[SE] I can shake it, I can shuffle, I can shimmy, I can griddy

Used to keep it cool, used to be a fool

"Okay, but like, I'm doing exactly what you're doing!" Spoken with all the emphasis of someone who believes they are doing it exactly right and still failing. Surely this feeling is the origin of the word cursed.

Kaisel's nostrils flare faintly, the force of frustration and focus surviving in tandem. "Okay, do it again, but slowly," he draws the last word out so its sound matches its meaning, implying she must have forgotten it with all her previous attempts. He tries to follow suit beside her, arm still linked with hers at the elbow, but what should be an easy swing is rigidly raised up as he stares beneath the arch of their arms to watch the exact movements her feet take as she skips.

He tries to emulate it and ends up, again, with more of a sideways, stuttering kind of run. It's like a sped up scooch down a narrow aisle, tiptoes even breaking out at one point. The swish of his too-baggy joggers don't help one bit, the black, noisy fabric blurring his movements all together like a cartoon preparing to go fast. He'd have it no other way though, because in white and orange font arched over his ass it reads: HOT TAKE. It matches the light windbreaker he's got zipped up over a tank top, the back a neon design of minimal fire and her title, the front left pocket boasting her name, FLORA, in bold text, with a few small orange flowers dotting around it. He has been proudly wearing it for days now.

Around them, the port is as alive as ever, vendors already buzzing, even at an early hour. Beating the crowd, he's almost certain, is an impossibility here when Torchline drones long into the evenings with festivities and then sees ships coming and going before daybreak. Still, the chill of this season keeps the lanes clearer than they will be come the warmer midday when people deign to leave their comforts. Nearby, the shopkeepers call out in boastful, luring attempts, their wares dangled like toys to newborns.

They will inevitably wind their way to a corner, quieter stall that isn't so gaudy as the rest. On its table, a sign just reads, ONE RING BELLS.

---

Kaisel

All about the bounce in my step

i could be the reason you can't sleep at night

Flora’s eyes widen with the sort of dramatic, deeply doubtful alarm usually reserved for discovering that someone has put molten pineapple on the wrong food, because Kaisel is absolutely not doing exactly what she’s doing. What he’s doing is more like tripping without actually falling over, all sideways scooching and urgent fabric-swish, like his joggers are trying to escape the situation before the rest of him catches on.

"Mmm, no." With their arms still linked at the elbow, Flora huffs a curl out of her face and glances down at his feet with a helpless little scrunch of her nose, aqua eyes bright with barely contained laughter. The port is already awake around them in all its salt-sticky, shouty glory, Flora keeps her attention on the very important business of not letting her husband commit crimes against skipping in public. "It’s actually way harder when you do it slowly, but okay, watch."

She makes an unnecessarily grand show of preparing herself, squaring her shoulders as if this is a formal demonstration before a council of dance scholars rather than a very early hour in Kaiholo with her arm looped through the man proudly advertising her name and newest title across his body. There is still something warm and ridiculous twisting through her chest every time she catches sight of it, the bold HOT TAKE on his windbreaker, the orange flowers, the bright little blaze of it all. Where Kaisel's version is as you'd expect, Flora isn't entirely sold on it yet, such that she'd asked the designers to take another crack at it. The version she's wearing is a black sweater, soft and cropped and fitted, with glossy black lettering across the front that reads HOT TAKE in a tone-on-tone shine only visible when the light hits it right.

"Okay, so it’s not a run, and it’s not a hop, and it’s definitely not whatever haunted shuffle you just did." Flora’s voice lifts with each correction, playful and merciless as she eases into the motion, her free hand hovering slightly for balance while her engagement ring flashes in the morning light. She starts slowly, deliberately, one foot stepping forward before the opposite knee lifts, her weight bouncing lightly through the ball of her foot as she switches, each movement exaggerated enough for him to follow. Her curls bob with the motion, her bracelets chiming faintly beneath the noise of the port, and the whole thing is made infinitely more ridiculous by how seriously she’s taking it. "Step, lift, switch. Step, lift, switch."

Her gaze flicks briefly toward one of the quieter stalls tucked back from the louder, glossier press of merchants, where the sign reading ONE RING BELLS sits with the understated confidence of someone who knows perfectly well that the tackier displays are doing too much. Flora’s attention catches there, but only for a moment, because more urgently than whatever potential disaster or treasure waits on that table, she has Kaisel to deal with still.

Used to keep it cool, used to be a fool

The concentration bundled tightly in the wrinkles of his face, puckered at the lips and the corners of his eyes, breaks abruptly. "Haunted shuffle?!" he laughs, all attempts at feigned dismay dissolving before they can even stand up. He's aware it's off still, but watching her skip is like witnessing an expert magician. He just can't tell how the fuck the man in the hat knows that's his card even after several times of staring him down while he does it. "That had to be my best one yet!" Spoken like someone aiming for a C in a pass fail class.

"Okay, okay," he says as she begins to prepare, eyes popping back to her feet. "Time to lock in," comes the low oath under his breath, deadfully serious. That she's just as grave about the situation only makes him doubly so, the need to fix this erroneous lack of his education a critical situation at present.

Repeating what she says with more breath than word, Kaisel attempts to follow suit beside Flora as she takes on the mysterious and floating gait of skipping. It doesn't happen at first, the initial strides another symphony of swishing chaos and steps misplaced. Yet, whether from her instruction, repeated efforts, sheer dumb luck, or mostly a combination of all the above, Kaisel finally manages to get a few skips in. A ridiculously fierce burst of excitement erupts down the bond like a scream your heart makes. A swell of triumphant accomplishment comes just behind it, filling any place not already overrun by him. "I DID IT!" he crows, completely derailing the process. He folds against her side with both hands, breaking their elbow chain entirely as he gloms onto her with enough force to send them staggering sideways, momentum scrambling for somewhere to go. Laughing breathlessly, he scoops her clean off the ground for a moment in a jostling squeeze before setting her back down crooked against him.

Kaisel

All about the bounce in my step

i could be the reason you can't sleep at night

Flora’s eyebrows climb so emphatically they nearly disappear beneath her curls, because haunted shuffle is not remotely up for debate. When Kaisel vows to lock in, she nods with immediate and matching seriousness, like this is a group project and her grade depends entirely on whether he stops turning skipping into a public safety concern.

The first attempts are still mostly swishing chaos, but then somehow, impossibly, he gets it. Flora holds her breath as he manages a few real skips, waiting for the inevitable trip-step that surely has to come, only for him to stop before disaster can catch up and grab her instead. The squeeze crushes a delighted laugh out of her; if she were a cartoon, her waist would vanish against him, her legs would stick out at sharp angles, and her head would pop comically large from the force of it. By the time her feet find the boards again, she’s already laughing, beaming up at him with the kind of adoring smile she has absolutely no chance of hiding. "Damn, you’re a quick lear—" she starts, stepping playfully away from him, only for her hip to bump the corner of the quiet little stall behind her.

The table jolts, the sign reading ONE RING BELLS tips, and then it clatters loudly onto the boards.

Flora freezes, hand still half-lifted in praise, before her eyes flick down to the sign and back up again with spectacular innocence. "Oops," she says, smoothing the front of her black sweater like the glossy HOT TAKE lettering might somehow testify on her behalf, "in my defence, that table came out of nowhere."

Used to keep it cool, used to be a fool

Surely her compliment is a dryly delivered joke if she considers learning how to skip at 20 years of age and after numerous failed attempts prior to this as quick. There's also no guarantee he can repeat it swiftly, the click not quite setting so much as being glazed over by happenstance. It's certainly a good indicator, at least, and much like finally learning how to ride a bike it will suddenly turn the understanding on and he'll transcend into the next level of being. For now though, he's just trying not to let his abundance of enthusiasm put them on their asses, which is a difficult enough task with the swing of momentum and the nice, round curve of Flora's cake. Every day is her fucking birthday. Gyat damn.

"Oh shi—!" is his poor attempt to help her recover as he notices in about the same amount of time she does that they've drifted too close. He tries to yank her back to him with what hold he still has, but the bumpening happens regardless and all he can do is suck in a breath as the sign clatters to the ground.

No harm done, really. Just some wood on wood (GAY), but thankfully this isn't a glass stand. However, the sign does tip over one of the bell handles, and after a moment where it seems to consider whether or not it means to tip over, rolling on its edge for a moment first, it does indeed plummet to a similar end as the sign. Almost comically with the low, mournful sound of a dramatic stage death, it chimes just once before going silent. About to laugh it all off and reach down to collect the disturbed things, Kaisel instead opens his mouth and coughs out cinnamon, as if he'd just partaken of the cinnamon challenge and the video has skipped ahead to the inevitable end result. "Wha—" he croaks, doubling over to cough more fully, each shaky breath in sending another spray out, the cinnamon lessening with each one until seemingly emptied.

A squat man well-darkened by the sun sets his hands against his stand and leans over the table on his tiptoes, staring down towards the bent shape of Kaisel and his sputtering. His face looks like the way mud feels between your feet. The sparse hair that sticks up from the top of his head resembles reeds, sprouting from the marsh of his features. With a barely-toothed puttering of his lips, a bog of a voice bubbles up, slow and low. "Cinnamon bell then, that one's different." He leans back onto his heels, attention shifting gradually to Flora. "Careful, might get something better, might get something worse if you ring one." Though it isn't outright stated, there's a clear challenge to the warning, and his narrow, barely there gaze beneath the wrinkle of his eyesockets is gleaming like freshly laid tar now.

Kaisel

All about the bounce in my step

i could be the reason you can't sleep at night

Flora watches the bell fall with all the helpless horror of someone seeing a drink tip in slow motion from three tables away, her hand still hovering uselessly in the air as if she might somehow persuade gravity to reconsider. The handle rolls first, wobbly and undecided, and for one bright, stupid second she thinks maybe it will spare them; then it tips, drops, and chimes once against the boards with such a mournful little note that her frown deepens in immediate sympathy.

"Wh—" she begins, only for Kaisel to cough cinnamon. Her frown doubles at once, and Flora’s hand lands against his back in several brisk pats, as if she might be able to slap the spice out of him through determination alone. "Babe?"

Only once the coughing starts to ease does her attention lift properly to the man behind the stall, though her palm stays between Kaisel’s shoulder blades, gold rings flashing faintly as she rubs once before letting her hand fall. Her aqua eyes narrow just slightly, not with outright suspicion yet, but with the sharpened interest of someone who has grown up around Torchline’s particular flavour of bargain and knows better than to trust a table just because it has good signage.

"Cinnamon bell?" Flora repeats under her breath, the words low and doubtful as her gaze flicks from the man’s muddy expression to the fallen bell and then back toward Kaisel, just to make sure he’s not about to start exhaling pie filling next.

When he seems able to breathe again, she glances over the table with her head tipped, curls slipping against her cheek as her expression shifts into something curious despite herself. "So what, they’re like... minor curses or boons?" she asks, careful not to touch anything this time, even if the gleam in her eyes says the warning has absolutely not had the sensible effect it probably should have.

Used to keep it cool, used to be a fool

Each slap of Flora's hand encourages a fuller bout of the rusty dust to shake loose. Much like drinking lemonade while laughing and sending it down the wrong pipe, it takes a moment for Kaisel to recover, and when he does, it's with a chest still marginally aflame and a voice grown hoarse when he can rouse it again. "Do you have a water bell??" The croak is quite at home to the bogman, who's eyes almost appear to move independently when they shift over towards Kaisel who has begun to straighten out more fully.

"Cinnamon bell," he confirms to Flora, grabbing a jar of the region's fountain water that he has on hand (likely for the trials and tribulations of running such a stand) and slides it along to Kaisel. "Likely meant to add the perfect amount of cinnamon to your dish when you're cooking or baking, but..." he shrugs, the movement almost lost due to the short slope between his shoulders and his ears, his neck almost passable for an additional chin. "These are Gilded Market rejects," he explains, gaze dropping to the array of variously sized bells and their range of materials. "Craftsmanship that doesn't get completed, or is done with an errant mind and hand, or someone new to the trade just learning." As for the bell part, theirs is not the first enchantment to be set off by accident. Somewhere off the pier is a table-sized bell sitting in the water. Mud man's sign and all the spectacular design it lacks may be less marketing ploy and more the last minute scramble of man having to rebrand himself.

Kaisel is paying half a mind to the exchange, having the much more current problem at hand of a gritty, dry mouth. He snatches the healing water up and takes two massive, audible gulps. Smacking his lips with a relieved aaahhhhh, he thumps the jar back down on the table. The bells shiver and Marshal backs away a step. "Are any super dangerous?" Kaisel wonders, stooping down to squint at one elegantly engraved, pitch as night. There's a certain, appeal to them. Much like a bag of jellybeans with near-identical-looking options, one that tastes like strawberries, and one that tastes like vomit. The intrusive thoughts win out, and Kaisel plucks up the dark one, the motion causing it to peal just once.

Unable to tell what's happened, Kaisel glances around expectantly, brows raised. The orange parts of his outfit have turned a nice shade of purple.

Kaisel

All about the bounce in my step

i could be the reason you can't sleep at night

As soon as the man says Gilded Market rejects, Flora’s shoulders loosen by a fraction, the words taking just enough edge off the situation to make her less convinced they’ve wandered into a stall full of murder bells in disguise. It doesn’t make the cinnamon cough any less dramatic or the table any less suspicious, but at least rejects suggests incompetence more than malice, which in Torchline is not comforting exactly, but does fall into a more familiar category of problem.

She is not remotely surprised when Kaisel asks whether any are super dangerous and then immediately picks one up before the answer has a chance to exist. "Mhm," Flora hums, brows lifting as the bell peals, already braced for fire, feathers, frogs, or some other nonsense, only for the orange in his outfit to bloom into purple instead. For a second, she just looks at him, and then her grin spreads bright and helpless across her face as she reaches out to touch one of the newly purple flames on his windbreaker. "Okay, actually? That’s kind of cute."

Her fingers skim the fabric before she glances back to the merchant, aqua eyes sharp beneath the playful curve of her mouth. "So are you going to tell us what any of them do, or is that part of the gimmick?" She tilts her head, engagement ring catching in the port’s early light while her other hand stays very deliberately away from the rest of the bells. "Because we wanted bells for the feast, and I’d rather not ruin everyone’s food with cinnamon and have Ludo haunt me about it."

Used to keep it cool, used to be a fool

The man seems to consider for a moment, mouth popping open to answer before firmly slapping back together as Kaisel rings a bell anyway. His eyes don't pinch shut so much as they seem to sink into the mire of his features. It's a bracing that he recovers from slowly, one eye parting, then the other, and breath returning as no plague descends upon them all. "Depends on your definition of dangerous," he advises rather unhelpfully, one sparse eyebrow lifting. "People can drown in a puddle if they aren't careful." Which is to say, these might not summon a tsunami, but they could still kill you if you handled it wrong, as most things in life are apt to do honestly.

Kaisel glances down at his threads as Flora reaches out and highlights the change. Immediate horror descends upon him, and Kaisel tents his jacket out from him to really appraise the damage. "Oh my GODS, WHAT!? I just got this!!!" There is no greater danger of course than a collector losing his newest and favorite piece. He spins in a circle, peering over his shoulder and checking under his arms, fingers trying to pat or scrub it off like it's just some powder of trick of the light, like a white and gold dress vs a blue and black one. "...although," he admits with a huff as the initial shock begins to wane. "I do prefer this." Purple, of course, being his favorite anyway. "Plus the cooler flame is hotter so, it checks out." Maybe he'd have to show this off for the designers so they could alter all further branding (and he could swipe up another orange one just to be safe).

Marshal turns his head slowly, and the motion really requires his whole body to get the image across. "Dunno what they do, other than they only ring once. It's anyone's guess, isn't that half the fun?" The too-few tooth grin he gives her offers the first sense of honest delight this entire time. It seems he's less here to turn a profit than he is to amuse himself, and certainly is content to let the customers bear whatever repercussions the bells bring. "You owe me for those two already, by the way," he grunts, because entertainment aside, he is not running a charity here.

"I dunno, I feel like Ludo would appreciate these. Blind date with a bell that might do mildly annoying things? Very Ludo coded," Kaisel ponders, having forgone his wardrobe theatrics to ponder back over the selection of bells.

Kaisel

All about the bounce in my step

i could be the reason you can't sleep at night

Flora gives Marcus a slight roll of her eyes, because yes, obviously everything is dangerous in degrees, but he knows what she’s asking, and the fact that he’s being slippery about it only makes her smile sharpen in that bright, polished way that tends to mean someone has forgotten she isn’t just another pretty face wandering through the market with too much coin and too little sense. "Well," she says lightly, fingertips brushing over the edge of the table without touching any of the bells themselves, "I’ll be sure to let everyone know where we got these from at the festival."

The words are sweet enough on the surface, but the undertone beneath them is all smooth warning: if the Queen of Torchline gets fucked over by a bell merchant in her own port, then everyone will hear about it, and whatever strange little business model he’s built around enchanted rejects will be out of luck before the next tide rolls in.

Turning back to Kaisel, Flora’s grin spreads wider and more crooked as her attention catches again on the purple now threaded through his outfit. "Now it’s just even more limited edition, babe," she says, reaching out to smooth her fingers over the altered flame as if admiring some rare custom variation instead of the aftermath of him failing to resist a magical object for approximately three seconds.

Her eyes flick back to Marcus as he mentions payment already owed, and Flora rolls them again, though this time there’s more amusement than threat in it. "Yes, yes." Reaching into her bag, she pulls out the coins with the air of someone paying a fine for a crime she has absolutely no intention of apologizing for properly, then lets her smile brighten into something almost dangerous again. "We’ll take them all." She glances to Kaisel as if anticipating the question before he can even properly shape it, brows bouncing once in quick, conspiratorial explanation as she shrugs. "They could be fun at parties."

Which, in fairness, is the exact sort of sentence that has probably preceded at least half of Torchline’s worst ideas, but Flora stands by it. Once Marcus starts wrapping the bells with enough caution to suggest he has learned several hard lessons about packaging, taping each clapper to the side so none of them can ring by accident, Flora reaches for one of the bells they’ve already tested and gives it a little shake. "Ooooh, I know what that one did," she says immediately, and then she leans in and up to press a kiss to Kaisel’s cheek, her smile brushing warm against his skin as her voice drops into a whisper. "That one makes it so you have to buy me lunch."

~FIN