Used to keep it cool, used to be a fool
Surely her compliment is a dryly delivered joke if she considers learning how to skip at 20 years of age and after numerous failed attempts prior to this as quick. There's also no guarantee he can repeat it swiftly, the click not quite setting so much as being glazed over by happenstance. It's certainly a good indicator, at least, and much like finally learning how to ride a bike it will suddenly turn the understanding on and he'll transcend into the next level of being. For now though, he's just trying not to let his abundance of enthusiasm put them on their asses, which is a difficult enough task with the swing of momentum and the nice, round curve of Flora's cake. Every day is her fucking birthday. Gyat damn.
"Oh shi—!" is his poor attempt to help her recover as he notices in about the same amount of time she does that they've drifted too close. He tries to yank her back to him with what hold he still has, but the bumpening happens regardless and all he can do is suck in a breath as the sign clatters to the ground.
No harm done, really. Just some wood on wood (GAY), but thankfully this isn't a glass stand. However, the sign does tip over one of the bell handles, and after a moment where it seems to consider whether or not it means to tip over, rolling on its edge for a moment first, it does indeed plummet to a similar end as the sign. Almost comically with the low, mournful sound of a dramatic stage death, it chimes just once before going silent. About to laugh it all off and reach down to collect the disturbed things, Kaisel instead opens his mouth and coughs out cinnamon, as if he'd just partaken of the cinnamon challenge and the video has skipped ahead to the inevitable end result. "Wha—" he croaks, doubling over to cough more fully, each shaky breath in sending another spray out, the cinnamon lessening with each one until seemingly emptied.
A squat man well-darkened by the sun sets his hands against his stand and leans over the table on his tiptoes, staring down towards the bent shape of Kaisel and his sputtering. His face looks like the way mud feels between your feet. The sparse hair that sticks up from the top of his head resembles reeds, sprouting from the marsh of his features. With a barely-toothed puttering of his lips, a bog of a voice bubbles up, slow and low. "Cinnamon bell then, that one's different." He leans back onto his heels, attention shifting gradually to Flora. "Careful, might get something better, might get something worse if you ring one." Though it isn't outright stated, there's a clear challenge to the warning, and his narrow, barely there gaze beneath the wrinkle of his eyesockets is gleaming like freshly laid tar now.
"Oh shi—!" is his poor attempt to help her recover as he notices in about the same amount of time she does that they've drifted too close. He tries to yank her back to him with what hold he still has, but the bumpening happens regardless and all he can do is suck in a breath as the sign clatters to the ground.
No harm done, really. Just some wood on wood (GAY), but thankfully this isn't a glass stand. However, the sign does tip over one of the bell handles, and after a moment where it seems to consider whether or not it means to tip over, rolling on its edge for a moment first, it does indeed plummet to a similar end as the sign. Almost comically with the low, mournful sound of a dramatic stage death, it chimes just once before going silent. About to laugh it all off and reach down to collect the disturbed things, Kaisel instead opens his mouth and coughs out cinnamon, as if he'd just partaken of the cinnamon challenge and the video has skipped ahead to the inevitable end result. "Wha—" he croaks, doubling over to cough more fully, each shaky breath in sending another spray out, the cinnamon lessening with each one until seemingly emptied.
A squat man well-darkened by the sun sets his hands against his stand and leans over the table on his tiptoes, staring down towards the bent shape of Kaisel and his sputtering. His face looks like the way mud feels between your feet. The sparse hair that sticks up from the top of his head resembles reeds, sprouting from the marsh of his features. With a barely-toothed puttering of his lips, a bog of a voice bubbles up, slow and low. "Cinnamon bell then, that one's different." He leans back onto his heels, attention shifting gradually to Flora. "Careful, might get something better, might get something worse if you ring one." Though it isn't outright stated, there's a clear challenge to the warning, and his narrow, barely there gaze beneath the wrinkle of his eyesockets is gleaming like freshly laid tar now.
Kaisel
All about the bounce in my step
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
