[SE] If you're in a coma, just wake up

Kaisel

Taking the commitment to camping to heart, the Oerwoud seems like the perfect place. It gives them a proper chance to scout out the most recent fuckerys of the world, and all the while, he can make a statement about how a city boy can embrace and conquer nature, should he so choose. Even the beach with all its damn sand is something he only complains about once in a while now.

"Alright, I've got all the essentials," he informs her, not bothering to look up from his deep dive into his backpack. "Water, snacks, matches, pajamas, weapons, pillows, or the ones that I could fit in here anyway, aaaand the camera." He's got a glimpse of each item as he ticks it off, although the pillows prove encompassing and require some digging around. Satisfied, he glances up at her, the backdrop of the twisting forest and semblances of trails amid the roots and boughs awaiting behind her like some version of an invitation to get lost. Behind him, the Sugartide rests like a safe haven, and not for the first time, he wonders how far they have to get from her hull to properly consider it camping.

Shifting the backpack around and settling it on his shoulders, Kaisel smooths out his hunter green hoodie. Flora's name is stitched down the back of the left arm in an embossed fashion with plain and thick lettering, barely visible because the color is the same as the body. Similarly, Hot Take follows the same pattern on the right arm. Beneath, his tight, nearly black pants narrow down into his boots. "We have enough light to head in and scout out a good camping spot." He motions in a general direction behind her, squinting briefly to get his bearings on what actually matches the map he'd been perusing as prep for this. "I also memorized some camp songs we can sing as we go. Supposed to drive off predators, or something."

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Haters on my back like a backpack
Blowin' up I'm fucking flawless

Code stolen from Queen Sky

Flora

Flora watches Kaisel inventory the backpack with a smugness that grows harder to hide with every new item that appears from it. Water, snacks, matches, pajamas, weapons, pillows, a camera; at this point the thing is less a bag and more a portable breach in reality, and she has to wonder whether he’s packed a second, smaller Sugartide in there just in case. Given that the real Sugartide rests only a short distance behind them, all polished safety and familiar comfort, Flora does briefly consider pointing out that staying aboard technically counts as camping. They would still be outside, they would still be sleeping somewhere that was not their house, there could even be bugs if Kaisel felt strongly enough about the authenticity of the experience.

But he’s so earnestly determined to prove that he can conquer nature when he puts his mind to it that she keeps the thought to herself. Sand hasn’t managed to drive him away from the beach, bugs apparently haven’t broken him either, and now that he's standing at the mouth of a damp underground jungle with a backpack that could probably sustain a small village, she wants to see who wins out between hostile jungle and optimistic himbo.

Like his, Flora's clothes are practical without giving up anything important: fitted cargo pants tucked into rubber boots, a black crop top beneath a light rain jacket, and her curls pulled into a high ponytail so that they stay out of the wet glow and tangled roots ahead. When she glances over at her husband, the smile that catches at one corner of her mouth is crooked enough to make the question on her tongue feel less like curiosity and more like the first of several tests she has just invented for him. "And what counts as a good spot, do you think?" she asks, lifting one brow.

At the mention of predators, Flora turns in a small flourish, catching the bottom of her jacket and pulling it aside just enough to show the daggers strapped against her thigh. "Oh, I’ve got predators covered," she says, letting the fabric fall back into place with a little shrug. Her smile warms as she looks toward the twisting paths beneath the roots. "I’m always down for a sing-along, though."

Fatefully, I tried to pick my battles 'til the battle picked me
Misery, Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep

Code stolen from Queen Sky