[SE] wearing that same smile

I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings

The problem with trying to recreate Deepfrost activities in Torchline is, of course, the heat. Standing barefoot in the middle of the kitchen, Flora stares down at the increasingly sad drift of shaved ice on the counter with a look of wounded offence. The Halovian activity book lies open beside her beneath the stained-glass wash of morning light, its pages bright with cheerful illustrations of children in scarves building perfect snow forts, throwing perfect snowballs, and generally living lives that have clearly never included humidity.

Spice, for her part, looks deeply pleased with herself, at least. "Yes, okay, technically you are doing amazing," Flora says, pointing the cheese grater at the little white dragon with all the authority of a queen addressing a valued but slightly smug member of court. "This is not about your performance, babe. Your ice is gorgeous. Very artisanal. Very luxury cocktail bar. It’s just that whoever wrote this book has clearly never had to make snow in a tropical kitchen with kitchen tools and dragons."

A neat little block of ice sits in a bowl in front of her, already slicking the ceramic with cold water as the edges soften. Spice huffs another pale breath across it, frosting it back into firmness with a pleased little chirrup, and Flora immediately attacks it with the grater again, curls of ice skittering across the counter and catching in the ridges of her tight waffle-knit shirt. She is dressed, despite the weather and the general lack of snow within several hundred miles: longjohns tucked neatly beneath her shirt, a winter pom-pom hat perched over her golden curls, and an expression of total commitment that would have been heroic if she were not currently muttering at frozen shavings.

"Okay. Okay, that’s kind of something." Scooping the shaved ice together with both hands, Flora presses it into a lump, frowns as half of it crumbles wetly through her fingers, then scoops it back up and tries again with the fierce optimism of someone who has absolutely decided this is going to be fun whether physics agrees or not. The snowball, when she finally manages to form it, is not exactly round. It leans slightly to one side, but as Flora lifts it in both palms, Spice gives an approving trill, hopping along the counter with enough excitement to send a scatter of ice crystals across the children's book.

"We're gonna get him so good," she whispers, glancing toward the doorway before crouching low behind the kitchen island, her pom-pom bobbing once before she yanks it down with one hand and clutches the snowball carefully in the other. The marble is cold against her shoulder where she presses herself beneath the counter, and though she has to tuck her knees awkwardly beneath her, there is a deep and immediate satisfaction in committing this hard to something this stupid.

"Kaaaaaaaaaaai?" Flora calls, pitching her voice loud enough to carry through Wildering House, sweet and innocent in a way that will probably immediately make him suspicious. "Can you come here for a second? I need help with something." She waits, biting the inside of her lip as Spice creeps closer to the edge of the counter above her, tail twitching with treacherous delight. The second she hears him close enough, Flora rises in a rush of longjohns, curls, and winter hat, laughing already as she winds her arm back. The snowball leaves her hand in a bright, icy blur, badly packed and half-shedding.

and I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this

Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3

No way you can deny, you feel the most alive when you are terrified

Although the lilt in her voice catches in every possible web of his spidey senses, there is a reason he is not in feature films like Tom Holland is. Technically, there's many reasons he isn't, but a main one would be this: blatantly ignoring the shivers of warning. Curiosity, and the desire to be helpful, will always trump suspicion.

"COMING!!!!" he shouts back down the house, like some off-water game of Marco Polo they always end up playing among the various wings and hallways of her fortress of friendship and haunted company. The answering call is swiftly followed by a series of loud thumps and one hissing owwwwww before Kaisel comes sock-sliding over the tile and around the corner.

Unlike Flora, he is not prepared in the slightest for the Deepfrost she's determined to descend across the house. This means he is fitted in his divine-adjacent (read: holey) tank top, a dark violet that is proudly stamped with WHITE KNIGHT WORKOUT SURVIVOR in white and stark lettering. His loose gym shorts are in much better shape, although the drawstrings seem to be purely ornamental as one is nearly pulled through the hole and the other is dangling low enough to threaten beating out the edge of fabric on the leg it swings against, suggesting it's only the faint hug around his hips keeping them on at all. The thin towel around his shoulders could almost pass a scarf, if not for blots of sweat he's dabbled off his temples time and time again with it.

It definitely means he is not prepared for the snowy assault in the kitchen. He'd considered a pickle jar in need of beheading, his muscles her valiant savior, or perhaps something too tall for her to reach properly and his hands could happily fit against her ass to hoist her up high enough. Any number of possibilities for ways he could help her, really. It seems instead she'd help herself to a cheap shot.

In the midst of his gallant arrival, Kaisel has just enough time to clock the too-excited dragon on the counter before it's too late. Flora's already popping up from behind the counter, golden hair reminiscent of an explosion, her aim always deadly no matter the device. "Help is hee—" Still fighting for balance after his Risky Business entrance, all Kaisel can manage is a widening of his eyes before he is promptly pelted in the face with the cold and wet smack of the slush-ball.

For a moment he is too stunned to do anything but sputter. Bits of ice tumble down, already half-melted, decorating the floor in micro-puddles. It slides down his face and collects beneath his shirt, which quickly reinvigorates some motion back into him as his spine stiffens before he folds over, attempting to let gravity keep the ice away from contact with his chest as he dances around and tries to shake it loose. "You are SO gonna get it!" The threat is out before he has any semblance of a plan, but the look he shoots her from the corner of his eye, alight with challenge and adoration alike, promises something.

Kaisel

I'm a daredevil on the highway to hell

I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings

For just a second, Flora nearly forgets to throw the snowball. It isn’t fair, really, that Kaisel comes sliding into the kitchen looking like that, all loose shorts and bare legs and a dark violet tank top that has given up on modesty in several important places. He looks ridiculous, yes, especially with the towel slung around his shoulders and his socks carrying him too fast over the tile, but he also looks so warm and alive and hers that Flora’s grin catches somewhere softer before it sharpens again.

Then the snowball leaves her hand, and it smacks him full in the face with a wet, icy splat, and whatever tender little thought had begun to bloom in her chest is instantly drowned beneath her delighted cackle. Flora claps a hand over her mouth, but it does nothing to stop the sound of her laughter as slush slides down his face and disappears beneath the collar of his shirt, leaving him sputtering and folding forward while Spice trills triumphantly from the counter.

"Gotcha," Flora gasps and then squeals in response to this threat, already scrambling backward around the counter with her bare feet skidding against the tile and her curls bouncing wildly beneath her hat before pointing toward the floor as she continues to back away, her grin still bright enough to count as a hazard all on its own. "Careful!"

Spice, entirely unburdened by guilt, trills from the counter like a tiny accomplice accepting applause as she exhales another stream of frost, having covered the kitchen floor in a wide sheet of ice across the tiles. Flora steps onto it with the confidence of someone who has decided that momentum is the same thing as control. Her bare feet slide immediately, longjohns and tight waffle-knit shirt twisting with her as she throws her arms out for balance, but instead of stopping she lets herself go, laughing hard enough that the sound echoes off the cabinets while she skims across the ice in a reckless, triumphant glide.

and I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this

Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3

No way you can deny, you feel the most alive when you are terrified

Her laughter serves as the beat for his interpretive dance, the ice his inspiration. The cold is sharp and biting, but gone just as fast, the small crystals needing very little to tip them all the way into a melt. Return fire is the immediate revenge he craves, but he's rather without the means to provide such a cold dish at the moment, having no dragon back up of his own. He's absolutely docking best girl points from Spice for this blatant abuse of power.

Settling for lurching around the counter as she scrambles back behind the barrier of safety, he catches the puddling block of ice beside the cheese grater. His ammunition awaits. All he has to do is snatch her up, counter her attack, and evade the guard dragon parading about with far too much pride for such a tiny body.

"Oh, you're not gonna fool me," he declares with the swagger of a man moments from disaster. Having paused his approach, trying to lull her into a false sense of security and gauging which direction she might flee, his pursuit is committed when she moves. Assuming she's dipping, he dives, and there's no dodging. His feet hit the floor-ice directly behind her as he reaches, only for traction to abandon him immediately.

"WHO000oooA—!" The yelp breaks loose, sharp with surprise as momentum carries him straight into her. One arm hooks clumsily around hers while the other windmills uselessly through the air, colliding into her back and promptly discovering that stopping is no longer an option available to either of them. They go skidding together across the tiled rink in one tangled disaster of limbs, socks, and dislodged dignity reminiscent of a scene from Bambi.

His laughter breaks suddenly and full, swiftly evacuating all breath and the immediate focus of vengeance. "What!" he demands with the rush of disbelief and excitement she always coaxes free with such ease, leaning breathlessly against her shoulder as the ridiculousness of the situation finally catches up to him. Only now, with her bundled in longjohns and the pom-pom hat bobbing wildly atop golden curls while they careen across the kitchen, does the full picture settle into place. "What have you done?" he manages between laughs, tightening his hold instinctively as gravity threatens to send them both skating onto their asses. "Is this you testing out a new renovation for the house? Wings for every season now?"

Kaisel

I'm a daredevil on the highway to hell

I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings

As Kaisel hurls himself after her with all the confidence of a man who has not yet accepted that the kitchen has become a hazard, Flora only laughs brighter. She makes no real attempt to get away, though there is a half-hearted twist of her shoulders, more instinct than escape, and for a second the ice carries her just far enough ahead that his fingers slip along her sleeve instead of catching properly. Then his arm hooks around her, yanking her back against him in a messy collision of warmth and cold tile and startled laughter, and whatever balance either of them might have claimed to possess vanishes immediately.

"Oh—shit, Kai—" Flora gasps, but the warning dissolves into another laugh as they skid forward together, her bare feet sliding uselessly over the frosted floor before she's grabbing onto him with both hands, fingers twisting into the soft, hole-worn fabric of his tank top as if that is going to help either of them stay upright. It does not, not really, but it gives her something to hold onto as they careen across the kitchen in a tangle of longjohns, loose shorts, and increasingly poor decisions. Her pom-pom bounces wildly with each uneven glide, and she presses herself closer against him when their combined momentum tips sideways, laughing into the curve of his shoulder as if this had been the plan all along.

Spice chirrups from the counter, far too pleased with her contribution.

Their slide begins to slow near the far stretch of counter, the drag of their feet finally winning against the ice. Flora’s grip loosens by degrees, though she keeps one hand curled against him, not quite ready to give up the warm, ridiculous closeness of it. Her curls have fallen loose beneath the winter hat, her shirt is dusted with melting frost, and the kitchen behind them looks less like a festive activity and more like a mess they'll have to eventually clean up. Still, when she tilts her face up to him, her expression is all innocence.

"What d’you mean?" Flora asks, fluttering her lashes with shameless sweetness. "Don’t you like it?" She glances around the slick floor, the abandoned cheese grater, the half-melted block of ice, and Spice preening on the counter, then looks back at him as if this is all an entirely reasonable way to spend a morning.

and I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this

Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3

No way you can deny, you feel the most alive when you are terrified

It's only because her middle name is definitely grace that they survive the initial slip and slide across the kitchen. Momentum alone seems to be the savior in place of balance or skill, each of them gripping each other like the poster of a comedic horror film, powerless to help each other or themselves for the time being, but better for it because at least it's together.

As they slow and her grip relaxes, confidence in his legs returns steadily. He stands more properly instead of half-tipping over, as though trying to shorten the distance of his inevitable fall. Laughter sweeps away into a smile that's difficult to shut as she shrugs this all off like it's a mundane feature of the house. It might not be for the home, but it is rather customary for her to elevate the ordinary into extra.

"Like it?" he scoffs in immediate response, attention lifting from where it'd fallen to properly admire the sparkling floor around them. "Flora, only you could come up with customizing Deepfrost just for us to enjoy." It's said with a fondness that can't help but spill over into the bond, utterly enamored with her creative flare on homemade Halo. "I love it!" The declaration is punctuated with a splay of his hands, the gesture wiggling out finger fireworks. It's brief, little time wasted before swiftly reaching back towards her. His palms cup either side of her face, gently pulling her to him, the movement only partial as he leans in to close the rest. He kisses her with enough enthusiasm to immediately lose his balance again, causing a tangled noise in his throat that breaks the affection into another low laugh.

Pulling away to see her, his adoration sharpens. "Ok wait wait. We really gotta put this to the test." Spoken like a man with a plan, he glances around for something suitable. "We need something we can turn into a sled." Which is not a sentence that leads to responsible outcomes, leas of all when set indoors.

Kaisel

I'm a daredevil on the highway to hell

I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings

Flora snorts laughter under her breath, the sound softer than the grin still tugging at her mouth as she looks up at Kai. It isn’t that he’s wrong, exactly. Maybe only she could decide that a tropical kitchen needed its own private Deepfrost, but the adoring look she gives him says plainly enough that he could have done the same thing if he’d had a tiny frost dragon at his beck and call.

When his hands cup her face, Flora tips easily toward him, her smile pressed into the first second of the kiss before it gives way to something warmer. One arm slides around his waist while the other curls over his shoulders, fingers slipping into the damp towel at the back of his neck as she kisses him back with bright, helpless affection. What he won't be able to see is the way her palm opens behind him.

Spice, still perched on the counter like she’s been waiting for her cue, chirrups once and drops a cold little mound of fresh snow into Flora’s waiting hand. Through the bond there is probably just enough mischief to warn him that something is happening, but not nearly enough time to do anything useful about it. Flora breaks the kiss with a laugh already rising in her throat and shoves the snow straight down the back of his shirt.

Her eyebrows lift as if the problem of the sled has only just now reclaimed her attention despite her continued giggles. Still holding onto him with one hand, she tilts her head and looks around the kitchen with a thoughtful little hum, her gaze moving from the chairs to the bright spill of sunlight beyond the open doors. "Welllllll," Flora says slowly, drawing the word out as her smile curves again, "we could cut the legs off a chair?"

She lets that sit for half a second, as if it is a perfectly normal suggestion made by a queen in longjohns standing on an indoor ice rink. "Orrrrrrr use one of the floaties from the pool? The big Tumsea ones?"

and I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this

Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3

No way you can deny, you feel the most alive when you are terrified

Something flickers through the bond. Not the warm bath of affection or the soft sigh of embodied peace, although rarely has it ever been that. It's something much more urgent, and before his suspicion can properly settle, he has all the answers he needs, and then some.

Snow slides down the back of his shirt with ruthless efficiency. The reaction is immediate and violent, his entire body jerking upright so quickly that he nearly drags them both off balance with the force of it. "FlorUH!" The accusation arrives somewhere between a shout and a gasp. His shoulders hitch instinctively against the cold, as though he might somehow fold himself around the problem and contain it before it continues its merciless descent.

Abandoning her entirely, he twists away, pulling his hand free of hers to yank his shirt over his head, clawing away the thing that's trapping the cold to his skin. The result leaves his hair sticking in every direction, shirt bundled in one hand while the other gracelessly swipes behind him in an awkward angle to try to free the lingering patches that are melting against his heat.

"That's it!" he hisses, gaze sharpening on her as he tosses his shirt aside, the towel gone aksew and having dropped to his feet with all of this. It's the burning look of a man with two scores to settle with his wife now, and the dedication to carrying them out without further delay.

He lunges towards her again, reaching with both hands to grab her to him and hoist her up to his shoulder, kicking and screaming if need be. While the suggestion of removing the legs from one of the chairs might have earned genuine consideration in a different setting, whatever she says rolls right off him for this moment, as though an executioner who has learned to ignore the beggars that try to worm themselves off the chopping block.

Coincidentally, his plan will coincide with an answer, but sleds are the least of his worries for the time being. Instead, he's quite focused and intent on wrestling Flora to him and together, lurching out to the pool where he means to heave her in as if she's no better than a corpse in need of disposal. "Stay out of it Spice or you're next!" he threatens the accomplice in what is probably a futile attempt at sounding in control when he's clearly outnumbered and potentially outmatched.

Kaisel

I'm a daredevil on the highway to hell