Time to deck some halls
"That," he fires back on the heels of her unsurprising claim, half expecting it, "is because you are evil." The look he cuts her tries to maintain a level of mock seriousness, but the twitch of his lips clearly betrays him. Though, there are a couple dozen scenarios that come to mind that speak to her wicked nature, the lead of which is her increasingly inventive ways to motivate him into running with her. He doesn't ride that train of through much further, not when mud station pulls into sight behind the doors.
Shaking the residue of the goop from his prize candy cane with swift, splattering motion towards the floor, droplets of the muck wiggle where they land. Gradually they bead back together, wombling to rejoin the rest that Flora flung off. "Oh, is that not normally how facials here work?" Amusement glimmers in the edges of his expression, though it falters as the moment breaks apart into another shrill scream. Wilhem, if he's not mistaken.
"I sound the same way during a pedicure," he informs her as he moves towards the cry, purposefully striding through the memory mud mask to disrupt some of its reforming. He brings his candy cane back into swinging posture, crouching into a SWAT operative's crouch as he heads onward. "You got anything on you?" he asks over his shoulder towards her. He figures tucked away knives isn't the typical pre-spa attire, but it is Torchline and she is the queen, so it's a solid 50/50 chance. Otherwise, the front desk's proud, glass award on display looks hefty and usable. "C'mon, let's check it out." All signs point to something very fucked is happening here, so looks like he's clocking in early.
Lights flicker eerily down the hall as he shoulders the door open. One of the steam rooms seems to be held ajar and is sending out a low and steady haze into the walkway, which is making the nearby candle flames dance erratically. His gaze narrows on something large and dark looming at the end of the hall. It's hard to make out through the purposefully poor lighting—very soothing—and the distortion of the steam, but it seems person-shaped, if a bit hulking for your typical man. Maybe that's Viktor, the deep-tissue masseuse. "HEY! You good, buddy?" Kaisel calls down to him.
Shaking the residue of the goop from his prize candy cane with swift, splattering motion towards the floor, droplets of the muck wiggle where they land. Gradually they bead back together, wombling to rejoin the rest that Flora flung off. "Oh, is that not normally how facials here work?" Amusement glimmers in the edges of his expression, though it falters as the moment breaks apart into another shrill scream. Wilhem, if he's not mistaken.
"I sound the same way during a pedicure," he informs her as he moves towards the cry, purposefully striding through the memory mud mask to disrupt some of its reforming. He brings his candy cane back into swinging posture, crouching into a SWAT operative's crouch as he heads onward. "You got anything on you?" he asks over his shoulder towards her. He figures tucked away knives isn't the typical pre-spa attire, but it is Torchline and she is the queen, so it's a solid 50/50 chance. Otherwise, the front desk's proud, glass award on display looks hefty and usable. "C'mon, let's check it out." All signs point to something very fucked is happening here, so looks like he's clocking in early.
Lights flicker eerily down the hall as he shoulders the door open. One of the steam rooms seems to be held ajar and is sending out a low and steady haze into the walkway, which is making the nearby candle flames dance erratically. His gaze narrows on something large and dark looming at the end of the hall. It's hard to make out through the purposefully poor lighting—very soothing—and the distortion of the steam, but it seems person-shaped, if a bit hulking for your typical man. Maybe that's Viktor, the deep-tissue masseuse. "HEY! You good, buddy?" Kaisel calls down to him.
Kaisel
Ho ho ho Bitches
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
