Everybody sour like a lemon tree
That honey touch she'd first given him seems to have worn off. It's a mild way her warmth withdraws, but he can't mistake the blame she directs his way, just like everyone else had. It's getting pretty fucking old being told that getting struck by lightning is his fault when the man responsible is happily smiling behind the bar, no one having bothered to yell at him, or gag him with spice. Is that all it takes to do whatever you want in life, just gather the might of a storm in your hand and you can do fuck all with it?
He presses the ire between his teeth, jaw taut with the bitterness of it. "Yeah well, message has been received loud and clear. Doesn't make him less of a shithead." Coming from the orderly halls of Stormbreak to the lawless abandon of Torchline has definitely been an experience, some for the better, some significantly for the worse. Maybe if they'd passed out a pamphlet at the skyport he'd have been able to brush up on all the native dangers to be cautious of, although given he'd never paid enough attention to his history lessons to start with, he probably would have pushed whatever warnings signs away anyway.
His expression tilts towards confusion when Calypso asks the least important question of all. He'd have done it for anyone he considered a friend, so the who hardly seems a key point here. "Flora, but why does that matter?" he says with a gesture of his arm before it flops against his other as they fold across his chest. There is a guilty current that tugs on him after her name though, because while she had been just a friend at the time, it's certainly become more... muddy now, thanks to one evening. He holds onto the label firmly though, like it's a rope that can haul him out of their murk, because that's what they still are, they'd said as much in the morning light. Maybe he owes Caly a bit more of that explanation too, but he's equally still figuring out what they are. More than friends, that's evident, and what he'd like, but the timing of everything has become a bit messy. He'd prefer to jump over the mud pit and move on from there, like he only expects dry ground ahead.
He presses the ire between his teeth, jaw taut with the bitterness of it. "Yeah well, message has been received loud and clear. Doesn't make him less of a shithead." Coming from the orderly halls of Stormbreak to the lawless abandon of Torchline has definitely been an experience, some for the better, some significantly for the worse. Maybe if they'd passed out a pamphlet at the skyport he'd have been able to brush up on all the native dangers to be cautious of, although given he'd never paid enough attention to his history lessons to start with, he probably would have pushed whatever warnings signs away anyway.
His expression tilts towards confusion when Calypso asks the least important question of all. He'd have done it for anyone he considered a friend, so the who hardly seems a key point here. "Flora, but why does that matter?" he says with a gesture of his arm before it flops against his other as they fold across his chest. There is a guilty current that tugs on him after her name though, because while she had been just a friend at the time, it's certainly become more... muddy now, thanks to one evening. He holds onto the label firmly though, like it's a rope that can haul him out of their murk, because that's what they still are, they'd said as much in the morning light. Maybe he owes Caly a bit more of that explanation too, but he's equally still figuring out what they are. More than friends, that's evident, and what he'd like, but the timing of everything has become a bit messy. He'd prefer to jump over the mud pit and move on from there, like he only expects dry ground ahead.
Kaisel
I'm just smiling down upon my enemies
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
