Kaisel
Haters on my back like a backpack
Although he doesn't say it, being brought back time and time again seems a hell of a lot worse than just, not dying to begin with. Maybe she wouldn't remain, but it doesn't keep all the pain away, and he's pretty certain doing that too many times will leave some sort of irreparable damage. "There's other ways you could visit Mort," he scoffs. The world generally likes to maintain its balance, achieved with the designed flows. Cheat it too often, and seems like inviting the kind of attention you don't want.
He makes a face at the idea of Mateo traipsing around with gold-lacquered molars dangling merrily from his ears like some kind of fucked up cat bell. An involuntary shudder rolls through him, and he quickly shoves that picture right out of his head. No thank you.
His grin rises to hers, although it quickly falters when she goes back to chopping up body parts like she's Dexter. "Uh, no," he clarifies as he sticks out his tongue in disgust. "I meant like, putting your essence in a sword. I am not gonna cart around your mouth and your fingers." Her being a ghost is much better than whatever black magic fuckery this is. Though, he can't help himself, something smug sweeping over his expression. "The best hilt," he says with a suggestive drawl and a wink, purposefully made over the top just to stifle some of the honesty that otherwise threatens to break a moment managing to stay cooled.
His attention follows her hand to the next row of graves with a huff. How many dead people are there?? "Yeah," he says too quickly, stepping up beside her suddenly, shoulder drifting just next to hers. "Lunch!" With a laugh he smacks the back of his hand playfully at her arm and darts forward, whipping flowers towards graves like an errant paper boy. "Last one there has to pretend to be a dog for an hour, IN PUBLIC!" he calls out as he breaks into a full on run.
[FIN]
He makes a face at the idea of Mateo traipsing around with gold-lacquered molars dangling merrily from his ears like some kind of fucked up cat bell. An involuntary shudder rolls through him, and he quickly shoves that picture right out of his head. No thank you.
His grin rises to hers, although it quickly falters when she goes back to chopping up body parts like she's Dexter. "Uh, no," he clarifies as he sticks out his tongue in disgust. "I meant like, putting your essence in a sword. I am not gonna cart around your mouth and your fingers." Her being a ghost is much better than whatever black magic fuckery this is. Though, he can't help himself, something smug sweeping over his expression. "The best hilt," he says with a suggestive drawl and a wink, purposefully made over the top just to stifle some of the honesty that otherwise threatens to break a moment managing to stay cooled.
His attention follows her hand to the next row of graves with a huff. How many dead people are there?? "Yeah," he says too quickly, stepping up beside her suddenly, shoulder drifting just next to hers. "Lunch!" With a laugh he smacks the back of his hand playfully at her arm and darts forward, whipping flowers towards graves like an errant paper boy. "Last one there has to pretend to be a dog for an hour, IN PUBLIC!" he calls out as he breaks into a full on run.
[FIN]
Blowin' up I'm fucking flawless
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
