Kaisel
Though staying in the shower forever is a tempting thought, where there'd once been tension, the water had now beat it into weariness. For a city boy striking out to the beach on his own for the first time, today had been, a lot. He probably should have recognized that getting on a ship and sailing here in the first place just to ask a clarifying question is the kind of thing you do when you're asking for a lot, but he makes it a habit not to think too far ahead, or too deeply about his actions. Doing so isn't very upholding of the fuck it we ball lifestyle he tends to maintain.
So he quiets the shower and steps out of it with only a fraction of reluctance. He shakes his head like a dog before reaching for a towel and drying off. He cracks the door to let some of the steam out, and rubs it from the mirror, to which it stubbornly clings, as he combs his hair with his fingers. It's mostly wet still, but it'd dry like ass if he didn't mess with it now. A cream on the counter catches his eye, and after some quick reading and a shrug, he's plastered the pale green face mask all over the directed areas. He admires the handiwork in the cooling mirror, and rifles through the rest of the girly potions laid out. After some spritzes and splashes, he staggers from the bathroom like a bouquet of confusion. Food, floral, destination location—he's got it all. All except lotion, the one thing he actually normally uses after a shower.
Mask still foaming pleasantly on his face, he pads down the hall, not as quiet as Flora had been on nearly dancing feet, but not loud now that his boots were off. He hesitated in front of her door, listening for the sound of snoring that might make him second guess bothering her all for an attempt to keep his youthful skin from aging rapidly. He's also half-expecting he might hear crying, in which case his intrusion could be beneficial. He does hear a mild noise, but can't make out what it is. Deciding she deserves to be woken up even if she is sleeping, payback for all the last laughs she'd managed to get on him, he knocks. Much like his mother is prone to doing to him, the knock is just a precursor to immediately barreling the door open.
"Hey Flo-ro, where is your lotio—oooh!" He immediately flings an arm up to cover his eyes and backs up, but in doing so the face mask smears and he hits a wall and a dozen different shiny objects and plants that she'd curated that lived there.
So he quiets the shower and steps out of it with only a fraction of reluctance. He shakes his head like a dog before reaching for a towel and drying off. He cracks the door to let some of the steam out, and rubs it from the mirror, to which it stubbornly clings, as he combs his hair with his fingers. It's mostly wet still, but it'd dry like ass if he didn't mess with it now. A cream on the counter catches his eye, and after some quick reading and a shrug, he's plastered the pale green face mask all over the directed areas. He admires the handiwork in the cooling mirror, and rifles through the rest of the girly potions laid out. After some spritzes and splashes, he staggers from the bathroom like a bouquet of confusion. Food, floral, destination location—he's got it all. All except lotion, the one thing he actually normally uses after a shower.
Mask still foaming pleasantly on his face, he pads down the hall, not as quiet as Flora had been on nearly dancing feet, but not loud now that his boots were off. He hesitated in front of her door, listening for the sound of snoring that might make him second guess bothering her all for an attempt to keep his youthful skin from aging rapidly. He's also half-expecting he might hear crying, in which case his intrusion could be beneficial. He does hear a mild noise, but can't make out what it is. Deciding she deserves to be woken up even if she is sleeping, payback for all the last laughs she'd managed to get on him, he knocks. Much like his mother is prone to doing to him, the knock is just a precursor to immediately barreling the door open.
"Hey Flo-ro, where is your lotio—oooh!" He immediately flings an arm up to cover his eyes and backs up, but in doing so the face mask smears and he hits a wall and a dozen different shiny objects and plants that she'd curated that lived there.
And when the day broke, buried in violence
Somethin' made my mind up
I could do this with my eyes closed
Somethin' made my mind up
I could do this with my eyes closed
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
