// Ring around the rosie - Pocket full of posie //
There's no splash that accompanies Spice's cannonball, but there is a billow of steam as she darts right over the freshly poured pasta he's straining in the sink. The visible heat eddies up, moving like a sigh before resuming it's steady climb upwards. Kaisel startles mildly, some tortellini scattering as he jostles back while setting the pot aside. "Spice?" he asks with a tinge of disbelief as he grabs for the towel on his shoulder, drying his hands as she replaces its perch there. He cocks his head towards her as the excited chittering starts up, the message delivered enough in tone and presence alone. "That bad, huh?" he grimaces, holding aloft a piece of the cheese-stuffed pasta for her.
He's barely got time to finish pouring the glass of wine before the front door attempts to merge with the wall, cracking open like thunder has just arrived in a pair of sandals. She loses pieces of herself with nearly every stride, shedding every bit of added weight as though carrying anything extra is entirely unbearable right now. Kaisel leans on his hands against the counter, just watching her with a slide of copper as she breezes along, silent as he sips on the wine. That she treats this like home doesn't even register; it is her home to him, and not just because she used to own it. He is however, entirely impressed that she's able to take her pants off while climbing stairs, and half waits for the sound that she's fallen and might need help getting back up. It's just stomping though, and frustrated grunting and growling, her ascent a spectacular feat of multitasking rage.
Kaisel glances down at Spice and raises his 'brows, as if they're nothing more than the comic relief in the changing scene of a sitcom.
Abandoning his glass to the kitchen after one more swallow, he rises up after her, slower and clothes intact. He's barefoot, dressed in thin black sweats that only stay upright with the knot at the front, and a lime green long-sleeved shirt with little star shapes building up a pattern on just the arms, which he's bunched up to his elbows. He stops at the doorway to the room, leaning heavily against it with one leg crossing over the other, hair pushing up along the frame. He swirls her glass of wine in his hand, cradling it in his fingers like some sort of crystal ball where he could divine out the future of her workload. "What a douche," he starts, of Hadama, having no context for the whys but feeling like at the very least, in this shitty moment of accepting the truth of being alone, that it rings true enough regardless of the reason of the right of it.
He's barely got time to finish pouring the glass of wine before the front door attempts to merge with the wall, cracking open like thunder has just arrived in a pair of sandals. She loses pieces of herself with nearly every stride, shedding every bit of added weight as though carrying anything extra is entirely unbearable right now. Kaisel leans on his hands against the counter, just watching her with a slide of copper as she breezes along, silent as he sips on the wine. That she treats this like home doesn't even register; it is her home to him, and not just because she used to own it. He is however, entirely impressed that she's able to take her pants off while climbing stairs, and half waits for the sound that she's fallen and might need help getting back up. It's just stomping though, and frustrated grunting and growling, her ascent a spectacular feat of multitasking rage.
Kaisel glances down at Spice and raises his 'brows, as if they're nothing more than the comic relief in the changing scene of a sitcom.
Abandoning his glass to the kitchen after one more swallow, he rises up after her, slower and clothes intact. He's barefoot, dressed in thin black sweats that only stay upright with the knot at the front, and a lime green long-sleeved shirt with little star shapes building up a pattern on just the arms, which he's bunched up to his elbows. He stops at the doorway to the room, leaning heavily against it with one leg crossing over the other, hair pushing up along the frame. He swirls her glass of wine in his hand, cradling it in his fingers like some sort of crystal ball where he could divine out the future of her workload. "What a douche," he starts, of Hadama, having no context for the whys but feeling like at the very least, in this shitty moment of accepting the truth of being alone, that it rings true enough regardless of the reason of the right of it.
Kaisel
// I'ma fucking blow all the ashes down //
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
