// Ring around the rosie - Pocket full of posie //
Her words would normally strike a chord of fear in him, and maybe still do somewhere below all the buzz of this happy hilarity they're feeding, but he takes it rather in stride with all the other ridiculous remarks. "I guess that could be your stint as a ghostwriter. Fertilisation Koala, the author from beeeeeyoooo000ond the graaaaave," his voice lilts up and down with sp00py effect. He does snort once though, casting her a knowing look. "Although, if that's the prerequisite, I'll settle for truthbombs dropped on me at random, because at least then you're alive."
The smirk that returns at it's not too late for that suggests he absolutely knows and agrees. Although he'd originally planned on it being a distraction for her, something for her to put her energy into and laugh about, which maybe she doesn't need so much any more, right now. Though, really, can you have enough silliness? Given how much he loves to see her laugh, the answer is assuredly, no—at least not when sprinkled around floor time like this.
"I think perhaps you should go for a more mediocre tailor and improve your optometrist if it took you that long to notice my muscles," he scoffs, cutting her a vehemently playful look in return. "At least you've noticed now," he sniffs, breaking out into a flex that causes one of the dress straps to give up and slip down. He laughs, pulling the slutty cord back into place as he regards his gown in its entirety again. He spins it back and forth over his knees, apparently pleased. "I could get used to this breeze," he admits, more serious than he'd like to admit. "I didn't think dresses were for showing off muscle though, I thought it was for showing off my cake?" He twists around to peek at it, tipping one leg onto his toe to really offer the shelf for view. Doesn't at all compare to hers, but maybe with the right dress from her fancy tailor...
This isn't his fashion show though, so with shirts on display he can only laugh loud and apologetic at her strong opposition to the Flood. "Ok ok, you're right. That one's just my favorite." He releases his chin hold on it, letting it flutter to the floor, relinquishing the dragon to her. With the wine glass somewhere other than his hand, and her spinning around like seeing her would be a scandal, he sets about to removing his own tiresome garment, the sequins having worn out their restrictive welcome. He pulls it off over his head, hair fluffing out in static strands in every direction. He chucks it somewhere into the depths of the closet, glancing over as Flora Story Time ™ starts.
In just his underwear now too, he leans against the closet, appreciating the view and trying very hard not to let it distract him from what she's saying. Although there is a moment where his reaction comes delayed after the end of her voice, like the words took a moment longer than they should to sink in. He'd been busy noticing how some of his favorite outlines of her are bathed in moonlight, and wondering what they might look like with the glow of dawn, with the shine of midday, with the dappling of trees overhead or under stormlight...
"Wait—what?" Surprise opens his mouth a bit, tongue grabbing for words his mind hasn't yet supplied. "Is that why everything stayed so scattered afterwards?" Not that'd been in the super important circles of knowledge, but from his vantage point it sure looked like they had the strength to handle the Family sooner but were half the time chasing their own tails about it all. Hindsight is 20/20 and all, and maybe this meeting was before the Family's threat was truly understood, but certainly seems like a tactless approach. "People of power usually respond well to having a door slammed in their face, huh?" He grimaces, and her near-death is easily imagined now, gown and all.
He does hold up a hand to stop her though, and forgive him if the severity of the situation at hand is a bit lost when she's grinning over her shoulder with nothing but lace draping over her ass—he's distracted. "Wait, wait. That shirt's all wrong for you," he lies, reaching back to grab the first thing he can feel and tossing it to her. "Try this instead," he suggests without any intent of letting her put any of them on.
The smirk that returns at it's not too late for that suggests he absolutely knows and agrees. Although he'd originally planned on it being a distraction for her, something for her to put her energy into and laugh about, which maybe she doesn't need so much any more, right now. Though, really, can you have enough silliness? Given how much he loves to see her laugh, the answer is assuredly, no—at least not when sprinkled around floor time like this.
"I think perhaps you should go for a more mediocre tailor and improve your optometrist if it took you that long to notice my muscles," he scoffs, cutting her a vehemently playful look in return. "At least you've noticed now," he sniffs, breaking out into a flex that causes one of the dress straps to give up and slip down. He laughs, pulling the slutty cord back into place as he regards his gown in its entirety again. He spins it back and forth over his knees, apparently pleased. "I could get used to this breeze," he admits, more serious than he'd like to admit. "I didn't think dresses were for showing off muscle though, I thought it was for showing off my cake?" He twists around to peek at it, tipping one leg onto his toe to really offer the shelf for view. Doesn't at all compare to hers, but maybe with the right dress from her fancy tailor...
This isn't his fashion show though, so with shirts on display he can only laugh loud and apologetic at her strong opposition to the Flood. "Ok ok, you're right. That one's just my favorite." He releases his chin hold on it, letting it flutter to the floor, relinquishing the dragon to her. With the wine glass somewhere other than his hand, and her spinning around like seeing her would be a scandal, he sets about to removing his own tiresome garment, the sequins having worn out their restrictive welcome. He pulls it off over his head, hair fluffing out in static strands in every direction. He chucks it somewhere into the depths of the closet, glancing over as Flora Story Time ™ starts.
In just his underwear now too, he leans against the closet, appreciating the view and trying very hard not to let it distract him from what she's saying. Although there is a moment where his reaction comes delayed after the end of her voice, like the words took a moment longer than they should to sink in. He'd been busy noticing how some of his favorite outlines of her are bathed in moonlight, and wondering what they might look like with the glow of dawn, with the shine of midday, with the dappling of trees overhead or under stormlight...
"Wait—what?" Surprise opens his mouth a bit, tongue grabbing for words his mind hasn't yet supplied. "Is that why everything stayed so scattered afterwards?" Not that'd been in the super important circles of knowledge, but from his vantage point it sure looked like they had the strength to handle the Family sooner but were half the time chasing their own tails about it all. Hindsight is 20/20 and all, and maybe this meeting was before the Family's threat was truly understood, but certainly seems like a tactless approach. "People of power usually respond well to having a door slammed in their face, huh?" He grimaces, and her near-death is easily imagined now, gown and all.
He does hold up a hand to stop her though, and forgive him if the severity of the situation at hand is a bit lost when she's grinning over her shoulder with nothing but lace draping over her ass—he's distracted. "Wait, wait. That shirt's all wrong for you," he lies, reaching back to grab the first thing he can feel and tossing it to her. "Try this instead," he suggests without any intent of letting her put any of them on.
Kaisel
// I'ma fucking blow all the ashes down //
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
