See I'm never gonna quit, got my legacy set in motion
A very loud THUMP echoes down the hall from the room where Kaisel had been diligently working away. She doesn't know it, and that's quite intentional. The moment he picked up on the fact she'd been busying herself with some project that did not seem to involve him, he'd quietly slunk away to do his own individual task, which at present has been severely inhibited by the sudden poltergeist activity of the house celebrating alongside her.
"MORA??" The muffled shout of her name carries with an edge of worry, in part because she's yelling with all the energy of an emergency, or at least she's certainly feeling it and now he is too. He's also never seen the house quite so alive as this before. "I"M COMING!" he shouts through the hook of their bracelet and ring, the starburst of her energy letting him know she's near enough.
In a rush, he comes barreling down a flight of stairs, hopping past the last few steps onto the tile. The momentum staggers him forward a touch, especially when he turns his head and locks eyes with her further down the adjacent wing. He catches himself by hooking his arm around the wall he'd pass in motion, the grip enough to leave a dust of paint under his fingernails as he hoists himself around the corner. "ORA!" he declares, the crest of concern snapping out towards her with the unquellable force of it inside him. He quickly tugs out the metal nails currently pinched between his lips. "What's happening?? Is something wrong? Are you okay?"
In his haste, he did not de-secret himself as he'd originally planned. The disheveled wear of his hair is furthered by stripes of paint globbing bits of it together, a smear or two of which is drying on his forehead and cheek. The nails gleam between his thumb and forefinger, hammer still held aloft in his other hand. Bits of drywall and wood chips dust the TORCHLINE shirt he has on, full of holes and rips from spars and corners of equipment that snagged him. Only his loose, lightweight sweatpants seem marginally clean, but even those bear the smudges of fresh debris on them.
"MORA??" The muffled shout of her name carries with an edge of worry, in part because she's yelling with all the energy of an emergency, or at least she's certainly feeling it and now he is too. He's also never seen the house quite so alive as this before. "I"M COMING!" he shouts through the hook of their bracelet and ring, the starburst of her energy letting him know she's near enough.
In a rush, he comes barreling down a flight of stairs, hopping past the last few steps onto the tile. The momentum staggers him forward a touch, especially when he turns his head and locks eyes with her further down the adjacent wing. He catches himself by hooking his arm around the wall he'd pass in motion, the grip enough to leave a dust of paint under his fingernails as he hoists himself around the corner. "ORA!" he declares, the crest of concern snapping out towards her with the unquellable force of it inside him. He quickly tugs out the metal nails currently pinched between his lips. "What's happening?? Is something wrong? Are you okay?"
In his haste, he did not de-secret himself as he'd originally planned. The disheveled wear of his hair is furthered by stripes of paint globbing bits of it together, a smear or two of which is drying on his forehead and cheek. The nails gleam between his thumb and forefinger, hammer still held aloft in his other hand. Bits of drywall and wood chips dust the TORCHLINE shirt he has on, full of holes and rips from spars and corners of equipment that snagged him. Only his loose, lightweight sweatpants seem marginally clean, but even those bear the smudges of fresh debris on them.
Kaisel
I've only just begun, I won't stop until it's done
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
