Don't need to know where we're going
The change taking place in front of him doesn't seem to immediately register, not in the way it should for Kaisel. He sees Astaroth ’s frame extend, as if all this time the ancient has been neatly folded into a cute deer-tote for maximum carrying efficiency, only to unfurl into its full structure of horror at the twist of a few shadows and bone. The infomercial for how easy Astaroth™ is to set up and later disassemble blares through the whining static of the late-night demonstration; nothing better on than shopping for shit you don't need.
Even as Astaroth's shape telescopes up into its full potential, Kaisel's head only tilts further back, features locked into a tight, destructive determination. Darkness swells around the ancient, a commanding cloak of warning that shreds around spits of flame, moving into a blur on the borders of light like something impatient and hungry barely restrained. The blaze sharpens every contrast—amber gilding the ancient’s exposed skin starkly cut against his shadowed margins that collapse into a nightmare silhouette. There's no warmth or invitation that's typical of something burning, just the threat of joining the inferno, a one-way venture.
The contradiction of terror that sprouts into being is crowned with a sweep of tines, Kaisel's gaze promptly tangling in them. Around an unnatural smile, eerie words coax for apology, but Kaisel's fingers tighten around his glass as if he means to brace for the fracture of it in the strike he's readying. It's then that a sea emerges—bright, vibrant, cool—cutting clean through the red heat dragging him into a riptide of chaos. Flora’s eyes, wide and earnest, hit him first. The frantic trigger pull of 'Rupert' follows, the force of a slap that reaches through the mounting hysteria.
Kaisel blinks rapidly. Every part of him uncoils in a breath and he staggers back faintly, head shaking in tiny jerks like someone dragging themselves up from a dream’s undertow. "Wha—" he starts, not because he’s forgotten anything, but because none of it fits together anymore.
The full scope of his fear slams into him then, each heartbeat a new wash of emotional fuckery pulsing through him, this one streaking like lightning from head to toe. "What the FUCK IS THAT!?" he explodes, voice pitching up with raw panic. He grabs Flora without thinking, hauling her back with him as he recoils from the towering creature. "Where the fuck is Astaroth?" he demands, because despite watching the transition happen, he cannot parse that this vile thing is one and the same. There's enough confusing aspects to all of this that trusting anything right now seems unreliable, and leaves him doubting if he's woken up from that dream yet.
Even as Astaroth's shape telescopes up into its full potential, Kaisel's head only tilts further back, features locked into a tight, destructive determination. Darkness swells around the ancient, a commanding cloak of warning that shreds around spits of flame, moving into a blur on the borders of light like something impatient and hungry barely restrained. The blaze sharpens every contrast—amber gilding the ancient’s exposed skin starkly cut against his shadowed margins that collapse into a nightmare silhouette. There's no warmth or invitation that's typical of something burning, just the threat of joining the inferno, a one-way venture.
The contradiction of terror that sprouts into being is crowned with a sweep of tines, Kaisel's gaze promptly tangling in them. Around an unnatural smile, eerie words coax for apology, but Kaisel's fingers tighten around his glass as if he means to brace for the fracture of it in the strike he's readying. It's then that a sea emerges—bright, vibrant, cool—cutting clean through the red heat dragging him into a riptide of chaos. Flora’s eyes, wide and earnest, hit him first. The frantic trigger pull of 'Rupert' follows, the force of a slap that reaches through the mounting hysteria.
Kaisel blinks rapidly. Every part of him uncoils in a breath and he staggers back faintly, head shaking in tiny jerks like someone dragging themselves up from a dream’s undertow. "Wha—" he starts, not because he’s forgotten anything, but because none of it fits together anymore.
The full scope of his fear slams into him then, each heartbeat a new wash of emotional fuckery pulsing through him, this one streaking like lightning from head to toe. "What the FUCK IS THAT!?" he explodes, voice pitching up with raw panic. He grabs Flora without thinking, hauling her back with him as he recoils from the towering creature. "Where the fuck is Astaroth?" he demands, because despite watching the transition happen, he cannot parse that this vile thing is one and the same. There's enough confusing aspects to all of this that trusting anything right now seems unreliable, and leaves him doubting if he's woken up from that dream yet.
Kaisel
It'll all make sense when we arrive
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
