[SE] Facials gone bad

Time to deck some halls

He's not embarrassed one bit by the novelty-sized candy cane he's picked up on their trip here. It really puts the cane in the candy, what with it being a literal child-sized staff, and it's the absurdity of it that makes it worthwhile. He's ridiculously pleased with it, humming faintly and holding it like a newborn in his arms. "Wanna take bets on how long it takes me to polish this off?" he asks her with the beam of a smile that hasn't fully faded yet. "Although, I dunno if it's gonna make it home, might end up clobbering Declan with it on our patrol if he keeps talking about his coin collection." His eye roll nearly fractures a tooth with the exaggerated force of it.

Dressed for soldier, looking perhaps a bit like a toy one with his massive candy cane, he's on very high-status escort duty at the moment. Which is to say, he's walking Flora to spa appointment in town before starting his work shift, leaving her for a facial appointment that he has definitely had to make a dirty joke about, why do you need to pay for that, I can give them to you for free! He's not going to stand between a woman and her beauty regimen though, and he's definitely not going to deter Flora from any level of pampering, although his offer to resume her treatment at home still stands.

Now, he's no expert, despite what the 4.8 star rating for Spa de Wildering might suggest (always room to grow, 5.0 stars is all bots), but he's pretty sure that spas usually go for the soothing vibe over the blood-curdling screaming vibe. "Uhhhhh?" he says in an excellent summation of the surprise that jostles him as they slow before the grand entrance of Resting Beach Face. "Is that one of the packages they offer?" he's wondering just as a nude patron rushes out the front door, smeared in familiar looking clay, which definitely does not seem normal no matter what their marketing titles are for the screaming exfoliation.

Kaisel

Ho ho ho Bitches

lay your soul onto mine

Flora casts a look back over one shoulder, the corner of her mouth tugging upward as her eyes skim Kaisel with theatrical suspicion, because honestly, how on earth did that seem fair when he could simply decide to be right and then bulldoze reality into compliance. "That hardly counts as a bet," she tells him lightly, the words warm with mock indignation as she slows her steps just enough to make the point land, before her expression shifts into something sly and knowing. She leans in close enough to nudge him with her hip, voice dropping into playful confidence as she grins up at him, "I actually think it’s going to be harder than you think," and then, as if conceding the argument with gracious magnanimity, she nods once, lips pressing together in feigned understanding, as though she’s accepted his delusion and decided to let him keep it for now.

When Kai had joked earlier about his own spa offerings, her smile had sweetened into something almost innocent as she'd replied that she knew he could, but that in town they could make a facial last a whole hour, before laughing and kissing away his declarations that he absolutely could do the same.

The scream snaps Flora's attention forward again, her brow knitting as her gaze tracks the clay-smeared, naked blur bolting past the entrance, curiosity sparking brighter than alarm as her fingers tighten around Kaisel’s hand. She hums thoughtfully, tilting her head as if weighing the options, before glancing up at him with an inquisitive little smile. "Maybe it’s a new cardio package," she suggests, tone airy and speculative rather than overly worried, but even so she gives his hand a decisive tug, already angling them closer to the door rather than sending Kai off to his patrols, just in case he and his candy cane could be of use.

Time to deck some halls

The scoff that drags out his incredulous breath says it all, but to be safe, he says it too. "I thought you were supposed to like coming here? Who the hell wants to do cardio?" It's a necessary evil, but it's still evil. Hardly seems befitting a place of luxury and relaxation, but maybe there's a method to the madness. Maybe the package is you get to be the one directing someone else to do cardio, which seems a scenario better suited for a brothel's tastes than a spa.

Easily following the crook of her hand, Kaisel reaches for the entryway door to yank it open and let her through, candy cane momentarily tucked beneath his arm. Expecting the cool kiss of a more climate-controlled space and a buffet for the senses between soft lighting, soothing sounds, and aromatherapy in just the right dosage, the lobby couldn't be further from the opposite. The front desk is unmanned, for one, but streaks of mud coat the floors and splatter the walls like a crime scene trying to stay PG. Potted plants are strewn about and an armchair is overturned and still faintly dripping with residual mud. "What in the Dygra kinda spa is this?"

Fairly certain there's no package that could claim this, he releases Flora's hand as the door swings shut behind them, freeing him to get a good grip on the first weapon he's got available, his massive candy cane. Another wail rises up from around the corner, and to it Kaisel's attention immediately snaps. It's then that the memory mud launches from behind the counter, pulling a clever girl on them. He's got enough time to swing towards it out of reflex, but he only clips the side of it, the rest going straight for Flora's face like a mud mask on a revenge spree.

Kaisel

Ho ho ho Bitches

lay your soul onto mine

Flora huffs an affectionate little sound through her nose, rolling her eyes as she angles her head back toward him, curls bouncing against her shoulders. "I do like cardio," she insists, widening her eyes at him with exaggerated sincerity that immediately tips into playful mischief, the sort that suggests she is being deliberately unhelpful and enjoying every second of it. Besides, it wasn't her fault he still had the lung capacity of a toddler.

When the door swings open, she blinks into the dimness beyond, already braced for hushed lighting and carefully curated tranquillity, for salt lamps and trickling water and someone murmuring about inner balance. Instead, what greets her looks like the opening moments of a horror comedy, all mud-splattered surfaces and overturned furniture, the scene painted in brown rather than red but no less unsettling for it. Her lips part around a confused, half-formed, "Wh—?" just as Kai's hand slips from hers, and she turns to take a better look, eyes tracking the streaks along the walls and the dripping armchair with dawning disbelief.

A scream cuts through the space again, sharper this time, and she barely has time to register the movement beside her before something wet and squelching slaps across her face, cold and heavy and profoundly personal. Mud splatters her cheek and shoulder, sliding down the front of her new sweater in slow, obscene rivulets, and she lets out a drawn-out, deeply offended, "Ewwwuh!" while scrubbing at her skin with the heel of her hand, only succeeding in smearing the mud further. It drips down her arm, plops onto the floor, and she stares at it for a heartbeat in horrified fascination as it begins to glob together to reform.

A heavy crash echoes from deeper within the spa, the unmistakable sound of something large being knocked over, and Flora freezes, mud still clinging stubbornly to her sweater. She exhales slowly, tilting her head toward the noise with grim understatement. "That," she says flatly, "does not sound very relaxing."

Time to deck some halls

"That," he fires back on the heels of her unsurprising claim, half expecting it, "is because you are evil." The look he cuts her tries to maintain a level of mock seriousness, but the twitch of his lips clearly betrays him. Though, there are a couple dozen scenarios that come to mind that speak to her wicked nature, the lead of which is her increasingly inventive ways to motivate him into running with her. He doesn't ride that train of through much further, not when mud station pulls into sight behind the doors. 

Shaking the residue of the goop from his prize candy cane with swift, splattering motion towards the floor, droplets of the muck wiggle where they land. Gradually they bead back together, wombling to rejoin the rest that Flora flung off. "Oh, is that not normally how facials here work?" Amusement glimmers in the edges of his expression, though it falters as the moment breaks apart into another shrill scream. Wilhem, if he's not mistaken.

"I sound the same way during a pedicure," he informs her as he moves towards the cry, purposefully striding through the memory mud mask to disrupt some of its reforming. He brings his candy cane back into swinging posture, crouching into a SWAT operative's crouch as he heads onward. "You got anything on you?" he asks over his shoulder towards her. He figures tucked away knives isn't the typical pre-spa attire, but it is Torchline and she is the queen, so it's a solid 50/50 chance. Otherwise, the front desk's proud, glass award on display looks hefty and usable. "C'mon, let's check it out." All signs point to something very fucked is happening here, so looks like he's clocking in early.

Lights flicker eerily down the hall as he shoulders the door open. One of the steam rooms seems to be held ajar and is sending out a low and steady haze into the walkway, which is making the nearby candle flames dance erratically. His gaze narrows on something large and dark looming at the end of the hall. It's hard to make out through the purposefully poor lighting—very soothing—and the distortion of the steam, but it seems person-shaped, if a bit hulking for your typical man. Maybe that's Viktor, the deep-tissue masseuse. "HEY! You good, buddy?" Kaisel calls down to him.

Kaisel

Ho ho ho Bitches

lay your soul onto mine

Flora wipes at her cheek, smearing rather than removing the last stubborn streaks of mud, and then stills, turning a slow, wry look toward Kaisel with one brow arched in dry appraisal. The implication is very much intentional, and she lets it land, voice smooth and unimpressed as she flicks the final clump from her jawline. "That was about as much warning as you normally give me," she remarks mildly, the corner of her mouth threatening a smile even as she looks down at the ruin of her sweater.

When he asks if he has anything on her, her answer comes easy, confidence curling through it like a promise. "What kind of question is that?" she purrs, already twisting one of her rings free. "It's like you don't even know me." Which was to say of course she did. The gold slips from her fingers and clinks against the floor, and where it lands the air seems to pull itself together, salt-slick and tidal, until a tide jaguar surges into being, all sleek muscle and ocean-coiled menace. Flora steps forward without hesitation, mud still drying on her shoulder, her presence calm and certain as the jaguar falls into an easy prowl ahead of her, both of them moving in Kaisel’s wake.

The sound of his voice cutting down the hallway makes her flinch despite herself, shoulders jumping just slightly, because every instinct she has insists that spa corridors are meant for whispers and murmurs, not shouting into steam and flickering light. Given the screaming, the overturned furniture, and the mud masquerading as gore, she supposes that particular rule has already been thoroughly violated. She lifts her chin toward the jaguar, murmuring, "Go see," and the creature glides forward soundlessly, melting into the haze.

Flora watches closely as it advances, eyes narrowed, mind already considering outcomes. If the looming shape is truly a person, there will be noise, panic, a very human reaction. If it’s another mud thing, then the absence of response will tell them everything they need to know. She exhales slowly, steadying herself, fingers flexing at her side as the horror-comedy tableau deepens around them.

Time to deck some halls

"At least I clean you up after," he quips back, though the long stretch of his grin is unmistakably pleased. Hard to say if it's his own satisfaction of a surprise well done, or if he's grateful for her putting that back in his mind for the time being, content to comb through those home videos of his thoughts despite the ominous threat—maybe even because of it. If he should perish in the line of duty today, let it be with all his warmest memories, and there's an extensive catalogue of them involving Flora in the frame of her bed (or other various locations, the scenery scarcely matters).

With her confident dismissal of his query, his smile deepens into something far richer. Good, he thinks, unsurprised that she'd be prepared but glad to verify it just the same. At the feeling of a new presence, padded footfalls whisper soft behind him, he hazards a quick glance back, spying the prowling ocean cat in all its deadly grace. "Never sure with you," he insists, the foolishness thick enough to notice. "Could be your costume jewelry, could be your killer jewelry," he shrugs with exaggerated dismissal. He also wouldn't put it past her to turn invisible and let the mud get him. She'd step in eventually.

While he lingers on the edge of obscurity, he's more than happy to let the jaguar take the lead now and make friends with big and lumpy up ahead. A feeling of unease is growing more taut with every passing second. Every moment they've come across here so far has felt plainly wrong, and the sensation is growing so thick that surely the audience is screaming at them by now. Kaisel glances warily back at Flora, making a few coded hand gestures that should be pretty clear to understand, not willing to risk his voice now, even if he'd just been shouting. The lack of verbal response is daunting, to say the least, and the form doesn't seem to register the jaguar in the slightest.

His message is cut short as a hand suddenly claws free from the hulking figure ahead, appearing like some struggling metamorphosis. The sight runs up his spine like metal shivering, every nerve on end with wrong. The freed fingers scrabble at the misshapen head, carving back the muck into a gaping hole, the frantic shape of a mouth darting behind the muddy window. It's enough room for the body within a body to suck in a loud breath, then release another wail. The shed mud is already wriggling on the ground, fighting to amble back up the sloppy feet and seal up the open scar.

Having snapped back around to watch all this, a measure of clarity sinks in, to the relief of the viewers. "There's a fucking person inside it!?" Guess that's what happens when the memory mud is remembering a full body soak. "HANG ON!" he bellows out to the person, running through the steamy hallway to get to them, candy cane baton now brandished like a large scraper that he thuds into the wide chest of the creature and yanks down, shaving away some of the mud to try and free the trapped bather.

Kaisel

Ho ho ho Bitches

lay your soul onto mine

Flora smirks despite herself, mud still streaked along her shoulder like some deeply personal affront, and she tips her head toward Kaisel with theatrical restraint. "That’s true," she concedes lightly. "And I'll be sure to write a very strongly worded negative review after this if it isn't somehow made up to me," she adds, tone breezy and indulgent, as though being nearly exfoliated alive is simply an inconvenience to be itemized later.

She rolls her eyes at him with fond exaggeration when he questions her preparedness, huffing softly as she falls into step again. "You should always assume I’ve got something on me," she tells him, raising one brow and flashing him a lopsided grin that sharpens at the edges. "Even when I'm naked." Perhaps especially then. She leaves that hanging deliberately, letting him do whatever he likes with the implications as the steam thickens around them.

The hand signals earn a faint, dubious frown from her, lips pursing as she glances between Kai and the writhing mud. She’s fairly certain that stealth is a wasted effort when the enemy is, in fact, sentient sludge, (clearly Flora is the sort to immediately choose option B anytime a stealth mission is offered) and she’s already on the brink of saying as much when the hulking cocoon shifts in the doorway. Flora halts abruptly, eyes widening as fingers claw their way through the muck, revealing lips and tongue beneath in a way that feels far more like a body horror than relief. Her stomach twists even as she registers the truth of it, the horror sharpened by the knowledge that someone is trapped inside, alive and terrified.

She moves without hesitation, rushing to Kaisel’s side and shooing the tide jaguar aside with a quick, practiced gesture so she can get closer. Her hands come up, fingers digging into the yielding mud around the man’s face as she starts to pry it back, voice dropping into something soothing and earnest even as the words themselves veer shamelessly sideways. "You’re alright," she murmurs to the trapped bather, calm and steady. "We’ve got you. Kaisel’s actually very highly trained in stripping things off, so you’re in excellent hands, and don't be worried about the size of his candy cane, because he’s very handy with it." She shoots Kaisel a quick, unapologetic glance through the steam, lips twitching despite the situation, before refocusing on the task at hand, mud squelching obscenely beneath her fingers as the horror-comedy chaos of the spa continues to unravel around them.

Time to deck some halls

"Oh, I know," he chuckles low, the sound drawn out over a wolfish smile, catching for a moment on the teeth. "You're extremely dangerous nude." He's never once considered her unarmed then, although it's questionable if her weaponry would have the same effect on barely intelligent mud, though that's about what his mind turns into when she's bare-chested or bending over, so maybe nothing stands a chance against her.

It's a good thing they don't need the hand signals he just worked out with her, because everything about her face is suggesting she's become a version of memory mud in the head too. He'll definitely be going over some lessons later, certain this won't be the last time they'll depend on non-verbal communication to arrange a plan. Later though, because begrudgingly she is right, this time. The hand signals immediately fly out the window the moment that flailing arm chops through muck and Kaisel's there peeling away what he can beneath the force of his cane and strength.

The solid mud shell around the man gives way into chunks of wriggling resistance as Kaisel tears pieces off, hucking them to the ground and creating a bakery of mud pies there. Flora's soft skills slip into the void of his focus, offering comfort to the panicked patron trapped within the muddy monster. He's no better than a filling being layered inside a hollow chocolate delight, except this one won't taste like marshmallows and sugar, but rather meat and earth, a flavor that never quite took off in the markets for some strange reason.

He can't keep the slide of his eyes from her as her reassurances tip into veiled absurdity, forcing him to fight back the laugh that threatens to bark out and really betray this rescue effort. "There's concerns about the size of my candy cane?" he queries innocently, brows rising as he glances from the sloughing mud to her for a moment. He flicks the striped rod to the side, splattering more mud like foul gore to the side wall. It quivers in place for a moment before working to regather, already trying to swarm back at the shoes of the man. "I think it's an excellent size." He seems to consider it, holding it aloft for assessment before using it to carve out the rest of the person's trapped arm so they have both hands free to help the process.

"So what happened here?" Kaisel asks pointedly once more of the face is exposed. "Is there more, like you?" The steam room could be a good place for the man to shelter in if they need to keep sweeping more rooms, the heat enough to keep the remaining mud from holding good shape and overwhelming him again. If Kaisel had to guess, he thinks they do need to check on the other areas given the chaotic grunge of mud across the walls and floors that tells a story of multiple struggles. The rest of the staff and customers could be holed up somewhere, trying to avoid this same fate, or could be locked in a battle of their own right now.

Kaisel

Ho ho ho Bitches

lay your soul onto mine

Flora’s mouth quirks immediately, brows bouncing in unrepentant agreement as she shoots Kaisel a look that very clearly says yes, obviously, because if being dangerous nude is a crime then she has been guilty since the day she was born and shows no interest in rehabilitation.

She keeps working at the mud around the man’s face, fingers slick and sure as she peels it back in obscene, squelching ribbons, and somehow manages to glance up at Kaisel with a smile that is wildly inappropriate for a crime scene. It’s all teeth and heat and shamelessness, like they’re standing in line for cocktails instead of rescuing a man from becoming artisanal spa sludge. "It just looks so big," she says mildly, shaking her head as though this is a completely reasonable observation and not a calculated escalation. "That can be intimidating for some people." Her hand slides along the bather’s newly freed shoulder in a slow, grounding motion, voice softening with deliberate reassurance. "I only meant I didn’t want him getting nervous. You clearly know what you’re doing with it."

The man, unfortunately for everyone involved, is entirely immune to the tone, the subtext, and the aggressively striped metaphor looming over his shoulder. Flora keeps peeling the mud back in slick, stubborn sheets as the man finally finds enough air—and composure—to spill everything at once. "I didn’t even want to be here!" he blurts, the words tumbling over each other in a breathless rush. "This was a terrible idea. I hate spas. I told her I hate spas, but no, apparently I’m ‘holding tension’ and ‘need to relax’ because my brother’s getting married in the morning and everything has to be perfect and this was supposed to, I don’t know, fix me?" His voice cracks somewhere between outrage and panic. "I just wanted to go back to the hotel. I just wanted a nap."

Flora makes a soft, sympathetic sound in her throat, the kind reserved for people who have been profoundly wronged by fate, mud, and pre-wedding expectations, her hand still moving in slow, steady reassurance along his shoulder as if to anchor him back into his own body. "Okay," she murmurs soothingly, still focused on freeing him rather, the chaos, campy horror lighting flickering over mud-smeared walls behind her as she continues. "Well, we’re going to get you out of this because Kaisel here is a highly trained soldier, and then you're going to have literally the best story to tell at this wedding."

Time to deck some halls

Trying to maintain a game face instead of cracking completely is nearly impossible when he's up against her. She's the MVP of innuendo, the all-star of coy innocence, the undefeated champ of fucking around and not always having to find out. It requires plunging his fingers into this mud bath-gone-mad and de-gloving the stranger to maintain any level of composure; the cold, wet, and gross goop is as close to ice water he can get about now. "It is big," he agrees, the it in question currently docked between his legs to free both hands for the task of mud removal. "I think the girth is what's reassuring, actually. No doubts about what it'll do."

His counter-attack is cut short as the nearly-freed patron interjects with the status of the spa, which is more irritating than it should be given Kaisel had asked, but it really disrupted the back and forth flow. Though Kaisel listens, even if it's all useless drivel and isn't anything like what he asked for. Fighting back the urge to roll his eyes, he instead props up a hand-shield, so that the movement of his lips isn't visible to tension Tom. "Hates spas???" he mouths to Flora, clearly affronted by the idea. As an employee of Spa de Wildering, it feels personal.

Clearing his throat with the same skill as he's been clearing mud from the man's body, Kaisel picks up on the bedside manner that Flora began, as if co-parenting this whiny, shell-shocked bather and he's just tapped in. "Flora is so skilled with her hands I'm positive you'll still walk away with that spa experience. And hey, I'm betting you'll have the best nap of your life after this." Flashing the dripping man a smile as he helps him peel away the residual muck from his hair. He goes to pat him on the back, but that pulls away with a Jell-O-like consistency of memory mud, which continues to wiggle on his palm, so he quickly wipes it off on Tom's arm. Grabbing for his candy cane again, careful not to whip it out too forcefully towards Tom, Kaisel steps behind him and applies the rod in short, even strokes. He uses it to scrape more of the disrupted bathwater from the places he can't reach alone, the gelatinous pile on the ground growing large and a bit unruly.

"Alright buddy, I think you should sit in the steam room, finish getting yourself cleaned up in there. The wet heat should keep the mud from sticking as well, just close the door so the rest can't get in easily." A bit cleaner now, Kaisel can put his hand fully on the man's back to help guide him towards the steam room they passed down here. He glances back at Flora. "There's gotta be more, maybe we check the mud room first?"

Kaisel

Ho ho ho Bitches

lay your soul onto mine

Flora’s head tilts slowly as the word girth lands, her lashes lowering as she looks up at Kaisel with the kind of flat, unblinking Kubrick stare that promises death. It’s patient. It’s regal. It’s a silent promise of later consequences. She doesn’t get the chance to deploy them, because Tension Tom barrels right on, and Flora’s eyes flick sideways just long enough to catch Kaisel’s mouthed horror. Her brows lift a fraction in response, a tiny omg? written plainly across her face.

Tom, meanwhile, finally seems to register where he is, who he’s with, and the way Flora’s hands are still very competently removing homicidal mud from his person. He glances back at her, something smug and entirely misplaced settling into his expression thanks to his interpretation of Kaisel's reassurances. "Oh," he chuckles, the panic giving way to sleaze with whiplash efficiency. "I didn’t realise this was that kind of place." His gaze skims her in a way that suggests he thinks he’s very clever. "Not one to turn down a happy ending though, especially if it’s on my wife’s dime." His eyebrows bounce, twice, enthusiastically, like he’s expecting applause.

Flora stops moving. Slowly, deliberately, she lifts her eyes from the mud-slick shoulder she’s been freeing and looks at Kaisel instead, utterly deadpan. No smile. No humour. Just a calm, judicial this is on you, because he is absolutely the one who planted that idea and therefore he can absolutely reap what he has sown.

When Tom is guided toward the steam room, still dripping and blissfully misunderstanding the entire situation, Flora follows a step behind, mud drying in faint streaks along her sweater. She watches as he nods along to the instructions, clearly hearing something else entirely. "Wet heat," Tom repeats with a filthy little laugh, nudging Kaisel conspiratorially. "Yeah. I like the sound of that," he adds, eyebrows bouncing again like they’ve got a mind of their own.

Time to deck some halls

Blissfully unaware of the image he's helped sprout, at least at first, Kaisel just happily nods along in agreement with the newfound relaxation that Tension Tom has found. Nailing it as a crisis navigator, it'd seem. Hell, if this is all it takes to settle a grown man, a kid should be a breeze, whenever, if ever, that's going to happen.

It's not until Flora's movements still, like clock hands winding down until time hesitates and finally stops, does the realization fully land. Typically he can catch the innuendos, but this had been his own, born out of innocence and then twisted back around on him with all the same shock and betrayal of mistakenly opening the camera app on front facing view. That kind of place and [/i]happy ending[/i] shift from a five-star spa and a bad day with a silver lining to a teenage boy's fantasy.

His grip tightens on the man's shoulder as they walk to the steam room, features falling from his easy smile to the grim line of an executioner marching with his ward. He might have let it slide there, left some parting remark about manners or the spa's reputation, since he'd been the one to blunder the issue after all. He might've, if not for that sick giggle after wet heat that makes Kaisel's spine curl with enough disgust his toes pinch inside his boots.

In swift reprimand, the hefty candy cane in his hand sweeps out and taps the man's groin. It doesn't take much to drop a man from a ball-tap, although this one is a bit more punishing than the tried and true rite of passage when younger boys attempt it on their friends and equally do their best to dodge it. There's nothing friendly about this peppermint kiss, and Kaisel's grip on his shoulder helps him find his seat that much faster as he shoves down with force. He doesn't release his grip yet, instead propping up a foot on the bench next to Tom and leaning in a touch. He chuckles low at the fun joke, the sound dragged out long and into a sigh while his red and white striped baton taps the edge of the seating with warning.

"I think, if you want to leave here for your nap and your wedding, that you'd better go and book your kind and considerate wife a monthly visit at this reputable establishment, on your dime. Also," he drags in a patient breath, fingers finally uncurling from the muddy shoulder to clearly point towards Flora. "You owe the lady a hell of an apology for thinking she'd ever touch your slimy dick. If it doesn't feel sincere, I've half a mind to let the mud try and reshape itself inside of you this time around." He might have put the seed down, however accidental, but Tom cultivated it like he's a well practiced green-thumb, and Kaisel isn't about to let that kind of gardening flourish.

Kaisel

Ho ho ho Bitches

lay your soul onto mine

Tom’s reaction is immediate and deeply educational. He folds in on himself with a strangled wheeze, both hands flying down to cup his crown jewels as he staggers back a step, colour draining from his face while he drags in a dramatic, panicked breath that sounds like it might be his last. His eyes flick up to Kaisel, wide and utterly baffled, as though trying to reconcile how they got from oh nice soldier man is joking about spa stuff to I am being threatened with peppermint-flavoured annihilation.

"Wh—I—yeah—yeah, okay," he blurts, one hand lifting shakily in surrender, nodding too fast as Kaisel lays out his conditions. "I can do that. Monthly. On my dime. Absolutely." He swallows hard, glancing to Flora, then back to Kaisel, then back to Flora again like he’s suddenly very aware of the social hierarchy he has catastrophically misread. "I’m...I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—" The sentence collapses under the weight of the stare alone, and he tries again, quieter, more earnest. "I’m really sorry."

With that, and one last wary look at the candy cane, Tom hustles away into the steam room like a man fleeing both judgment and fate.

Flora, who has been standing just to the side with her arms loosely crossed, finally lets the smirk she’s been wrestling with creep a little closer to the surface. She rolls her eyes at Tom’s apology in a way that suggests it has been accepted, catalogued, and immediately dismissed, her attention already back on Kaisel. Without warning, she reaches out, fists curling into the front of his collar, and tugs him bodily back toward the heart of the spa. "Come on, you," she laughs affectionately, dragging him along. "That’ll teach you to brag about how skilled my hands are."

What follows feels less like a coordinated sweep and more like a very expensive, very stupid horror montage.

The pair barrel through treatment rooms lit by flickering candles and shattered salt lamps, mud slithering along walls like it’s trying to escape the genre. Kaisel wades in first, swinging the novelty-sized candy cane with gleeful efficiency, smashing and scraping through animated clumps that splatter dramatically before writhing back together. Flora directs the chaos from just behind him, snapping quick commands to her tide jaguar as it lunges and prowls, herding rogue chunks of memory mud away from corners and doorways like an apex predator herding particularly stupid prey.

A mud pile rears up near a massage table? Wham (imagine old batman style lettering) Peppermint justice. Another slaps wetly at Flora’s boots? POW! The jaguar snaps and sends it skittering away like a disgraced villain retreating offstage. At one point a face almost forms in a facial room sink, only to be obliterated mid-scream in what feels suspiciously like a jump scare designed by someone who has never actually been to a spa.

It’s ridiculous. It’s gross. It’s loud. Somewhere between a slasher film and a slapstick comedy, and Flora can’t stop smiling as they fight their way deeper in, because if she’s going to miss her facial, at least she’s doing it with style and the love of her ife weilding a weaponized candy cane, phallic imagery be damned.

~FIN