Kaisel
He hesitates just a moment at the threshold as the door opens, glancing around as though looking for who might be there. At the sight of Spice though, an immediate relief that Flora is in fact here, he steps inside with a purposeful stride. "Spice," he greets with half a sigh. "Wher—" The draconic chiding quiets him, and as she takes to wing, he follows after, growing all the more worried as he hurries along. Spice's expectant perch and the way the house breathes a path for him assures him of only one thing, Flora is definitely not okay.
He doesn't say anything at first as he takes in the scene of Flora's grief. Just drops his backpack off on the floor and crosses the room to where she's at. He moves the wine further back on the table, out of her reach, although the motion just looks like he's making room for a perch on the edge. One he briefly takes, leaning back on his hands as he meets her torn up gaze with the steady wholeness of his own. "Don't know if anyone's told you, but there's easier ways to get fresh charcoal for art supplies than tearing them off a fresh burn site." He has noticed the dark residue on her fingers, the tear tracks on her cheeks, the golden halo of hair run through time and time again with worry until she's made herself an angel of despair. "I do admire your commitment to the craft though."
The slant of his smile fades as he pushes off the table and leans over her, extending a light kiss to the worn edge of her temple. "Not sure if chair time counts as floor time. Might let it pass, just this once."
He doesn't say anything at first as he takes in the scene of Flora's grief. Just drops his backpack off on the floor and crosses the room to where she's at. He moves the wine further back on the table, out of her reach, although the motion just looks like he's making room for a perch on the edge. One he briefly takes, leaning back on his hands as he meets her torn up gaze with the steady wholeness of his own. "Don't know if anyone's told you, but there's easier ways to get fresh charcoal for art supplies than tearing them off a fresh burn site." He has noticed the dark residue on her fingers, the tear tracks on her cheeks, the golden halo of hair run through time and time again with worry until she's made herself an angel of despair. "I do admire your commitment to the craft though."
The slant of his smile fades as he pushes off the table and leans over her, extending a light kiss to the worn edge of her temple. "Not sure if chair time counts as floor time. Might let it pass, just this once."
Haters on my back like a backpack
Blowin' up I'm fucking flawless
Blowin' up I'm fucking flawless
Code stolen from Queen Sky
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
