Kaisel
The eyeroll has all the effect of thrown dice. The outcome that follows after sure to decide his fate, and the risk of a crit hit is quite real. What lands instead doesn't knock him over, but instead softens him, briefly. He glances back as if the young Flora he'd just seen in the memory might continue bounding up the trail to them, happy at least for a bit longer still. "Well," he starts with a touch of hesitation before his gaze swings back to her. "It's a good thing we're doing it now then."
The small consideration falls away to the return scrawl of her smug, and now it's his turn to roll his eyes. "Eiiiiither way," he pursues her rebranding without concern. "Whatever you want to call it, it's A R T. And we're gonna make it, and your life will be improved for having done so." Repeating what had essentially been told to him once upon a time, young boys being trained in swords not generally the first to take to arts and crafts. It had been worth it though, when it'd all been said and done.
Massaged into cooperation between the pair of them, the tent starts to take proper shape, even if it's at half the speed between glances and lingering touch. Absolutely fiddling longer than necessary with one connecting join and the drawing fit of the canvas around it, aware of the weight of her stare and the slip of it against him, as distracting as it is bolstering. His chest puffs out and shoulders square back for her viewing pleasure, but it all deflates into an abrupt laugh as she sweeps his guard away as neatly as ever. "What!" he demands, attention snapping to her as the tent finishes it's erecting. "Listen," he implores, both hands carving up the air in front of him alongside it. "That is a real problem and people have to be notified. Usually just children, but still." His smile roughens up a bit again, deviousness edging back in. "For what it's worth, I can also make fantastic yellow snow art." He clucks his tongue with a slow, sly sound. "Means I have good control, ya'know?"
Reaching for the pile of pillows, he begins to chuck them into the tent as padding, absolutely hucking one straight at her and feigning unawareness of the slip.
The small consideration falls away to the return scrawl of her smug, and now it's his turn to roll his eyes. "Eiiiiither way," he pursues her rebranding without concern. "Whatever you want to call it, it's A R T. And we're gonna make it, and your life will be improved for having done so." Repeating what had essentially been told to him once upon a time, young boys being trained in swords not generally the first to take to arts and crafts. It had been worth it though, when it'd all been said and done.
Massaged into cooperation between the pair of them, the tent starts to take proper shape, even if it's at half the speed between glances and lingering touch. Absolutely fiddling longer than necessary with one connecting join and the drawing fit of the canvas around it, aware of the weight of her stare and the slip of it against him, as distracting as it is bolstering. His chest puffs out and shoulders square back for her viewing pleasure, but it all deflates into an abrupt laugh as she sweeps his guard away as neatly as ever. "What!" he demands, attention snapping to her as the tent finishes it's erecting. "Listen," he implores, both hands carving up the air in front of him alongside it. "That is a real problem and people have to be notified. Usually just children, but still." His smile roughens up a bit again, deviousness edging back in. "For what it's worth, I can also make fantastic yellow snow art." He clucks his tongue with a slow, sly sound. "Means I have good control, ya'know?"
Reaching for the pile of pillows, he begins to chuck them into the tent as padding, absolutely hucking one straight at her and feigning unawareness of the slip.
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
