KAISEL
So, you wanna start a war?
Bang, shots fired
Bang, shots fired
Just like that, she was the one comforting him. It was stupid, honestly. He shouldn't be needing this from her right now—she was the one who needed someone right now. It's just—well, fuck, what she said was a really Big Deal. She can't stay here? The people she cares about could be hurt? Is Koa still included in that list? It's a mess of what-ifs and fears, each one an ingredient burning in the heat of his worry. At the heart of it all, sliding through his fingers like cold grease, a thick residue that he can neither shake off or grip anything with—its trust. He heard all of this and balked, his trust in her fraying, and fuck if that wasn't the worst thing possible tonight.
She didn't deserve that.
Her voice drifted over, tilted with that gentleness she only ever offered him when everything was about to go bad between them. Something threatened to break, then, and he pressed his teeth tighter behind that smile he was still gifting her. Her touch coasted against his arm like a question and an answer all at once. He glanced down at it, and that faultline shored up. That molten fear that had been scorching everything inside of him was reduced to a swath of steam, hissing as steeled resolve emerged. He would trust her. This was scary, and they might talk through it more, but like his salt and sugar thoughts, she was already ten steps ahead in the plan and he would follow her again and again through whatever hell. He exhaled, and the steam left with it as his smile brightened. "Okay," he said in earnest. "Let's become statues."
After she had explained her plan and he agreed to it, he crept out from the section they'd been sheltering in. He found an opening to slip into the flow and bustle of the bar, appearing casual and not like someone who had just rolled out from under a silverware cart. The trick, he knew, was to act confident as fuck—which, easy, that was his natural state of being. Although he was half tempted to run and slide over the counter for some flair and maybe Relic of Doom points, he resisted and settled for a loud throat-clearing sound as he passed behind the bar. "Excuse me. Our Grace, Miss Flora the Doubletake, has kindly requested all salt and sugar be handed over at once for an inspection. She tasted something, off. Her fear is that one of you has taken budgeting too far. It should be obvious, but no one is to scrape unused drink rims off customer glasses back into the containers. Since it seems that's likely happening, you should confess now, or prepare yourself for her thorough investigation, starting with the salt and sugar containers—N O W!" Each word was punctuated with a bit of a lifted nose accent, and an extreme amount of hand motions and wrist action.
She didn't deserve that.
Her voice drifted over, tilted with that gentleness she only ever offered him when everything was about to go bad between them. Something threatened to break, then, and he pressed his teeth tighter behind that smile he was still gifting her. Her touch coasted against his arm like a question and an answer all at once. He glanced down at it, and that faultline shored up. That molten fear that had been scorching everything inside of him was reduced to a swath of steam, hissing as steeled resolve emerged. He would trust her. This was scary, and they might talk through it more, but like his salt and sugar thoughts, she was already ten steps ahead in the plan and he would follow her again and again through whatever hell. He exhaled, and the steam left with it as his smile brightened. "Okay," he said in earnest. "Let's become statues."
After she had explained her plan and he agreed to it, he crept out from the section they'd been sheltering in. He found an opening to slip into the flow and bustle of the bar, appearing casual and not like someone who had just rolled out from under a silverware cart. The trick, he knew, was to act confident as fuck—which, easy, that was his natural state of being. Although he was half tempted to run and slide over the counter for some flair and maybe Relic of Doom points, he resisted and settled for a loud throat-clearing sound as he passed behind the bar. "Excuse me. Our Grace, Miss Flora the Doubletake, has kindly requested all salt and sugar be handed over at once for an inspection. She tasted something, off. Her fear is that one of you has taken budgeting too far. It should be obvious, but no one is to scrape unused drink rims off customer glasses back into the containers. Since it seems that's likely happening, you should confess now, or prepare yourself for her thorough investigation, starting with the salt and sugar containers—N O W!" Each word was punctuated with a bit of a lifted nose accent, and an extreme amount of hand motions and wrist action.
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
