Kaisel
One foot in the ground
One foot in the grave
One foot in the grave
When the first option for a mission in Torchline becomes available, Kaisel grabs it—a decision he is now steadily regretting ever stepping off the skyship and nearly melting on the spot. He can’t turn back now even if he wants to, orders are orders after all, though he’s got another—arguably more important—reason for being here anyway, Longheat days and all.
It doesn’t take long for the directions in town to lead him to her. The dock complains under each step, but it blends in with the rest of the deck traffic—fishermen and sailors forming an ongoing thread of coastal commerce. The Sugar Tide bobs against her tether and Kaisel lifts a hand to his forehead, squinting against the sun as he traces some of Spice’s lazy circles above. He drops the hand, pressing a finger to his lips in a silent plea for the dragon’s alliance, certain she’s seen him as he strains to quietly board the boat. It’s a careful process for someone unaccustomed to the rolling bucks of the seafaring vessel, different from the handle of the ones in the sky, and he’s only really got one hand free to steady him because the other is holding his mango sorbet icecream cone. He can’t be expected to sweat without some kind of treat.
He manages it, though there is one harrowing moment where he’s tossing his weight from dock to boat that gets sketchy and one of his sandals slides on some seawater spray coating the boat’s edge, but he doesn’t go down, thank the gods. Recovering, he sneaks steadily towards the boat’s deck, where Spice is drifting over, and therefore where he expects Flora to be.
Kaisel came to Torchline prepared this time—beyond just the icecream in hand. He has a small pack slung on his back with some general travel safety items, clothes, and personal effects, determined not to get coerced into godly garments again any time soon. He’s wearing flip-flops, a tank top with a cartoon shark depicted on the front, and swimming trunks that are a black and blue ombre, all items collected last time he’d been here without a thing on him.
What Kaisel is not prepared for is the sight of Flora as the deck finally comes into view. Her skin glistens like a midnight sky turned copper, each bead of sweat and streak of oil a twinkling star against the expanse of her body. Space still needs to be explored they say, and the slope of her body is begging to be fully mapped out. Kaisel stops dead, held taut by the breasts peaking above the contours of her crisping cosmos. The pasties left very little for him to imagine, but saves him from further regret.
The moment passes with a beat, the heat coiling inside him lost beneath the ongoing inferno of the day. A scowl at once replaces the awe, perhaps to cover anything else that might appear, and he deftly fishes out a towel from his pack and launches it at her. “Sugar Tide,” he drawls in greeting, working past the dryness that gripped his throat upon the sight of her. “I like it.” He sits criss-cross next to her, licking his ice cream.
It doesn’t take long for the directions in town to lead him to her. The dock complains under each step, but it blends in with the rest of the deck traffic—fishermen and sailors forming an ongoing thread of coastal commerce. The Sugar Tide bobs against her tether and Kaisel lifts a hand to his forehead, squinting against the sun as he traces some of Spice’s lazy circles above. He drops the hand, pressing a finger to his lips in a silent plea for the dragon’s alliance, certain she’s seen him as he strains to quietly board the boat. It’s a careful process for someone unaccustomed to the rolling bucks of the seafaring vessel, different from the handle of the ones in the sky, and he’s only really got one hand free to steady him because the other is holding his mango sorbet icecream cone. He can’t be expected to sweat without some kind of treat.
He manages it, though there is one harrowing moment where he’s tossing his weight from dock to boat that gets sketchy and one of his sandals slides on some seawater spray coating the boat’s edge, but he doesn’t go down, thank the gods. Recovering, he sneaks steadily towards the boat’s deck, where Spice is drifting over, and therefore where he expects Flora to be.
Kaisel came to Torchline prepared this time—beyond just the icecream in hand. He has a small pack slung on his back with some general travel safety items, clothes, and personal effects, determined not to get coerced into godly garments again any time soon. He’s wearing flip-flops, a tank top with a cartoon shark depicted on the front, and swimming trunks that are a black and blue ombre, all items collected last time he’d been here without a thing on him.
What Kaisel is not prepared for is the sight of Flora as the deck finally comes into view. Her skin glistens like a midnight sky turned copper, each bead of sweat and streak of oil a twinkling star against the expanse of her body. Space still needs to be explored they say, and the slope of her body is begging to be fully mapped out. Kaisel stops dead, held taut by the breasts peaking above the contours of her crisping cosmos. The pasties left very little for him to imagine, but saves him from further regret.
The moment passes with a beat, the heat coiling inside him lost beneath the ongoing inferno of the day. A scowl at once replaces the awe, perhaps to cover anything else that might appear, and he deftly fishes out a towel from his pack and launches it at her. “Sugar Tide,” he drawls in greeting, working past the dryness that gripped his throat upon the sight of her. “I like it.” He sits criss-cross next to her, licking his ice cream.
It's not the devil at your door
It's just your shadow on the floor
It's just your shadow on the floor
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
