KAISEL
So, you wanna start a war?
Bang, shots fired
Bang, shots fired
"Hey, a statue is a statue," Kaisel shrugged, unphased by the threat as the image of himself forever immortalized in stone or metal danced in front of his eyes. "All the kids will gather to learn about The Greatest Prank Ever. Then be forced to write five-page essays on our legacy? Honestly, that’s iconic." The dying part was… less ideal, but plenty of people stayed alive and never got turned into a statue, so really, who was the real winner here?
As his name tumbled out with a softness that cut through his carefully crafted noise, he stilled. He glanced down, looking at her properly, a question in his eyes as they held hers. He was here for her, after all—his chaos, his jokes, all of it spun from the quiet hope that it might make space for her to breathe again. She was the one in charge, even if he took the lead sometimes. She was the one who needed someone tonight—although everyone needed someone. So he braced for her to pull back. For the laughter to break and the world to press through the cracks of their moment and suffocate her with its weight again. So he was surprised, and relieved, when she instead provided an awed confession. His smile, that had never fully faded, grew wider. "Oh, I know it," he chuckled with the confidence of someone unafraid and unburdened. He could tempt her into this mischief because he didn’t have to shed a mantle that bore a kingdom, or a cloak woven with the history of gambles and mistakes. He was perhaps too reckless, and she too willing to let him sweep her into the tide of it, but he didn't recognize that—wouldn't, until something negative came of his carelessness. How quick he was to offer the escape, but not the return. He meant well. He always meant well. But good intentions could still be reckless.
As she offered her hand, he took it without hesitation, and it didn't feel weighty in the least. He hauled her up as he also stood to his full height. "Hey!" He protested with feigned offense. "They’re not invisible, you just have to look at them in the right light." His grin was wolfish, a promise of all the doom the invisible biceps would bring tonight, as he leaned in conspiratorially. "Alright," he lowered his voice and looked around warily for eavesdroppers. "Why don't we start by mixing up the sugar and the salt in the kitchens?"
As his name tumbled out with a softness that cut through his carefully crafted noise, he stilled. He glanced down, looking at her properly, a question in his eyes as they held hers. He was here for her, after all—his chaos, his jokes, all of it spun from the quiet hope that it might make space for her to breathe again. She was the one in charge, even if he took the lead sometimes. She was the one who needed someone tonight—although everyone needed someone. So he braced for her to pull back. For the laughter to break and the world to press through the cracks of their moment and suffocate her with its weight again. So he was surprised, and relieved, when she instead provided an awed confession. His smile, that had never fully faded, grew wider. "Oh, I know it," he chuckled with the confidence of someone unafraid and unburdened. He could tempt her into this mischief because he didn’t have to shed a mantle that bore a kingdom, or a cloak woven with the history of gambles and mistakes. He was perhaps too reckless, and she too willing to let him sweep her into the tide of it, but he didn't recognize that—wouldn't, until something negative came of his carelessness. How quick he was to offer the escape, but not the return. He meant well. He always meant well. But good intentions could still be reckless.
As she offered her hand, he took it without hesitation, and it didn't feel weighty in the least. He hauled her up as he also stood to his full height. "Hey!" He protested with feigned offense. "They’re not invisible, you just have to look at them in the right light." His grin was wolfish, a promise of all the doom the invisible biceps would bring tonight, as he leaned in conspiratorially. "Alright," he lowered his voice and looked around warily for eavesdroppers. "Why don't we start by mixing up the sugar and the salt in the kitchens?"
Pain is what you desire
So, you wanna be immortal?
So, you wanna be immortal?
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
