No way you can deny, you feel the most alive when you are terrified
Although the lilt in her voice catches in every possible web of his spidey senses, there is a reason he is not in feature films like Tom Holland is. Technically, there's many reasons he isn't, but a main one would be this: blatantly ignoring the shivers of warning. Curiosity, and the desire to be helpful, will always trump suspicion.
"COMING!!!!" he shouts back down the house, like some off-water game of Marco Polo they always end up playing among the various wings and hallways of her fortress of friendship and haunted company. The answering call is swiftly followed by a series of loud thumps and one hissing owwwwww before Kaisel comes sock-sliding over the tile and around the corner.
Unlike Flora, he is not prepared in the slightest for the Deepfrost she's determined to descend across the house. This means he is fitted in his divine-adjacent (read: holey) tank top, a dark violet that is proudly stamped with WHITE KNIGHT WORKOUT SURVIVOR in white and stark lettering. His loose gym shorts are in much better shape, although the drawstrings seem to be purely ornamental as one is nearly pulled through the hole and the other is dangling low enough to threaten beating out the edge of fabric on the leg it swings against, suggesting it's only the faint hug around his hips keeping them on at all. The thin towel around his shoulders could almost pass a scarf, if not for blots of sweat he's dabbled off his temples time and time again with it.
It definitely means he is not prepared for the snowy assault in the kitchen. He'd considered a pickle jar in need of beheading, his muscles her valiant savior, or perhaps something too tall for her to reach properly and his hands could happily fit against her ass to hoist her up high enough. Any number of possibilities for ways he could help her, really. It seems instead she'd help herself to a cheap shot.
In the midst of his gallant arrival, Kaisel has just enough time to clock the too-excited dragon on the counter before it's too late. Flora's already popping up from behind the counter, golden hair reminiscent of an explosion, her aim always deadly no matter the device. "Help is hee—" Still fighting for balance after his Risky Business entrance, all Kaisel can manage is a widening of his eyes before he is promptly pelted in the face with the cold and wet smack of the slush-ball.
For a moment he is too stunned to do anything but sputter. Bits of ice tumble down, already half-melted, decorating the floor in micro-puddles. It slides down his face and collects beneath his shirt, which quickly reinvigorates some motion back into him as his spine stiffens before he folds over, attempting to let gravity keep the ice away from contact with his chest as he dances around and tries to shake it loose. "You are SO gonna get it!" The threat is out before he has any semblance of a plan, but the look he shoots her from the corner of his eye, alight with challenge and adoration alike, promises something.
"COMING!!!!" he shouts back down the house, like some off-water game of Marco Polo they always end up playing among the various wings and hallways of her fortress of friendship and haunted company. The answering call is swiftly followed by a series of loud thumps and one hissing owwwwww before Kaisel comes sock-sliding over the tile and around the corner.
Unlike Flora, he is not prepared in the slightest for the Deepfrost she's determined to descend across the house. This means he is fitted in his divine-adjacent (read: holey) tank top, a dark violet that is proudly stamped with WHITE KNIGHT WORKOUT SURVIVOR in white and stark lettering. His loose gym shorts are in much better shape, although the drawstrings seem to be purely ornamental as one is nearly pulled through the hole and the other is dangling low enough to threaten beating out the edge of fabric on the leg it swings against, suggesting it's only the faint hug around his hips keeping them on at all. The thin towel around his shoulders could almost pass a scarf, if not for blots of sweat he's dabbled off his temples time and time again with it.
It definitely means he is not prepared for the snowy assault in the kitchen. He'd considered a pickle jar in need of beheading, his muscles her valiant savior, or perhaps something too tall for her to reach properly and his hands could happily fit against her ass to hoist her up high enough. Any number of possibilities for ways he could help her, really. It seems instead she'd help herself to a cheap shot.
In the midst of his gallant arrival, Kaisel has just enough time to clock the too-excited dragon on the counter before it's too late. Flora's already popping up from behind the counter, golden hair reminiscent of an explosion, her aim always deadly no matter the device. "Help is hee—" Still fighting for balance after his Risky Business entrance, all Kaisel can manage is a widening of his eyes before he is promptly pelted in the face with the cold and wet smack of the slush-ball.
For a moment he is too stunned to do anything but sputter. Bits of ice tumble down, already half-melted, decorating the floor in micro-puddles. It slides down his face and collects beneath his shirt, which quickly reinvigorates some motion back into him as his spine stiffens before he folds over, attempting to let gravity keep the ice away from contact with his chest as he dances around and tries to shake it loose. "You are SO gonna get it!" The threat is out before he has any semblance of a plan, but the look he shoots her from the corner of his eye, alight with challenge and adoration alike, promises something.
Kaisel
I'm a daredevil on the highway to hell
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
