Got a spark in your heart so strike it
Wheels and sand don't exactly get along, especially once weight get's added to the mix, so Ronin's assistance with the cart makes a huge difference. So too would an investment in a better wagon, but that's a solution for a different day. A laugh huffs free at the congratulations, "yeah, might avoid a bruised tailbone for once this year, with no iced over streets to worry about." Although he would be visiting Stormbreak to continue to assist with repairs, so perhaps he just jinxed himself. The risk is significantly reduced, at least.
As they reach all the scattered driftwood pieces, Kaisel gathers them up steadily. He lifts each one for brief inspection, shaking off any small crabs or brittle stars still clinging to them. "Sounds like something worth seeing," he admits as he glances over at the stretch of beach, trying to picture a field of bonfires and yurts. Once Ronin's organized his collection he adds the new armfuls to it, careful to maintain the system that's been laid out. "Hopefully people still uh, leave to shower and shit." And the shit is rather literal, because unless everyone's running into the freezing water to drop their pants, the long festival sounds like it'll end in stinky mayhem before long. He's down to celebrate, but he's never quite seen a party last beyond a day or two, and with darkness stretching out long enough to keep bad decisions burning, it sounds like a future regret. "I'm guessing the details have all been worked out though, if it's tradition." Not just some music festival popping up in the desert, run by inexperienced hands, but other similarities are there.
One of the sticks he picks up he swings around like a sword, vanquishing some imaginary Longnight ruffian before placing it in the wagon. "Guessing most of the shopkeeps are there too, so probably have to prepare for it one way or another, yeah? Hopefully everyone's chill and gets along." Generally large crowds of people for extended periods of time, neighbors or not, tends to get rowdy, especially when drunk. Maybe he's too used to the Silk Houses though.
As they reach all the scattered driftwood pieces, Kaisel gathers them up steadily. He lifts each one for brief inspection, shaking off any small crabs or brittle stars still clinging to them. "Sounds like something worth seeing," he admits as he glances over at the stretch of beach, trying to picture a field of bonfires and yurts. Once Ronin's organized his collection he adds the new armfuls to it, careful to maintain the system that's been laid out. "Hopefully people still uh, leave to shower and shit." And the shit is rather literal, because unless everyone's running into the freezing water to drop their pants, the long festival sounds like it'll end in stinky mayhem before long. He's down to celebrate, but he's never quite seen a party last beyond a day or two, and with darkness stretching out long enough to keep bad decisions burning, it sounds like a future regret. "I'm guessing the details have all been worked out though, if it's tradition." Not just some music festival popping up in the desert, run by inexperienced hands, but other similarities are there.
One of the sticks he picks up he swings around like a sword, vanquishing some imaginary Longnight ruffian before placing it in the wagon. "Guessing most of the shopkeeps are there too, so probably have to prepare for it one way or another, yeah? Hopefully everyone's chill and gets along." Generally large crowds of people for extended periods of time, neighbors or not, tends to get rowdy, especially when drunk. Maybe he's too used to the Silk Houses though.
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
