Kaisel
For a moment, he's genuinely concerned he overshot his shove, not used to the fun-sized version. He even takes a half-step after her, hands already reaching, but the mischief in her eyes gives her away. A common sight, to be sure, but too evident when she should have been reeling. "Oh, the guilt," he cries out, clutching at his heart and sinking deeper into his knees for a bedraggled step or two. At her list however, he can't maintain it, his eyeroll straightening him back to full height. "You're sounding an awful lot like a stickler right now." He cheeses over at her.
Unable to fully shield her barrage of innuendo, he can't keep the way his features slide into something half sly as she fixes her statement about balanced teeth. "Precisely, no one wants all bite. Except, maybe alligators. And sharks." Lots of teeth and all.
By the time he's on the stairs and talking behind himself at her, she's—oh, she's gone. His words fizzle out into a question mark brow, but the sound of her above him has his eyes snapping up. She leans over like a sigh made visible, touting anti-inhibitions like she's a moonshiner during prohibition. "You might be the only one to think I need loosening up," he laughs out with a disbelieving shake of his head. Maybe there's a few opinions out there about his loose he could be around other dicks, but everyone else, family and some friends included, are always rooting for something more serious and settled.
"Wha—I am!" He stops his climb to gesture around with open arms at where they're at, what they're doing, palms raised up in a prayer for understanding with the slow turn he does. "We're in a creepy old tower to summon spooky shit, how much more chaos do I need?" He proceeds onward, cresting to the second floor with his hands on his hips. "Aaaaand, we're back to sticks."
Jokes aside, he pauses to really look at her, some unusual seriousness having taken root in a way he's not used to seeing in her unless she's describing her temple work or trying to convert him again. "You know I'd always play fetch with you, even if it does get all slobbery and gross." At least, he hopes she does. Slipping his arm back around her shoulders he tugs her to his side as he makes his way towards the first promising room, which is really just the open landing to the side, a cobwebbed couch pressed up against the railings.
"Here, I think," he decides, pulling his backpack off his shoulders to unload the various tools of candles, his chakram, salt, iron, garlic, and so on.
Unable to fully shield her barrage of innuendo, he can't keep the way his features slide into something half sly as she fixes her statement about balanced teeth. "Precisely, no one wants all bite. Except, maybe alligators. And sharks." Lots of teeth and all.
By the time he's on the stairs and talking behind himself at her, she's—oh, she's gone. His words fizzle out into a question mark brow, but the sound of her above him has his eyes snapping up. She leans over like a sigh made visible, touting anti-inhibitions like she's a moonshiner during prohibition. "You might be the only one to think I need loosening up," he laughs out with a disbelieving shake of his head. Maybe there's a few opinions out there about his loose he could be around other dicks, but everyone else, family and some friends included, are always rooting for something more serious and settled.
"Wha—I am!" He stops his climb to gesture around with open arms at where they're at, what they're doing, palms raised up in a prayer for understanding with the slow turn he does. "We're in a creepy old tower to summon spooky shit, how much more chaos do I need?" He proceeds onward, cresting to the second floor with his hands on his hips. "Aaaaand, we're back to sticks."
Jokes aside, he pauses to really look at her, some unusual seriousness having taken root in a way he's not used to seeing in her unless she's describing her temple work or trying to convert him again. "You know I'd always play fetch with you, even if it does get all slobbery and gross." At least, he hopes she does. Slipping his arm back around her shoulders he tugs her to his side as he makes his way towards the first promising room, which is really just the open landing to the side, a cobwebbed couch pressed up against the railings.
"Here, I think," he decides, pulling his backpack off his shoulders to unload the various tools of candles, his chakram, salt, iron, garlic, and so on.
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
