Used to keep it cool, used to be a fool
"Okay, but like, I'm doing exactly what you're doing!" Spoken with all the emphasis of someone who believes they are doing it exactly right and still failing. Surely this feeling is the origin of the word cursed.
Kaisel's nostrils flare faintly, the force of frustration and focus surviving in tandem. "Okay, do it again, but slowly," he draws the last word out so its sound matches its meaning, implying she must have forgotten it with all her previous attempts. He tries to follow suit beside her, arm still linked with hers at the elbow, but what should be an easy swing is rigidly raised up as he stares beneath the arch of their arms to watch the exact movements her feet take as she skips.
He tries to emulate it and ends up, again, with more of a sideways, stuttering kind of run. It's like a sped up scooch down a narrow aisle, tiptoes even breaking out at one point. The swish of his too-baggy joggers don't help one bit, the black, noisy fabric blurring his movements all together like a cartoon preparing to go fast. He'd have it no other way though, because in white and orange font arched over his ass it reads: HOT TAKE. It matches the light windbreaker he's got zipped up over a tank top, the back a neon design of minimal fire and her title, the front left pocket boasting her name, FLORA, in bold text, with a few small orange flowers dotting around it. He has been proudly wearing it for days now.
Around them, the port is as alive as ever, vendors already buzzing, even at an early hour. Beating the crowd, he's almost certain, is an impossibility here when Torchline drones long into the evenings with festivities and then sees ships coming and going before daybreak. Still, the chill of this season keeps the lanes clearer than they will be come the warmer midday when people deign to leave their comforts. Nearby, the shopkeepers call out in boastful, luring attempts, their wares dangled like toys to newborns.
They will inevitably wind their way to a corner, quieter stall that isn't so gaudy as the rest. On its table, a sign just reads, ONE RING BELLS.
Kaisel's nostrils flare faintly, the force of frustration and focus surviving in tandem. "Okay, do it again, but slowly," he draws the last word out so its sound matches its meaning, implying she must have forgotten it with all her previous attempts. He tries to follow suit beside her, arm still linked with hers at the elbow, but what should be an easy swing is rigidly raised up as he stares beneath the arch of their arms to watch the exact movements her feet take as she skips.
He tries to emulate it and ends up, again, with more of a sideways, stuttering kind of run. It's like a sped up scooch down a narrow aisle, tiptoes even breaking out at one point. The swish of his too-baggy joggers don't help one bit, the black, noisy fabric blurring his movements all together like a cartoon preparing to go fast. He'd have it no other way though, because in white and orange font arched over his ass it reads: HOT TAKE. It matches the light windbreaker he's got zipped up over a tank top, the back a neon design of minimal fire and her title, the front left pocket boasting her name, FLORA, in bold text, with a few small orange flowers dotting around it. He has been proudly wearing it for days now.
Around them, the port is as alive as ever, vendors already buzzing, even at an early hour. Beating the crowd, he's almost certain, is an impossibility here when Torchline drones long into the evenings with festivities and then sees ships coming and going before daybreak. Still, the chill of this season keeps the lanes clearer than they will be come the warmer midday when people deign to leave their comforts. Nearby, the shopkeepers call out in boastful, luring attempts, their wares dangled like toys to newborns.
They will inevitably wind their way to a corner, quieter stall that isn't so gaudy as the rest. On its table, a sign just reads, ONE RING BELLS.
Kaisel
All about the bounce in my step
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
