Kaisel
With one concern well and truly laid to rest, and what a relief it is, the latest dilemma shoulders in. His tongue leaves the roof of his mouth with a click, one hand fluffing up the hair at the base of his neck. "Wooooaaaaw. Here I thought you were open to experimentation, but seems you just don't have the stones for it." A scrunch pulls his lips to one side, deeply disappointed at how poorly he'd judged her, apparently.
His features slowly ease beneath the roll of her stare, the scrutiny shifting. He stands a little taller, unintentionally drawing himself up for proper measure, not wanting to be unjustly scored. "No!" He answers with all the hurry of pressing a quick action sequence on nightmare mode, reflexes called to service. "No," he manages again, without the button mashing. "Just so used to how well you handle hard things, I'm making sure I understand the shape of your...palate." His eyebrows lift over the slow crawl of amusement, not bothering to his how balatantly terrible it all has become by now.
As they both busy with the supplies, he keeps low to organize their food while she rises to sprinkle the healing about like a drastic variation of an exorcism. Engrossed in the disarray of everything remaining, he doesn't fully pick up the small shift that moves through her, especially not with the escape of it masterfully clamped down. He glances up after the tail of it brushes through the bond, but all he can see is her at intentional work, the haughtiness returning with all the symptoms of her usual happiness. His gaze lingers just a touch longer than it should though, because while quiet might be a concerning thing, Flora has always been most at risk of shining hardest when she is internally dimming. It is just the way of flowers, to bloom their best before dropping each and every petal.
Satisfied, his attention shifts back to their supplies and he stacks them up in his arms, shifting them into a corner of the tent while leaning into it on his knees, elbowing pillows into place. "That sounds like a spell, not a song. You do know the difference, right?" He doesn't look back at her, just crawls further into their pop-up abode to smooth out the bottom and settle the pillows, boots left out and toes pressing into the ground as if anchoring him against the gravity of sinking into the allure of the plush comfort. "Well go on then, let's hear it!"
His features slowly ease beneath the roll of her stare, the scrutiny shifting. He stands a little taller, unintentionally drawing himself up for proper measure, not wanting to be unjustly scored. "No!" He answers with all the hurry of pressing a quick action sequence on nightmare mode, reflexes called to service. "No," he manages again, without the button mashing. "Just so used to how well you handle hard things, I'm making sure I understand the shape of your...palate." His eyebrows lift over the slow crawl of amusement, not bothering to his how balatantly terrible it all has become by now.
As they both busy with the supplies, he keeps low to organize their food while she rises to sprinkle the healing about like a drastic variation of an exorcism. Engrossed in the disarray of everything remaining, he doesn't fully pick up the small shift that moves through her, especially not with the escape of it masterfully clamped down. He glances up after the tail of it brushes through the bond, but all he can see is her at intentional work, the haughtiness returning with all the symptoms of her usual happiness. His gaze lingers just a touch longer than it should though, because while quiet might be a concerning thing, Flora has always been most at risk of shining hardest when she is internally dimming. It is just the way of flowers, to bloom their best before dropping each and every petal.
Satisfied, his attention shifts back to their supplies and he stacks them up in his arms, shifting them into a corner of the tent while leaning into it on his knees, elbowing pillows into place. "That sounds like a spell, not a song. You do know the difference, right?" He doesn't look back at her, just crawls further into their pop-up abode to smooth out the bottom and settle the pillows, boots left out and toes pressing into the ground as if anchoring him against the gravity of sinking into the allure of the plush comfort. "Well go on then, let's hear 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
