Kaisel
Haters on my back like a backpack
Trying not to immediately think of the underground network of thieves and sea scum that rot the Fingers, especially these days, Kaisel instead grimaces at the reality of what still lurks above ground. ”Safety is relative, I’m afraid.” Compared to other options, this is about as safe as it fucking gets, and for that maybe she should be thankful she only lost her purse and not her life along with it. He doesn’t think it worth pushing the ideas of what could have happened into her already rattled mind.
Although it’s still on the heels of her fears, the chance for a topic change is one he leaps to grab, using her words like something of a crutch to steady her. Distractions to pull her from her worry, to keep her breath moving. ”Where you from?” The question cuts clean over the wound, bright and eager to know more of her, a quiet insistence that she matters.
”Whatever you can remember will help,” he reassures as they rise. She’s like collecting water in a cupped hand, languid and loose, curling into every part of him. It’s so easy to hold her, although it doesn’t seem like it should be. Not for size, but for a depth to her that he can’t fully ascertain, the edges of understanding it always just out of reach, flickering like a haze in the corner of his awareness. It’s something about her, fierce in a way too at odds with everything right before him, or perhaps it’s just really good hair care.
A laugh does its best to disperse the easy praise, trying not to let it stick and grow. ”Oh, pffft, no. Anyone would have done the same.” Except he’s the one who did it, so his smile keeps a bit of the pride. ”C’mon, I can set you down at the smoothie tables. I bet they use healing water in them and that’s why they taste so good.” The area isn’t far, and he swings her with him as he turns to head there, glancing down over the tide of red that blooms in his arms. ”I’m Kaisel, by the way.”
The smoothie seating is just a cluster of round, wooden picnic tables, but it’ll do to put her somewhere other than the street, aware every moment he wastes the thief gets further away. ”So what’s the purse look like?”
Although it’s still on the heels of her fears, the chance for a topic change is one he leaps to grab, using her words like something of a crutch to steady her. Distractions to pull her from her worry, to keep her breath moving. ”Where you from?” The question cuts clean over the wound, bright and eager to know more of her, a quiet insistence that she matters.
”Whatever you can remember will help,” he reassures as they rise. She’s like collecting water in a cupped hand, languid and loose, curling into every part of him. It’s so easy to hold her, although it doesn’t seem like it should be. Not for size, but for a depth to her that he can’t fully ascertain, the edges of understanding it always just out of reach, flickering like a haze in the corner of his awareness. It’s something about her, fierce in a way too at odds with everything right before him, or perhaps it’s just really good hair care.
A laugh does its best to disperse the easy praise, trying not to let it stick and grow. ”Oh, pffft, no. Anyone would have done the same.” Except he’s the one who did it, so his smile keeps a bit of the pride. ”C’mon, I can set you down at the smoothie tables. I bet they use healing water in them and that’s why they taste so good.” The area isn’t far, and he swings her with him as he turns to head there, glancing down over the tide of red that blooms in his arms. ”I’m Kaisel, by the way.”
The smoothie seating is just a cluster of round, wooden picnic tables, but it’ll do to put her somewhere other than the street, aware every moment he wastes the thief gets further away. ”So what’s the purse look like?”
Blowin' up I'm fucking flawless
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
