There ain't nothing that comes close to as good as you
His arms sail up and out immediately, palms requesting understanding from the ceiling with the same unrepentant greed of a church’s donation bin being passed around post service. They say what he doesn’t maange to before Flora continues on, which is yes, obviously! Wordlessly they flop back down, folding against his hips at the wrist, a conversation being spoken between both their gestures in equal parts.
A noise of words just beginning gets cut off, face puffing with the breath he yanks back as she barges onward. Any good fight requires knowing when to dodge and duck and when to push out an attack. He’s waiting for the opening between her argument, bobbing and weaving around accusations until she drops enough of a guard that he can swing.
Her taunts prove more effective than his patience, and it’s his defense that falters once she breaks out an advanced move, poorly done impersonation. ”No!” he scoffs abruptly, an arm climbing with his brows. ”I explained. I didn’t—” He doesn’t get to say more before she’s rounding to him, forcing out a defensive eyeroll as theatrics spill over into verbiage.
”Uuuugh,” he complains with an oscar worthy delivery, face pitching down into the pinch of his hand as he tries to work composure into the bridge of his nose. ”This is exactly what she wanted by writing to you first! She got her side of the story in so now that’s the one that’s colored your opinion!” He’s stopped waiting for a fair opening, so at the risk of taking a punch to the face, he fires back, fighting for room to speak over her onslaught.
His head rears up from his hand as her voice slaps and lands, stinging in the wake of the false calm that attempts to briefly settle, no better than a hel setting down on an echo shark feeding frenzy. ”MAYBE she felt shitty because she’s full of shit!” His hands burst forth and sweep out, an impressive pantomime of Alien. He turns on his heel and shakes his head, droplets scattering. He busies himself retreating back to the doorway, stooping to unlance his boots, firing back over his shoulder all the while.
”It was not as bad as you’re making it out to be! She’s just butthurt that I said a few true things about where she’s putting her lips and that pissed her off.” He kicks one boot aside, the tile cool underfoot when his socked heel presses back down. ”She almost stormed out on me, I apologized, said I shouldn’t have said what I did, and we tried to talk, but even when I said I understood and that she should be happy, she just started to clam up and everything got awkward as fuck and since we’d finished painting, we just kinda, left.”
A noise of words just beginning gets cut off, face puffing with the breath he yanks back as she barges onward. Any good fight requires knowing when to dodge and duck and when to push out an attack. He’s waiting for the opening between her argument, bobbing and weaving around accusations until she drops enough of a guard that he can swing.
Her taunts prove more effective than his patience, and it’s his defense that falters once she breaks out an advanced move, poorly done impersonation. ”No!” he scoffs abruptly, an arm climbing with his brows. ”I explained. I didn’t—” He doesn’t get to say more before she’s rounding to him, forcing out a defensive eyeroll as theatrics spill over into verbiage.
”Uuuugh,” he complains with an oscar worthy delivery, face pitching down into the pinch of his hand as he tries to work composure into the bridge of his nose. ”This is exactly what she wanted by writing to you first! She got her side of the story in so now that’s the one that’s colored your opinion!” He’s stopped waiting for a fair opening, so at the risk of taking a punch to the face, he fires back, fighting for room to speak over her onslaught.
His head rears up from his hand as her voice slaps and lands, stinging in the wake of the false calm that attempts to briefly settle, no better than a hel setting down on an echo shark feeding frenzy. ”MAYBE she felt shitty because she’s full of shit!” His hands burst forth and sweep out, an impressive pantomime of Alien. He turns on his heel and shakes his head, droplets scattering. He busies himself retreating back to the doorway, stooping to unlance his boots, firing back over his shoulder all the while.
”It was not as bad as you’re making it out to be! She’s just butthurt that I said a few true things about where she’s putting her lips and that pissed her off.” He kicks one boot aside, the tile cool underfoot when his socked heel presses back down. ”She almost stormed out on me, I apologized, said I shouldn’t have said what I did, and we tried to talk, but even when I said I understood and that she should be happy, she just started to clam up and everything got awkward as fuck and since we’d finished painting, we just kinda, left.”
Kaisel
There is you, then all the rest, second place is the best they'll get
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
