honestly. She has(d) two brothers, and given their penchant for dramatics anyway, she couldn't really believe getting hit in the junk hurt that much.
[say]"Gods, men really are so dramatic,"[/say] she sighs, drawing it out like she’s mourning a great tragedy while she rifles into a drawer and pulls out a bag of gummy worms. With the rustle of plastic and a purposeful shake, she gives it the same energy one might use to summon a spoiled dog with treat incentives. Rustle rustle rustle.
[say]"So sad though,"[/say] she coos, plucking one from the bag and dangling it from her fingers. [say]"If you weren't tragically deceased on my kitchen floor, I'd offer you one."[/say] She chews the gummy like a bite of victory, licking a bit of sugar from her fingertip as she hums with exaggerated regret. [say]"Alas."[/say]
RE: tryna get my Usher on but I can't let it burn - Kaisel - 08-26-2025
Although he meant is she finished, with her abuse, he's glad for an update on the nachos because it seems to answer that yes, she is—for now. Always the caveat.
He scoffs, because if the pot isn't calling the kettle black right now. [say]"You don't even know,"[/say] he mutters, because women never seem to understand how even the lightest tap feels. Of course this very exploitable weakness is one all boys take advantage of, always playing sack tap when riled up as a group. One could argue it teaches quick reflexes to defend the precious region, but he had not practiced evading atomic wedgies.
Golden retriever that he is, Kaisel's gaze snaps to the familiar sound of a particular package. His eyes widen a little, and he pops his mouth open expectantly for her to toss him one, a performing sea lion begging a fish despite doing no tricks except lounging. Instead, wicked woman that she is, she holds them hostage. His mouth closes into a stubborn frown, just for a moment, before he can't hide the smile that replaces it. It's the way she claims the last bit of sugar from her fingertip that really does him in though, and with a groan he crawls back up to his feet, using the cabinetry for support. [say]"Alright,"[/say] he mutters, [say]"I'm up, I'm up."[/say]
He spills across the counter beside her, leaning heavily on one hand propped up against it. [say]"Worm me,"[/say] he requests, sticking his tongue out as a gummy receptacle.
RE: tryna get my Usher on but I can't let it burn - Flora - 08-26-2025
She doesn’t move to kneel beside the wounded soldier. Flora may have impulse issues, but even she knows better than to fall for that particular bit of theatre. Especially not when the gummy worms work their sugary necromancy exactly as expected, resurrecting him from the linoleum like some floor-bound Lazarus.
By the time he’s staggered his way upright and leaned in with that lazy lean and his tongue stuck out like a floppy shoehorn, she’s already tearing open the bag again. [say]"Gods, the things I do for you,"[/say] she mutters with an exaggerated roll of her eyes that’s thoroughly undone by the small, helpless smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.
For all her sass, though, she doesn’t tease this one. Doesn’t shove it too far back or aim for his tonsils, doesn’t even try to surprise him with some little prank halfway through. Instead, she simply offers him the worm—pinched between thumb and forefinger like some sacred sacrifice—and lays it gently on his tongue. [say]"I accept your surrender,"[/say]
Glancing at the casualties strewn across her floor, she heaves a sigh that only the most long-suffering of women could achieve. [say]"I should have known you’d make a mess,"[/say] she mutters, moving to stand at the base of the stairs. [say]"Spice!"[/say]
The white dragon appears like a small frosty goddess, haloed by a shimmer of cold and all the attitude of a pampered cat. Flora gestures toward the scattered toppings with a hopeful tilt of her chin. [say]"Does any of this interest you?"[/say] The look she gets in return is pure disdain. A huff of cold mist, a turn of her elegant little head, and Spice disappears with a flick of her tail that makes her thoughts very clear. [say]"Mmh. That’s what I figured,"[/say] Flora sighs, shoulders slumping theatrically as she pads down the short hallway. [say]"Dustpan it is."[/say]
Before she disappears fully from sight, she calls back over her shoulder, [say]"Can you check and make sure the cheese isn't burning? And don’t burn yourself—mitts are in the drawer,"[/say] And even if he couldn’t see her smirk, it’s in the lilt of her voice. The way it curls sweetly around the warning, somewhere between teasing and care.
RE: tryna get my Usher on but I can't let it burn - Kaisel - 08-26-2025
He is not so foolish as to point out there's plenty of things she's done to him that make the deposit of one gummy worm barely a pinky's worth of effort. No, because that'd be blowing the battle horn again, and he'd much rather be fed candy like a Greek God than army crawl through her kitchen in search of a safe bunker. Besides, she could just as easily accuse him of the same. [say]"Your generosity truly knows no bounds,"[/say] he lavishes instead around the slow chew of his gifted treat, none the wiser to the bullet hell of ideas that'd run through her mind, each one surely a strike that would have demanded payback, even if to his own detriment.
His gaze trails after her as she moves to the stairs, the sight of her leaving certainly one he could get used to openly watching, the only upside to the departure. [say]"I think it took two to make this mess,"[/say] he offers as he snags another bite from the bag. He dangles the candy into his mouth while absently rubbing off a piece of meat from the bottom of one foot with the edge of the other.
Amusement settles as Spice very expectantly turns her nose up at the floor garnish, which he doesn't blame her for one bit, he'd barely been excited to eat to the ingredients before they hit the deck. Sliding off the counter like Shamu retreating from its platform as they divide and conquer, he shouts back, [say]"I'm always on fire, I thought you knew that!"[/say] He does have a tendency to burn himself though, just, verbally. That's just because he's always cooking. Again, verbally.
With an affectionate tilt to his own features, a chest-lightening sigh granted into the space she leaves behind, he rummages through a drawer or two before spotting the mitts. Equipping them like a wooly lobster, he peeks into the oven. The cheese has begun to bubble and sweat, and the edges are a crispy gold that will burn soon. He rescues their lunch from the heat, setting it to cool on top and turning the dial off. He cannot help but reach for one chip though, yanking it free with a tiny pinch of his fingers, the hot oils forcing him to start learning juggling as he tosses it back and forth between his hands. [say]"Hot hot hot hot,"[/say] he breathes, before shoving it into his mouth quickly, wincing against the burn as he barely chews before swallowing. [say]"They're good!"[/say]
RE: tryna get my Usher on but I can't let it burn - Flora - 08-26-2025
She wrinkles her nose down at him in fond judgement, a glimmer of amusement dancing in her eyes as she descends upon the kitchen once more with the broom slung like a sceptre. His flattery is as thick as melted cheese and twice as greasy, but hey—she’ll take it. Lip service is still service, after all.
[say]"Oh you do, do you,"[/say] she chirps sweetly, pointedly ignoring his accusation of mutual mess-making. She starts sweeping, each motion a bit more forceful than necessary. And if she just so happens to swipe at his feet a few times in the process—well. A thorough cleaning is a queenly standard, and someone had to get in those hard-to-reach places. There might be sand, after all.
She pauses only to sigh with exasperated elegance as he yelps from the very obvious and predicted self-inflicted burn. Leaning her weight against the broom like it’s a tragic cane, she tilts her head as if weighing her life’s burdens. When she finally turns toward the counter, it’s to see the tray of bubbling nachos—now gloriously golden and not on fire, thank the gods—and she smirks. Reaching out with deliberate daintiness, she plucks a chip by its corner, long nails protecting her fingers from the heat as she lifts it with the reverence of a jewelled dagger. Blowing softly to cool it, her eyes lock onto Kaisel’s with slow, smug delight.
[say]"Huh,"[/say] she says, her voice all mock wonder. [say]"Funny how all of the ingredients I used ended up tasting good."[/say] She takes a delicate bite, savouring the crunch before adding, with a slow blink of faux innocence, [asy]"And all of yours ended up on the floor."[/say]
Turning slightly as she chews, she clicks her tongue and shakes her head like the disappointment is his to bear. [say]"Some lunch you made me,"[/say] she sighs. [say]"Chips, cheese, hot sauce, oven. All mine. You, meanwhile, heroically pulled it out and immediately scalded yourself. Such effort."[/say] There’s a sparkle behind her smugness though, playful and bright. Like maybe the dramatics were part of the flavour all along, not that she'd admit it or allow him to take one crumb of credit.
RE: tryna get my Usher on but I can't let it burn - Kaisel - 08-26-2025
There is definitely sand. It's been calling from inside the house this whole time.
His foot jerks away at the first brush of bristles, thinking little of it. At each continued pass though he ends up dancing with all the same moves of a high noon show down. [say]"Hey, hey!"[/say] he admonishes, nearly losing balance of his lava chip as he contends with her bustling, retreating to the edge of the sink as though she'd been after the space and not him. It at least keeps him out of reach, permitting him to burn in peace.
He drifts back to claim another chip as she plucks one up, only pausing to watch her inevitable taste test bloom into agreement. Instead, she oh so daintily takes a bite into his expectations, forcing out a blustering [say]"W H A T!"[/say] His hands flop up with the effort of taking the bait. [say]"Look!"[/say] He leans over the pan, pointing at a little curled up piece of meat, the sort of crumb you might not realize had even fallen off your breakfast's bacon and remained on the plate. It glimmers with grease all the same, a rhinestone embedded in the cheese. [say]"Some of it made it on, and all of that flavor mixed in,"[/say] he argues, completely unserious but needing to defend himself against the heinous claims.
[say]"Plus,"[/say] he accuses, taking that pointer finger and poking it into her arm. [say]"They're all your sorry ingredients."[/say] The oven had never even been on the table, and a laugh breaks through the faux drama for the ridiculousness of it all. [say]"You're right though,"[/say] and mischief curls at the corner of this new admission as he fetches another mouthful of chip and cheese (and an itty bitty pepper). [say]"Apologies, apologies, your majesty, this meal is unfit for a queen of your standards, so I will do my lowly duty and consume it all."[/say] He sets his back to her, body blocking easy access to the pan.