"Kaell!" Daddy Black roared, his voice echoing off the fence. "Where are the seasonings? I told you ten minutes ago!"
Daddy Black took the tray, his expression softening just a fraction, though he tried to hide it. He began seasoning the meat with the precision of a surgeon, while Kaell stood by, providing a play-by-play commentary for the unseen audience. Kaell Fernandes & Daddy Black
"Aesthetic?" Daddy Black repeated, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble. "You’re worried about the 'aesthetic' while the ribs are out here suffering? You’re out here doing a little dance for the internet, and I’m out here fighting for my life against this charcoal!" "Kaell
Kaell Fernandes emerged from the sliding glass door, but he wasn’t carrying spices. He was holding his phone at a precise 45-degree angle, his face perfectly lit by a ring light he’d somehow dragged onto the deck. He began seasoning the meat with the precision
Kaell froze mid-pose. The threat of no Wi-Fi was the only thing that could truly pierce his digital armor. He quickly set the phone down on a patio table—still recording, of course—and scrambled back into the kitchen. He returned seconds later with a tray of garlic, salt, and paprika, presenting them like a peace offering.