Kaisel
The SMUG creeps over the bond like a neighbor's overgrown tree, reaching out until the branches are rasping down the side of the house he built out of concentration and serious business. He ignores it, at first, the same way anyone does when noises can easily be attributed to a settling structure or the wind outside, even when they're starring in a horror movie (especially then, actually). It proves relentless, and it's part of what drags his attention up at long last from the inner folds of his backpack and all its treasures.
Taking more traits from the thriller stars, Kaisel fails to get a proper read on it, and a frown dapples his expression briefly. "What?" It's less a question and more a doorway cracking open on doubt. "Did I forget something important?" He cranes his neck around to peer back at the Sugartide as if he can see through her boards into all the missing pieces of survival still tucked away in an expired game of hide and seek within the quarters. His lips press together, breath humming over a malformed though. "You know, I almost packed some firewood, because I know what you're thinking. What if all the wood we collect around the campsite is too wet and won't light and is super smoky instead?" His brows lift in emphasis of the predicament this would cause as he swings his gaze back upon her. Confidence reseats itself with a small smile, a finger holding itself up, shushing the air. "But then I thought we could just hold each other for warmth so we'd be fine." He shrugs, clearly convinced they could tackle whatever the woods saw fit to throw at them, as long as it was them.
With packing firmly resolved and backpack settled behind him, all that remains is to actually go. "Height," comes the swift response of someone whose Stormbreak roots show themselves without even trying. "Don't want to get trapped in any valleys or ravines, and we'd have a better vantage point. Then, uuuuh, somewhere flat enough to get comfortable." He's half of the mind to find a way to rig their tent up in the tree canopies, creating some relative of a hammock. If glamping includes pillows though, suspending yourself several feet above the ground between trees feels like it would be something other than camping, which isn't what they're here to do.
His gaze drops to the whirl of steel and fabric, drawn by the motion less than the open appreciation of just how deadly she can be. Never mind how well she can hide it, which is its own admirable talent. "I'm hoping the loud singing means we don't have to resort to that." It's liable to wake up the whole area and send everything running, or so he hopes. It could ring a dinner bell instead, in which case she'd be doing her best pineapple impression. "But if it does, I'd love nothing more than to watch you be the hero to my damsel." He'd be sure to give an appropriate wail as well, once it seemed they'd actually survive whatever it is. She'd recognize it at once as his almost-fell-in-the-shower scream.
Tugging his backpack on tighter, thumbs hook around each strap and the rest of his hand hangs there. He nods as though her enthusiasm is only proper, declaring it "natural karaoke," and steps forward into the jungle for her to follow. His voice lifts before long, declaring it a repeat after me song.
"Blaaack socks,
They never get dirty.
The longer you wear them,
the blacker they get!
Ooooone day,
I think I will wash them.
But something keeps telling me,
Not yet, not yet, not yet!"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xvt4PcCVyqI
I'm so fucked off that none of the versions I found are exactly the way I learned it.
Taking more traits from the thriller stars, Kaisel fails to get a proper read on it, and a frown dapples his expression briefly. "What?" It's less a question and more a doorway cracking open on doubt. "Did I forget something important?" He cranes his neck around to peer back at the Sugartide as if he can see through her boards into all the missing pieces of survival still tucked away in an expired game of hide and seek within the quarters. His lips press together, breath humming over a malformed though. "You know, I almost packed some firewood, because I know what you're thinking. What if all the wood we collect around the campsite is too wet and won't light and is super smoky instead?" His brows lift in emphasis of the predicament this would cause as he swings his gaze back upon her. Confidence reseats itself with a small smile, a finger holding itself up, shushing the air. "But then I thought we could just hold each other for warmth so we'd be fine." He shrugs, clearly convinced they could tackle whatever the woods saw fit to throw at them, as long as it was them.
With packing firmly resolved and backpack settled behind him, all that remains is to actually go. "Height," comes the swift response of someone whose Stormbreak roots show themselves without even trying. "Don't want to get trapped in any valleys or ravines, and we'd have a better vantage point. Then, uuuuh, somewhere flat enough to get comfortable." He's half of the mind to find a way to rig their tent up in the tree canopies, creating some relative of a hammock. If glamping includes pillows though, suspending yourself several feet above the ground between trees feels like it would be something other than camping, which isn't what they're here to do.
His gaze drops to the whirl of steel and fabric, drawn by the motion less than the open appreciation of just how deadly she can be. Never mind how well she can hide it, which is its own admirable talent. "I'm hoping the loud singing means we don't have to resort to that." It's liable to wake up the whole area and send everything running, or so he hopes. It could ring a dinner bell instead, in which case she'd be doing her best pineapple impression. "But if it does, I'd love nothing more than to watch you be the hero to my damsel." He'd be sure to give an appropriate wail as well, once it seemed they'd actually survive whatever it is. She'd recognize it at once as his almost-fell-in-the-shower scream.
Tugging his backpack on tighter, thumbs hook around each strap and the rest of his hand hangs there. He nods as though her enthusiasm is only proper, declaring it "natural karaoke," and steps forward into the jungle for her to follow. His voice lifts before long, declaring it a repeat after me song.
"Blaaack socks,
They never get dirty.
The longer you wear them,
the blacker they get!
Ooooone day,
I think I will wash them.
But something keeps telling me,
Not yet, not yet, not yet!"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xvt4PcCVyqI
I'm so fucked off that none of the versions I found are exactly the way I learned it.
Haters on my back like a backpack
Blowin' up I'm fucking flawless
Blowin' up I'm fucking flawless
Code stolen from Queen Sky
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
