Kaisel
One foot in the ground
One foot in the grave
One foot in the grave
The idea of visiting Halo sounds perfect right now, given the heat that presses in constantly, a bit stifling down here where the sea breeze can't help disperse it. "Really? I'd have thought you'd have been all over, you always were more intrepid that way," he says with a touch of admiration. "I mean, you don't stand still. Not only did you move to a boat and protect your kingdom, but you also are prepping the boat to fly already? If I didn't know better I'd say you never sleep." In short, Flora is a whirlwind.
He glances up to fully take in her answer to the cupcake quiz, secretly thrilled that she didn't just laugh in his face about it. It is perhaps one of his favorite things about her, she's always willing to sink into whatever idiot plans he's cooking up. "Like, the gross aftertaste you get when you've had too much sugar? Gross." he asks with an overly put on innocence, snickering as he resumes his task at hand—her hands. Her answer is sweet, but he can't resist teasing her ruthlessly when the moment arises. He's lost score for today's rounds, but he's pretty sure she's ahead so it's only fair really. "I would be—sprinkles." Fun, but not really integral to the whole cupcake experience. He always feels a bit like that—a surface level addition, something desired, sure, but not needed. He doesn't think poorly of himself, quite the opposite usually, but there's no denying that his greatest value to most situations is his boisterous show, his distracting magic tricks. Even here, with her, one of the few he might turn off with, he feels she's happiest when he's sprinkles. Once they get into the frosting and the cake, it's awkward and stiff. "Everyone likes sprinkles," he shrugs, as if he hasn't put too much thought in it, as if there's not a deeper meaning to the anatomy of desserts.
Her question draws a look and a smile, but he doesn't answer yet, mulling it over. The press of her toes against his belly is light enough to tickle and he giggles faintly, then throws her a scowl as he gently slaps her foot. "Quit it," he warns mildly. It lacks the bite of any heat, but the last thing he wants is to be reduced to jumpy, writhing, giggling fool because of her feather-light torture.
She jousts him with her toes again, but harder this time so it doesn't tickle, just pokes. He grunts against it, scoffing at the insistence. "There isssss when both people are sorting their love life outttttt," he says with his own insistence, picking her hands back up to buff and shape the nail and cuticle edges. "You're putting what she wants before you?" he asks casually, pausing for a moment to look at her. "You can be selfish sometimes, you know." Hasn't she given up enough for others by now?
"I'd be ketchup," he says finally after a pause, leaning in closer to the table to carefully maneuver each small edge of her nails. "I'm just a basic bitch at heart." Satisfied with the job, he moves on to applying a clear coat. "You?"
He glances up to fully take in her answer to the cupcake quiz, secretly thrilled that she didn't just laugh in his face about it. It is perhaps one of his favorite things about her, she's always willing to sink into whatever idiot plans he's cooking up. "Like, the gross aftertaste you get when you've had too much sugar? Gross." he asks with an overly put on innocence, snickering as he resumes his task at hand—her hands. Her answer is sweet, but he can't resist teasing her ruthlessly when the moment arises. He's lost score for today's rounds, but he's pretty sure she's ahead so it's only fair really. "I would be—sprinkles." Fun, but not really integral to the whole cupcake experience. He always feels a bit like that—a surface level addition, something desired, sure, but not needed. He doesn't think poorly of himself, quite the opposite usually, but there's no denying that his greatest value to most situations is his boisterous show, his distracting magic tricks. Even here, with her, one of the few he might turn off with, he feels she's happiest when he's sprinkles. Once they get into the frosting and the cake, it's awkward and stiff. "Everyone likes sprinkles," he shrugs, as if he hasn't put too much thought in it, as if there's not a deeper meaning to the anatomy of desserts.
Her question draws a look and a smile, but he doesn't answer yet, mulling it over. The press of her toes against his belly is light enough to tickle and he giggles faintly, then throws her a scowl as he gently slaps her foot. "Quit it," he warns mildly. It lacks the bite of any heat, but the last thing he wants is to be reduced to jumpy, writhing, giggling fool because of her feather-light torture.
She jousts him with her toes again, but harder this time so it doesn't tickle, just pokes. He grunts against it, scoffing at the insistence. "There isssss when both people are sorting their love life outttttt," he says with his own insistence, picking her hands back up to buff and shape the nail and cuticle edges. "You're putting what she wants before you?" he asks casually, pausing for a moment to look at her. "You can be selfish sometimes, you know." Hasn't she given up enough for others by now?
"I'd be ketchup," he says finally after a pause, leaning in closer to the table to carefully maneuver each small edge of her nails. "I'm just a basic bitch at heart." Satisfied with the job, he moves on to applying a clear coat. "You?"
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
