You're the caffeine in my coffee cup

Kaisel

"HOOOOOney I'M HOOOome!" The announcement bellows into the house the instant the door swings open, followed shortly by the sound of it slamming shut, kicked unceremoniously by the back of Kaisel's boot. He pauses at the threshold, kneeling over to unlace his boots and step out of them, the toe of either foot pulling down the heel for his process and then flinging them to the side with a wag of his foot. Sand spills free in greater quantities than feels acceptable, and Kaisel huffs down at it, making a mental note to come back and sweep up. Later. Although there's plenty of other sand, at a certain point they can't recreate the beach here and clean it up, and the desert's sand color and texture makes it immediately noticable in comparison, rudely calling him out just by being there.

"I don't know what Noe is doing there, but it sucks. Like imagine all the force when you're going down on me and your cheeks squish in with the pressure. It sucks more than that." He's calling out over his shoulder, swinging around to hang up his backpack near the door, one arm deep inside it as he searches for the little bag of sand he placed inside. Through the bond, he reaches out for her, not always able to feel her the moment they're in the house given it's size, so preparing himself to hunt her down if the spirits haven't already done so, or his noise.

---

And when the day broke, buried in violence
Somethin' made my mind up
I could do this with my eyes closed

He said "I bet you don't remember me"

Having come to Wildering House to check on Flora only to find that while she was alive and well (and hadn't been in the desert at all), that she was also just on her way out. Helping himself to a mug of tea before heading back to the Northaven, the shout from the front door carries cleanly through the house, and Remi is already on his way to greet his future son-in-law when the next part of what Kaisel says catches him halfway around the corner.

For a moment, Remi pauses and straightens the faded hem of his chambray shirt just out of sight, sea-glass eyes lowering in the sort of consideration usually reserved for things that require careful handling. He is not scandalized, having long since accepted that Flora is an adult with an adult life, and he has no interest in becoming the sort of father who makes that fact into a punishment. Still, there are details one does not necessarily expect to hear announced into the entryway with the same volume one might use to declare victory over a particularly good catch from the docks.

By the time he steps around the corner, his expression has arranged itself into something gentle and faintly curious, as though he has come upon Kaisel in the middle of explaining a mildly complicated recipe rather than whatever exactly this is. The sand scattered around the discarded boots earns the briefest glance before his attention lifts again, one brow rising in quiet, patient invitation. "Imagine when I do what?" Remi asks conversationally, tilting his head a little to one side. There is no sharpness in the question, no true disapproval hidden underneath it, only enough warm amusement in his eyes to make it abundantly clear that he has heard every word and intends, for at least the next few seconds, to be extremely interested in the answer.

and I said "only ever other memory"

Kaisel

Suffice to say, the answering figure of Remi the Bastion Taliesin, legend of Caido, demigod of death, and father who's just heard far too much about how well his daughter's mouth serves her (secret) husband, startles the absolute fuck out of Kaisel. Too often, he forgets Flora isn't always (or even, often) the only one here. "R E M I!" he squeaks, voice pitched too high as he straightens up so quickly that everything else around him goes crooked.

His backpack splits open as he yanks his arm down hard and fast, nearly pulling the hook out of the wall in the process. His spine tries to shoot up through his teeth as he snaps to attention, and when the zipper suddenly gives way, the resistance disappears all at once. His arm flings forward just as he's cupping the little bag of sand, effectively hurling it toward Remi while he stumbles a touch sideways. In so doing, he steps awkwardly on his boot and has to catch himself with a palm against the wall, which knocks a nearby painting askew.

A nervous laugh shakes free. "Oh—uh—I meant Imagine when you go down, like underwater, and suck in a big breath and it pushes your cheeks out to hold it all." Out of habit, one of his hands folds behind his head, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Whuh—what are you doing here?" The query is as embarrassed as his cheeks. "I mean, you're obviously welcome, of course, I was jus—can I get you something?"

And when the day broke, buried in violence
Somethin' made my mind up
I could do this with my eyes closed

He said "I bet you don't remember me"

It is only the sheer, spectacular scale of Kaisel’s undoing that prevents Remi from laughing outright. The sound that comes out of the younger man has nothing in common with the self-assured call which had rattled through the house moments earlier, and despite himself, Remi feels the corner of his mouth threaten to curl upward. He schools it away, his expression smoothing into something near enough to neutral that it might almost pass, were it not for the light in his sea-glass eyes.

The little bag of sand comes flying at him before he can decide whether to spare Kaisel any further embarrassment. Remi catches it easily in one hand, fingers closing around the soft weight without so much as looking away, and lets it settle into his palm. Glancing down, he gives the pouch a thoughtful toss once, then again, as if it is this rather than the explanation he means to consider. "I can breathe underwater," he says at last, gently enough that it might almost be helpful.

His gaze returns to Kaisel then, brows drawing together by the smallest degree as though some vital detail has failed to add up. The bag of sand shifts absently between his hands, its pale grains whispering within the fabric. "And I thought I heard you say when your cheeks suck all the way in," he adds, the suspicion in his voice so mild and conversational as to be almost worse. For another moment, Remi simply studies him, head tilted, his faded chambray hanging loose over his bulky frame and the amusement he is failing to suppress softening every line of his face.

Then, mercifully—or perhaps not—he looks past Kaisel toward the crooked painting and the sand already beginning to claim territory across the entryway. "I came to see Flora," he says, as though that has always been the central matter at hand. "We didn't see her with you in the desert and wanted to make sure she was alright."

and I said "only ever other memory"

A sharp flutter of wings announces itself far too close overhead, followed by the scrape of talons and the unmistakable sense that something has landed where it absolutely should not have. A Hel perches nearby, head cocked, eyes bright and calculating as it sizes up the scene.

It hops closer with a series of quick, impatient movements, letting out a short, grating call that sounds suspiciously like a demand, right down to the way it cranes its neck toward packs, baskets, or anything that might reasonably contain food. If ignored, it only grows bolder, wings flicking open as it makes a half-hearted lunge toward anything unattended.

When shooed away, the Hel takes to the air in an indignant spiral, only to settle again moments later a short distance off, clearly unimpressed and entirely unconvinced that the matter is settled. It watches with unwavering focus, occasionally edging closer, testing boundaries with the persistence of a creature that knows it doesn’t need to be threatening to get exactly what it wants.

---

Hels Areas Found: Torchline — Common Hels look vaguely like a species of seagull, but are quite friendly. Should one sit on your shoulder, you will find yourself suddenly able to walk on water! Be careful though, these birds are easily bored. Should they abandon you during an ocean-stroll, you will find yourself sinking into the water potentially hundreds of feet from the shore! Challenge Rating: Easy HP: 38 | To Hit: +26 | Dmg: 9 Movement: Fly 60 ft.; Walk 10 ft. SPECIAL SKILLS Waterwalk Bond: While perched, grants the bearer the ability to walk on water; Boredom Curse: If the hel leaves its perch during waterwalking, the bearer immediately loses buoyancy and begins to sink

TRAITS Friendly Companion: Inclined to approach and perch on willing shoulders; Light as a Feather: Nearly weightless, they do not hinder movement or balance; Ocean’s Familiarity: Innate understanding of currents, tides, and sea weather ACTIONS Peck: A quick tap with its beak, used more in play than aggression

Kaisel

It takes Kaisel a moment to understand he didn't just have a stroke. Remi so casually tossing out his aquatic prowess feels like he just got side swiped by a conversation, already forgetting half the bullshit he tossed out in an effort to cover up his big mouth. Although his voice doesn't give him away, the what? swallowed down, his features turn entirely too quizzical and lost for a moment before the realization hits and rolls them away to something more appropriately impressed. "W—wow. That's neat!" He dips his nerves into enthusiasm, a much more familiar ground for him.

There's a mud slide or some shit though, because all at once he feels entirely out of place again when Remi rounds a look at him. His scalp prickles, sweat threatening to bead at one of his temples, and a nervous, thin laugh shakes loose like the last couple pennies from a piggie bank, a bit shy of being able to afford the candy bar. "Oh, pffft," he offers in such a quick assurance it has to be convincing. He even flops a wrist at Remi, as if conducting his body might get his voice more in tune. "Definitely just mixed up my words. Happens sometimes," he says taking said flaccid wrist and spinning its palm to slap his forehead instead now. "Dummy me." Being mistaken for early Alzheimer's or mental incapacities is, 100% better than having his father-in-law hear about his blow jobs.

The shift of Remi's gaze feels like a savage weight being removed from him, and Kaisel's spine rediscovers its proper s-curve from the ramrod-straight approach it'd been taking. After a beat, his head turns faintly, following the Bastion's eyeline. Reaching out to straighten said crooked painting, Kaisel shakes his head a little. This at least is easy footing. "Oh, no, she stayed here. I went up to help my cousin Noe for a little bit. She's moving to Hak Etme, but it's so wild still they're dealing with a lot."

Outside, a Hel collides with one of their windows, gangly legs and wings flailing as it stumbles back onto the sill. It's a loud enough sound that Kaisel's head jerks around, but he only offers the dazed bird an eye roll before his attention swings back to Remi, and namely, the bag of sand he's tossing about like they're going to start a game of hacky sack. "Didn't expect to be fighting something so big and ugly up there, so appreciate you and Ronin answering our calls for help. You two really did a number on it in short order." He nods his chin towards the bag and steps in closer. "I actually wanted to talk to you about that though. When we killed it, it just...crumbled into sand. That's all that remained. I wondered if you had any old alchemy tricks worth doing to see what that shit is made of."

And when the day broke, buried in violence
Somethin' made my mind up
I could do this with my eyes closed

He said "I bet you don't remember me"

For all the valiant effort Kaisel puts into salvaging the explanation, Remi only lets the smallest curve of amusement linger at the corner of his mouth. It is not cruel, and certainly not the sort of expression a man wears when he means to drag someone through the coals; there is too much fondness in it for that, too much recognition of the particular humiliation of having a private thought become public through nothing more than an unfortunately timed entrance. Still, he makes no real attempt to hide that he has heard the correction for exactly what it is. "Ahh," he says, drawing the sound out just enough for it to be unhelpful. "Sure. Of course."

The lightness in his voice is innocent enough, but it rides the gentle lilt of his accent with a buoyancy that gives him away entirely. No part of him believes Kaisel, and from the way the Bastion’s brows lift for the briefest moment, no part of him expects the younger man to believe that he does. But whatever small victory Remi might have won is hardly worth pressing when it comes at the expense of both his daughter’s dignity and the man who is going to become part of their family, so he lets the subject go with the same ease he might set down a cup after deciding he has had enough.

At the mention of Noe, his expression shifts, the teasing softened out of it in favour of something more attentive. "Ahhh, I see. Ronin and I both thought it looked...wrong," he admits, sea-glass eyes narrowing slightly. The sudden scrape and violent flutter near the window draws his attention aside. Remi turns his head just enough to see the Hel battering itself against the glass, its wings striking hard and uselessly as though persistence alone might eventually teach it how to pass through a wall. His eyes narrow vaguely at the bird, not with true irritation but with the quiet, baffled patience of someone watching a very small creature make a terrible decision repeatedly.

When he looks back to Kaisel, the softness in his expression returns. "Anytime," he says, simple and sincere. His thumb shifts over the little bag of sand in his hand, feeling the dry grains settle within the fabric. "And I am glad you are alright, as well." His attention drops once more to the pouch, then. "I do not have anything with me," Remi says thoughtfully, turning it over in his palm as though the answer might be stitched into its seams, "but perhaps—" The drawstring loosens beneath his fingers. At first, the sand inside seems to catch a stray angle of light, each grain flashing with a muted gold that ought not to be possible in the entryway. Then the glow deepens, warm and soft and wholly wrong, and the pouch in Remi’s hand becomes suddenly weightless as its contents lift free. Fine streams of sand curl upward in delicate ribbons, splitting in the air with the strange, purposeful elegance of smoke that has found two separate paths to follow.

"What?" Remi says, but the word comes too late as gold spills toward them both. The first touch of it is almost gentle. A few grains whisper against his cheek, gather at the corners of his eyes, and then the heaviness comes down all at once; the awful, irresistible pull of sleep after too many sleepless nights, the kind that does not ask permission so much as take hold at the base of the skull and drag the rest of the body after it. Remi’s breath catches sharply as his eyelids begin to lower, his limbs turning distant beneath him.

His free hand reaches for the wall, fingers finding nothing but open air as his knees threaten to give beneath him. For a disorienting instant, the house seems to tilt—not around him, but away from him—and when he jerks himself upright again, he is standing several feet from where he had been, the bag empty in his hand and the golden grains all but disappeared in a way which feels impossible based on his experience with sand.

and I said "only ever other memory"