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Angel damn it. Angel damn it, Kris has never really liked the Soul but sometimes? Sometimes, what they feel is more akin to pure hatred. Like right now!
They hold a book in their hand - some fantasy one they hadn’t bothered reading - and threateningly raise it. The Soul, in a way that is definitely smug even if Kris has no evidence for that, slowly floats closer to the window. The open window. The one Kris can survive a fall from, but the Soul is both more fragile and has already taken damage from the one object that had managed to hit it. A scrunched up piece of paper. That Kris had thrown with all their strength.
Kris doesn’t even know what it wants, it’s just being annoying. And they get it! Being annoying is easily one of the most fun things anyone has ever done literally ever. If they were in its situation, they’d probably do the same! But being on the receiving end? Kris needs to apologise to Noelle, because Angel they hadn’t realised how infuriating some pranks could be.
“Down.” Kris mumbles. Weakly. They’ve been at this game for about an hour, and the exertion is starting to set in. At this point, they’re starting to become genuinely concerned neither one of them will leave the room alive. Kris from dying of exhaustion, or the Soul from dropping an unreasonable distance for literally no reason. They love having their life tied to this absolute idiot! This is great!!!
It hesitates, then floats down, graceful and serene, and hovers above Kris. They jump up and swipe at it. They miss. They try again. Miss. If they were just the tiniest amount taller, they could’ve reached it. Angel. Damn. It.
They look around the room, eyes landing on their bed. Good enough. They hop up a few more times, keeping their plan close to their chest until, in a fluid movement, they run towards their bed and jump up onto it, up again to reach out a hand and it flies out of the way again Angel damn it-
Kris faceplants.
They can taste blood in their mouth - cool, a nosebleed. Seconds pass. Then minutes. Kris doesn’t move until they see the smallest red shine in the corner of their eyes, hand reaching out and grasping it before it knows to react. And then, before it can start trying to struggle its way out, Kris throws the soul back into them, the familiar feeling of being controlled seeping over them.
Their back straightens, standing with its usual stiff movements. The soul poses, a cutesy peace sign pointed at their head, and Kris briefly struggles to punch themself in the face. Its face, by proxy.
They fail.