you look like my next mistake
Flora presses a hand to her chest with mock sincerity, her eyes wide and lips parted in the kind of theatrical gasp that belongs on a stage. "Oh, I solemnly swear not to fall in love with you," she vows, voice syrup-sweet and entirely unserious. Her brows lift as his shirt does, her expression poised on the edge of a comment that’s already halfway past her lips. "If you’re about to pull your dick out, I promise you that doesn’t count as—" But then his hand disappears not into his pants, but into the mouth of a bag that swallows his forearm whole, and the queen can’t help it—her laughter breaks free, bright and surprised.
"You," she scolds, catching the coin he tosses her. The gold glints in the dim light as she flips it once in her palm, then flicks it high with a practiced snap of her thumb. It spins, catches the light, lands heads-up on her palm. Wouldn’t you know it.
She lifts her gaze to his, eyes glinting with a dare. "How many flips do I get?" she asks, tone all innocence with just a lick of promise at the edges. But whatever follow-up she might have planned is swept aside by the shift of terrain as they begin picking their way across the Grotto’s stony ledges.
The roots twist above them like the ribs of some long-dead beast, water dripping slowly into the dark below. And still, even here, the game doesn’t stop.
His you’ll have to be more specific hangs in the air between them, and Flora meets his stare like she’s got all the time in the world. "Will I?" she murmurs, then slips forward—slow and deliberate—angled just enough that the press of her body slides against his as she passes. It’s the kind of contact that could be an accident, if accidents wore perfume and smirked like they meant it. She doesn't look back immediately, only when she's a few strides ahead does she toss a glance over her bare shoulder and call, "With skills like that, I’m honestly a little offended you haven’t asked to join my guild." Her curls catch the torchlight like sunfire as she turns back toward the path. "You seem like you’d fit right in."
With a laugh and a good deal more banter besides, the drug runner and queen made short work of their little trip.
~FIN
"You," she scolds, catching the coin he tosses her. The gold glints in the dim light as she flips it once in her palm, then flicks it high with a practiced snap of her thumb. It spins, catches the light, lands heads-up on her palm. Wouldn’t you know it.
She lifts her gaze to his, eyes glinting with a dare. "How many flips do I get?" she asks, tone all innocence with just a lick of promise at the edges. But whatever follow-up she might have planned is swept aside by the shift of terrain as they begin picking their way across the Grotto’s stony ledges.
The roots twist above them like the ribs of some long-dead beast, water dripping slowly into the dark below. And still, even here, the game doesn’t stop.
His you’ll have to be more specific hangs in the air between them, and Flora meets his stare like she’s got all the time in the world. "Will I?" she murmurs, then slips forward—slow and deliberate—angled just enough that the press of her body slides against his as she passes. It’s the kind of contact that could be an accident, if accidents wore perfume and smirked like they meant it. She doesn't look back immediately, only when she's a few strides ahead does she toss a glance over her bare shoulder and call, "With skills like that, I’m honestly a little offended you haven’t asked to join my guild." Her curls catch the torchlight like sunfire as she turns back toward the path. "You seem like you’d fit right in."
With a laugh and a good deal more banter besides, the drug runner and queen made short work of their little trip.
~FIN
