Let's make tonight the weekend, I don't wanna wait
His scoff is loud and long, suggesting her allegation, however silky soft, is massively wounding to his newly acquired but evidently depthless spa pride. "What," he throws back with playful sass, "you think only men can have happy endings with massages?" He quirks one 'brow in challenge, smile stretching wider and more devious by the moment. "You're the one being pampered today," he simplifies with a raise of a finger. "Although if you want to tip your masseuse with any of those same tricks from last night, that is acceptable at Spa de Wildering," he reassures her. "After all, the spa staff here strive for the best service and survive off tips." He nods, as if it is known. Then, after a moment, adds a touch more clarity. "Me, I am the spa staff."
As for the house's activity, he laughs soft and deep. "Yes, we have a lot of shared interests, like little candies, small toys and stickers, and seeing you happy. Last night was certainly, spirited," he's unrepentant with the appraisal in his gaze as he sweeps it over her, utterly enamored with her, even half-groggy from waking. "Besides, I think they like the spa effects," he murmurs a touch softer, affectionate almost. It's akin to a field trip, but at the house, things changed and rearranged from the daily order. The wooden frog that makes a croaking noise when the wand is run over the spines of it's back surely helped too, along with the metal ones that hop when the tab on the back is pushed just so.
"Good thing my feet are not being cured," he says with a sharp shake of his head, the very thought of handing his feet over to a stranger to scrub at enough to make his toes curl in protest. His focus shifts to the platter in her lap as she lays out the flaw of it all, terribly burdened by the oppressive weight of toast and choices. "Well, I had to make enough eggs and bacon for the face," he begins to explain with a seriousness that is more honest than playful. "So then you also needed toast. But pancakes taste so good so then I had to make some of those. And coffee is typical, but mimosas are spa coded, so really, what was I to do?" It's practically criminal that the universe offered him so little leeway in this matter. "Just nibble on what you want," he offers, leaning forward to swipe a piece from her plate to help her, since she's clearly struggling.
As for the house's activity, he laughs soft and deep. "Yes, we have a lot of shared interests, like little candies, small toys and stickers, and seeing you happy. Last night was certainly, spirited," he's unrepentant with the appraisal in his gaze as he sweeps it over her, utterly enamored with her, even half-groggy from waking. "Besides, I think they like the spa effects," he murmurs a touch softer, affectionate almost. It's akin to a field trip, but at the house, things changed and rearranged from the daily order. The wooden frog that makes a croaking noise when the wand is run over the spines of it's back surely helped too, along with the metal ones that hop when the tab on the back is pushed just so.
"Good thing my feet are not being cured," he says with a sharp shake of his head, the very thought of handing his feet over to a stranger to scrub at enough to make his toes curl in protest. His focus shifts to the platter in her lap as she lays out the flaw of it all, terribly burdened by the oppressive weight of toast and choices. "Well, I had to make enough eggs and bacon for the face," he begins to explain with a seriousness that is more honest than playful. "So then you also needed toast. But pancakes taste so good so then I had to make some of those. And coffee is typical, but mimosas are spa coded, so really, what was I to do?" It's practically criminal that the universe offered him so little leeway in this matter. "Just nibble on what you want," he offers, leaning forward to swipe a piece from her plate to help her, since she's clearly struggling.
Kaisel
Got no reason not to celebrate
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
