Let me paint a picture for you, I'm feeling like Bob Ross
Kaisel sits on a slope of meadow, criss-cross applesauce. He’s got on a violet windbreaker, every motion loud, no matter how slight. The orb is tucked into his pocket, the weight keeping the fabric tugged forward into his lap. His hood is pulled up over his dark mess of hair, although it’s almost not needed with how faint the drift of moisture is, more like a thick mist than anything resembling rain. There’s also the wide hang of the tree he’s sheltering under that keeps most of the water at bay, but he doesn’t seem to notice the lack of wet now, hood still on, thoughts turning instead around the woman he’s about to meet.
”Ready when you are,” he informs Remi, glancing up at the Bastion, whom he collected for the task. The sprout and its fence are not far, but Kaisel’s meandered over here to leave the busy fathers to their diligent watch, not wanting to interfere with it beyond what he already has. He did provide some packed bundles of breads, cheeses, and meats as a peace offering to the demidads, and a little pair of crochet baby socks with plant themes. Two pair, in fact, as he’s heard.
”Ready when you are,” he informs Remi, glancing up at the Bastion, whom he collected for the task. The sprout and its fence are not far, but Kaisel’s meandered over here to leave the busy fathers to their diligent watch, not wanting to interfere with it beyond what he already has. He did provide some packed bundles of breads, cheeses, and meats as a peace offering to the demidads, and a little pair of crochet baby socks with plant themes. Two pair, in fact, as he’s heard.
Kaisel
They don't gotta ask 'cause they know I'm him
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
