Kaisel
One foot in the ground
One foot in the grave
One foot in the grave
"What!?" he demands, the dramatics not feigned for once. "You don't actually say yes to that!" he laughs, barely able to say the words before the humor at her audacity takes over. He glances down at his stomach, pulling his shirt up into his mouth so his hand is free to squish it in test. Had he been eating too much ice cream lately? "You're telling me, this is fat?" he says with fabric-muffled indignation. Rolling his eyes he spits the shirt out, "there it is—you just want the best running partner around. You can just ask me if that's the case," he grins with the power only the Uno reverse card can grant. But, yeah actually it will be fucking torture, because she's way better at it than he is. He's not about to admit that though and let her win another point.
He considers the sad violin funeral of the slowly descending ship, already plotting some future hinderance to her, all in good fun of course. He's not expecting to have his metaphorical towel ripped away and his bare body exposed so ruthlessly though. "Wh—huh?" he sputters, blush raging up his cheeks instantly. Here he thought he'd played it all off rather coolly. How many times had she known? Gods, was it all of them!? "I don't know what you mean," he insists with an unusual pitch to his voice.
Choosing to focus back on her nails to hide his shame, he mutters "gods now I'm hungry with all this talk of burgers and sprinkles." He pauses to look up at her with a smirk, although according to you I should be going for the salad."
He retrieves her hand again, holding it with gentle authority as the red swipes back and forth across the nail with steady strokes. "I'd tell all the spas never to accept you again because you're a monstrous customer," he tuts back, squinting at one nail as he tilts it one way then the other, swiping his thumb against the edge. "Better," he announces after a brief inspection and a swap of hands to complete her. "Now you can be seen along the coast again without scaring children," he announces with a devious line to his lips.
He considers the sad violin funeral of the slowly descending ship, already plotting some future hinderance to her, all in good fun of course. He's not expecting to have his metaphorical towel ripped away and his bare body exposed so ruthlessly though. "Wh—huh?" he sputters, blush raging up his cheeks instantly. Here he thought he'd played it all off rather coolly. How many times had she known? Gods, was it all of them!? "I don't know what you mean," he insists with an unusual pitch to his voice.
Choosing to focus back on her nails to hide his shame, he mutters "gods now I'm hungry with all this talk of burgers and sprinkles." He pauses to look up at her with a smirk, although according to you I should be going for the salad."
He retrieves her hand again, holding it with gentle authority as the red swipes back and forth across the nail with steady strokes. "I'd tell all the spas never to accept you again because you're a monstrous customer," he tuts back, squinting at one nail as he tilts it one way then the other, swiping his thumb against the edge. "Better," he announces after a brief inspection and a swap of hands to complete her. "Now you can be seen along the coast again without scaring children," he announces with a devious line to his lips.
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
