When the reaper comes knocking at my door, we'll be going twelve rounds
Reaching for a rope of red licorice, Kaisel twirls it around like the world's smallest and saddest lasso, more toy than treat for the time being as his thoughts dwell on the retreating story. The walls might have shifted back to some neutral state, but the images his mind makes linger, beckoning some deeper exploration, taunting the haunt. Seems Flora's still doing the same with the way her gaze moves around him, past him, as if looking back rather than forward, wading through the halls of her mind. He smacks the licorice against her leg, an absentminded reach to pull her back to here, some part of him shifting around what's the true discomfort here even if he hasn't recognized it beyond the entertainment.
Whether it works, or something else, she finally finds him again. Her question doesn't land quite right. It's too gentle, lacking the playful shove he might expect, and one brow rises in its own silent check in. "I totally asked you first," he aims for shoving first, like it might jostle the way the tale has evidently clung to her. "Buuuuut," he hums, making a show of turning his eyes up in over the top consideration, licorice thumping his chin in place of a pondering finger.
"No," he says at last, final and sure as his stare sinks back down to her. "Because eventually, you make it yours." He shrugs, lips turning down with the motion before he slaps the licorice into a vicious bite. "This guy in your story, sounds like he couldn't decide anything, so he stood there frozen right. Couldn't decide to stay, to leave, to do anything. It's an allegory for overthinking and by doing so, accomplishing nothing." Pretty certain he's sniffed out the moral, he grins, overly confident. "I would never. If the house would keep me, I'd punch a new door somewhere. If the house reset itself every night, I'd fuck it up every day. Eventually, I think something would show some wear, some change. I can't just exist in a vacuum within the space, it'd have to be worn down by me too. I'd make my mark, because I'd never stop doing something or trying to." No one has ever accused him of overthinking before.
Whether it works, or something else, she finally finds him again. Her question doesn't land quite right. It's too gentle, lacking the playful shove he might expect, and one brow rises in its own silent check in. "I totally asked you first," he aims for shoving first, like it might jostle the way the tale has evidently clung to her. "Buuuuut," he hums, making a show of turning his eyes up in over the top consideration, licorice thumping his chin in place of a pondering finger.
"No," he says at last, final and sure as his stare sinks back down to her. "Because eventually, you make it yours." He shrugs, lips turning down with the motion before he slaps the licorice into a vicious bite. "This guy in your story, sounds like he couldn't decide anything, so he stood there frozen right. Couldn't decide to stay, to leave, to do anything. It's an allegory for overthinking and by doing so, accomplishing nothing." Pretty certain he's sniffed out the moral, he grins, overly confident. "I would never. If the house would keep me, I'd punch a new door somewhere. If the house reset itself every night, I'd fuck it up every day. Eventually, I think something would show some wear, some change. I can't just exist in a vacuum within the space, it'd have to be worn down by me too. I'd make my mark, because I'd never stop doing something or trying to." No one has ever accused him of overthinking before.
Kaisel
I ain't afraid to bleed, there ain't a casket strong enough for me
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
