// Start a tiny riot //
She's an incensed jack in the box swaying through the canopy of cloth, a haunted one since she's able to spit ire as well as any black magic hex. It only steals his wind further, and her laughter feeds back into his, enriching his amusement until it threatens to smother him. This would be the way to go, if he had to pick, utterly in love and wasting away with bliss so rich his body can't make enough room for it.
Although, fear does start to creep up, as is typical of an encounter with a cursed doll, the moment he hears her on the move. Nothing good could be coming from that, he is certain.
He can see the slink of her when he lifts his head. It's a terrifying thing to witness a woman willing to get on her hands and knees and crawl towards vengence like Samara herself. Breathlessly he tries to ward her off, one hand lifting up while he kicks against the floor to push himself further back, something to buy him time. His socks don't keep much traction though, and the silent plea of his palm may as well have been a handhold for her to reach him faster. "FLOAR-UH" he manages to bite out the scream amid his choking, giggly bitch fit. It's immediately drowned out with the plush slam of the pillow.
He squirms beneath her, flopping like a frog who's hops have been stolen. It's all he can do to suck in air amid tireless amusement and the shrieks of panic between each rise and fall of the brutally soft weapon. His arms flail wildly for purchase on something, anything, and then he resorts to grappling for her arms to keep the next onslaught at bay. "YOU created the hole!" he accuses with a grunt of effort, as if reason has any place remaining. He bucks up with his hips against her seat and her pin, copper gaze flashing with ruthless adoration.
Although, fear does start to creep up, as is typical of an encounter with a cursed doll, the moment he hears her on the move. Nothing good could be coming from that, he is certain.
He can see the slink of her when he lifts his head. It's a terrifying thing to witness a woman willing to get on her hands and knees and crawl towards vengence like Samara herself. Breathlessly he tries to ward her off, one hand lifting up while he kicks against the floor to push himself further back, something to buy him time. His socks don't keep much traction though, and the silent plea of his palm may as well have been a handhold for her to reach him faster. "FLOAR-UH" he manages to bite out the scream amid his choking, giggly bitch fit. It's immediately drowned out with the plush slam of the pillow.
He squirms beneath her, flopping like a frog who's hops have been stolen. It's all he can do to suck in air amid tireless amusement and the shrieks of panic between each rise and fall of the brutally soft weapon. His arms flail wildly for purchase on something, anything, and then he resorts to grappling for her arms to keep the next onslaught at bay. "YOU created the hole!" he accuses with a grunt of effort, as if reason has any place remaining. He bucks up with his hips against her seat and her pin, copper gaze flashing with ruthless adoration.
Kaisel
// Stop being so goddamn quiet //
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
