I'd burn my house down just to hear them scream my name
For a moment, Flora lets herself believe things might actually keep moving in a way that resembles competence, with Kiada back with the fastenings, Danta disappearing beneath the sand in a hiss of heat, and Kai jogging off with the confidence of a man who has either discovered a brilliant solution or is about to become the architect of a brand new problem.
Unfortunately, because this is Torchline and optimism here is basically just foreplay for disaster, the co-eds only raise their brows as Kaisel approaches, their expressions bright with the sort of amusement that says they know exactly how much attention they’re getting and have no intention of spending that attention on actual labour. Laughter carries back across the beach in the warm air, followed by a few pointedly unimpressed remarks about how no way are they going to be baited into doing construction work that easily, and then, because they’re committed to the bit now, they begin showing off even more. The soldiers who had already been distracted remain, tragically and predictably, distracted.
Flora presses her lips together hard enough that the smile trying to escape has nowhere to go, and when she glances toward Kai, her brows lift. Through the bond, her amusement slips toward him like warm champagne fizzing over the rim of a glass. So close, babe. Truly inspirational levels of almost.
The hels, at least, scatter from Kiada ’s fire with offended shrieks, flapping away from the crates in a storm of feathers and noise. They don’t go far, though, settling nearby with beady-eyed persistence, and every time Kiada’s attention shifts to one crate, several of them immediately begin sidling toward another as if the bag of fastenings might yet become bread if they harass it with enough optimism.
Near the foundation lines, the sand where Dantalion vanished continues to hiss faintly, shifting here and there as the little lava wyrm moves beneath the surface. For a while, there’s nothing but the soft disturbance of his passage as he navigates around buried rocks, old debris, and whatever else the previous version of the Hanged Man decided to leave behind like a drunk emptying his pockets into the earth. Then, farther along the marked foundation, something under the sand gives a dull, unmistakable resistance against him: hard, squared-off, and not stone, roughly the size of a shoebox, with the stubborn cold bite of metal beneath the grit.
Oops, seems like the co-eds are not inclined to take Kai's bait, and the soldiers remain distracted!
Kiada's fire has deterred the hels only temporarily, and every time she turns her back, they try for another crate!
Danta has found something beneath the sand!
Unfortunately, because this is Torchline and optimism here is basically just foreplay for disaster, the co-eds only raise their brows as Kaisel approaches, their expressions bright with the sort of amusement that says they know exactly how much attention they’re getting and have no intention of spending that attention on actual labour. Laughter carries back across the beach in the warm air, followed by a few pointedly unimpressed remarks about how no way are they going to be baited into doing construction work that easily, and then, because they’re committed to the bit now, they begin showing off even more. The soldiers who had already been distracted remain, tragically and predictably, distracted.
Flora presses her lips together hard enough that the smile trying to escape has nowhere to go, and when she glances toward Kai, her brows lift. Through the bond, her amusement slips toward him like warm champagne fizzing over the rim of a glass. So close, babe. Truly inspirational levels of almost.
The hels, at least, scatter from Kiada ’s fire with offended shrieks, flapping away from the crates in a storm of feathers and noise. They don’t go far, though, settling nearby with beady-eyed persistence, and every time Kiada’s attention shifts to one crate, several of them immediately begin sidling toward another as if the bag of fastenings might yet become bread if they harass it with enough optimism.
Near the foundation lines, the sand where Dantalion vanished continues to hiss faintly, shifting here and there as the little lava wyrm moves beneath the surface. For a while, there’s nothing but the soft disturbance of his passage as he navigates around buried rocks, old debris, and whatever else the previous version of the Hanged Man decided to leave behind like a drunk emptying his pockets into the earth. Then, farther along the marked foundation, something under the sand gives a dull, unmistakable resistance against him: hard, squared-off, and not stone, roughly the size of a shoebox, with the stubborn cold bite of metal beneath the grit.
Oops, seems like the co-eds are not inclined to take Kai's bait, and the soldiers remain distracted!
Kiada's fire has deterred the hels only temporarily, and every time she turns her back, they try for another crate!
Danta has found something beneath the sand!
I've carried hopes & heavy day dreams, but i'm all done with sleepin'
