[SE] she loves rock, paper, scissors, she knows how to win

flora

The wind drifted low through the Mourn, soft enough to rustle the tall grass but not strong enough to scatter the petals that Flora carefully pressed against a freshly cleaned headstone. Her tank top clung in places from the effort of bending and brushing, pale fabric smudged faintly at the hem with dust. Jeans cuffed at the ankles bore evidence of kneeling, the knees dulled where they’d met the ground. She looked plainer than usual—no gold stacked along her arms, no layered necklaces flashing as she worked—but there was still a kind of elegance to her, even stripped of sparkle. A quiet kind, built of posture and poise and the way her braid swung gently over one shoulder when she moved.

She reached out a hand behind her without looking, palm up in silent command. "Flower," she called, fingers wriggling faintly in expectation.

When she felt the familiar press of stem and petals slide into her grip, she snickered under her breath, amusement curling at the corner of her mouth like smoke. "I heard about this couple," she said, voice low and conversational as she nestled the bloom into place beside the grave’s edge, "where the husband died first and had his ashes turned into an hourglass."

She sat back on her heels, brushing a curl from her cheek with her wrist, smirk widening as she glanced over her shoulder at Kaisel. "So he could keep reminding his wife that she was always late even after he died."

I hope you're wetting your appetite, finding your way into someone's eyes
I hope you're dreaming in black and white, and seeing in colour

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Kaisel

Haters on my back like a backpack

He supposes helping maintain the markers of the dead is important, but it doesn't make it any less spooky. The idea of walking over rotting corpses and bones long turned to dust is as unappealing as it comes to him, and the possibility of disturbing them into something that'll rouse as an apparition or zombie, it's nearly too much. It's only the threat of still acquiring their ire through neglect that let's him follow after Flora at all, that and a hopeless attempt to prove to her that he is in fact, not too chicken to manage.

So he's posted up as the designated lookout and flower holder behind her, gaze scanning the distance for anything marginally haunted, when her command to flower her taps on his mind again. "Mm?" he mutters, then seeming to remember turns and sets the petals against her fingers, attempting to get them to snap shut and yank the flower away before she grabs it. The best way to get over being creeped out is to fuck with her, bringing back some normalcy, but unfortunately she's too fast and swipes the stalk away without even seeming to notice he had tried to be annoying. That is infinitely more annoying, and she didn't even try.

He glances down at her instead of resuming his watch as she spins out some wild story, 'brows rising in complete disbelief at her. "What a waste of time," he throws out with a wink, amused enough at himself to laugh. "But no, really, sounds like the kind of petty being in the grave is supposed to be a relief from." Bet he'd been so pleasant to be around the wife made him wait on purpose.

Blowin' up I'm fucking flawless

flora

Flora shoots Kai a sharp glare over one shoulder—basically the llama gif I always send you—but the effect is softened by the affectionate roll of her eyes that follows. "Being petty is a love language," she declares, as if it’s a known fact, like gravity or the rising of the sun. "A little ‘I told you so’ from beyond the grave? Iconic." Her grin is all wicked satisfaction as her fingers flap once more in Kai's direction for another flower, unaware of the fuckery that had taken place when her back had been turned before.

As she kneels again, more casual now with dirt already darkening the fabric at her knees, she adds, "Not only would I pull that hourglass trick, I’ll haunt the hell out of my husband too. Hide all his left shoes. Spell things out with bananas. Whisper ‘you left the stove on’ in his ear every time he tries to sleep." A thoughtful pause, as if she's genuinely plotting, and, because it's Flora, of course she actually will be.

She places the bloom at the new grave (assuming she hasn't had to wrestle it from Kai), fingers lingering a moment against the stone before dusting her palms off again. "No one’s catching me putting ‘till death do us part’ in my vows," she says, chin lifted, eyes gleaming. "That’s quitter talk."

I hope you're wetting your appetite, finding your way into someone's eyes
I hope you're dreaming in black and white, and seeing in colour

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Kaisel

Haters on my back like a backpack

He tilts his head, turning Flora a bit askew, but he's trying to straighten her out a bit because she's already gotta be sideways. "Uh, preeeeeeetty sure petty is the opposite of love. Are there hate languages?" He glances down at her offered hand with a grin that matches her own. Maybe she's got a point to the whole petty thing if it all comes down to just pestering each other for eternity, that he could get behind.

He extends his next flower, but be brushes the petals against the wrong side of her hand, pulling it just out of reach if she goes for it. "Who says you'd even get to become a ghost," he counters, only half listening to her schemes as he focuses on the twitch of her hand. "Besides, he might die of a broken heart and not be left for you to fuck with, so better to move onto the next form of happily ever after." He relents the flower into her grasp finally, feigning innocence should she attempt to pay his extended process any mind.

It's a bit raw to be considering her dead, even in this imaginary, half-alive version of it, but he does laugh at the certainty of her classic epitaph refusal. "Yeah, yours would just be 'brb'."

Blowin' up I'm fucking flawless

flora

Flora huffs out a theatrical sigh, tipping her head toward him with an expression that screams heathen as much as it does affectionate menace. "Clearly, you're not fluent in love," she snipes, arching a brow like she’s disappointed in him and all of romance itself. "And obviously there are hate languages. They’re just, like, love languages in drag. You know what they say about there being a fine line between love and hate?. Quality time but make it competitive. Physical touch but it’s wedgies and pinching."

Her hand flinches at the ticklish brush of petals and she immediately retaliates, reaching over and giving him a firm swat to the thigh without so much as glancing up. "Excuse you—why wouldn’t I get to be a ghost?" she demands, voice full of incredulous scandal, like he’d just suggested she wouldn’t be allowed into a members-only club she obviously founded. "You think the afterlife can handle this amount of unresolved drama just sitting around? I’m prime haunting material."

The thought of her hypothetical husband keeling over from grief makes her pause, though—just long enough for an almost-sincere little wrinkle to form between her brows. But then she shakes her head going full kombucha girl about it. "Nah. I wouldn't want someone to die of a broken heart because of me. If a man just crumbles without me, I’ve clearly picked the wrong one."

The flower is snatched with practiced grace, and she tucks it neatly beside the others before rising and padding to the next grave. A grin curls at the corner of her mouth as she glances back at him, eyes glittering. "‘brb’ is gonna be my last word(s), dummy. I’d never waste that kind of poetry on vows."

I hope you're wetting your appetite, finding your way into someone's eyes
I hope you're dreaming in black and white, and seeing in colour

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Kaisel

Haters on my back like a backpack

He's skeptical still, because to be honest everything she said just sounds like normal love to him. "Pretty hard to be fluent when it just sounds like you're making shit up." Maybe all this is on her fancy go fish deck too.

He jerks back as her hand swings out like a short-tailed cobra, but he's too slow to avoid the connection, so he just bites back a complaint and a laugh, not wanting to draw more attention back here than necessary. "I'm just saying, there's no guarantee, so don't get your ghost hopes up. Maybe you'll go peacefully." Which could only probably mean, a long time from now, because she is correct, at her current state she is fully primed to haunt.

He scoffs a bit at her refusal, "what!? You don't think that's hella romantic?" Maybe he in fact, doesn't know anything about love after all. "Seems like being unable to exist without the person that made it all worth it sounds pretty fair. I mean... maybe not so much when you're young, but if I'm already old? I wouldn't want to last long without my wife. Sounds way too lonely and sad."

He watches the flower vanish back around to her front and get delivered to the new grave. A laugh meets her glance back, "okay so then what would it be? Mine would definitely be... here lies awesome." His last words? Probably, watch this.

Blowin' up I'm fucking flawless

flora

Flora lifts her brows, rolls her eyes, and levels him with a look that’s far too amused to be entirely scathing. "Please. You’ve never been in love, so how would you even know?" she counters, all challenge and knowing smirk, like she’s just set a trap and is daring him to try and wriggle free. "You wouldn’t know capital-L Love if it knocked you flat on your ass and asked you to share a toothbrush."

She snorts as she steps around to the next grave. "And seriously, look me in the eye and tell me I’m going to die peacefully." Her arms stretch wide as if to gesture at the sheer absurdity of the idea, her whole body radiating disbelief. "The odds of me going out in my sleep are, like, statistically nonexistent."

Her nose wrinkles as she places another bloom. "Besides, dying from heartbreak? Sounds hella needy, not romantic. I want someone who can keep going. Who will grieve me and do mopey shit like saying they see me in the sunrise. Who’ll talk to me even if I can’t answer." Except she would, because she'll be a ghost.

Flora stands after a moment, the breeze stirring her curls as she gazes down at the stone, mouth tugging sideways as if the tombstone is a prompt rather than a warning. "Mmmmmm, mine could be...She died as she lived: better dressed than you., or, y'know what? Who needs a grave. I don't want to just be reduced down to some place people go to be sad."

I hope you're wetting your appetite, finding your way into someone's eyes
I hope you're dreaming in black and white, and seeing in colour

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Kaisel

Haters on my back like a backpack

His arms fold over each other, mindful of the flowers he's holding, as she passes him one of her classic looks. "How do you know if I've been in love or not," he scoffs defensively, though there's still a light enough edge to it to suggest he isn't actually insulted. Maybe he hasn't been able to be in it freely, openly, but he's had Love.

It all breaks though as he follows after her, hands tucking behind his back as he laughs faintly. "Right now? No, definitely not. But let's assume you're an old old woman, you don't think going quietly in your sleep is not only possible, but preferred?" If he doesn't go out in a blaze of glory in his youth becoming a hero, that sounds like a nice way to go, and one he wishes for her, because then it means her life would have been long and full enough to finally rest peacefully.

"Hmm, I'd hate for my wife to be sad and miss me every day," he counters with a low hum. "If she doesn't join me in eternal bliss in the afterlife too soon, then I hope she'll move on and find someone new to spend the rest of her days with together here." That might complicate things later in Mort's realm, but that'd be worth it, if she could enjoy more of life while she had it. Love is big enough to be found more than once, he thinks.

As for a headstone, he's rather in agreement. He'd want something big, shiny, loud. Something that people could admire and climb on and love just as much as they cried over. No marker though? "So what, just prop your skeleton up in the living room?" he asks with a grin, because he's certain he already knows the answer.

Blowin' up I'm fucking flawless

flora

Flora snickers, head dipping as if she can’t quite contain the laugh before it spills. "First of all, who exactly would you have been in love with? That girl who took your v-card at graduation?" she asks, grinning sidelong. "Or maybe Rebecca?" Her tone is teasing but fond, a flick of affectionate mischief that softens any sting. "And second, please—if you ever actually fall in love, you’ll be handing out matching t-shirts and screeching your couple name from the rooftops. It’ll be unbearable." And adorable, and absurdly Kaisel.

Stepping around another grave, she bends to settle a flower in the grass, fingers brushing the worn edge of the stone before she straightens again. "I don’t think I’ll make it to the grey-haired part, if I’m being honest." Her shoulders rise and fall in a shrug that tries for casual but lands somewhere closer to matter-of-fact. "With the way I live, I’m probably here for a good time, not a long time." Which, honestly, seemed fine to her.

Still, his widow fantasy earns a dry little smile. "That’s very noble of you," she says, voice laced with amusement. "But I dunno. I guess I'd want my husband to move on, but if he actually managed to do it? Ugh. I’d be waaaaaaaay too jealous. The thought of being replaced would make me want to die again" Shrugging, Flora smirks. "I’d have to ghost him instead of haunt him. Give him the full cold-shoulder-afterlife-treatment."

The grin that curves her lips next is wicked and bright as she gestures for another flower. "Skeleton in the living room’s not bad, but I’d need to be on wheels, obviously. Get rolled around, take in the views, still be a part of everything." She twirls a flower between her fingers like a baton. "Mateo wears our Nonna’s fingerbones around his neck, so maybe I’ll divide myself up. I could be a magic mirror that always gives compliments, or a hairbrush that tames bedhead."

Turning toward him with a conspiratorial glint, she lifts a brow. "Ooh, or a sword. I could shout insults and do emotional damage as well as slashing damage." She cocks her head, curls dancing in the breeze. "What do you think? Would you carry me around?"

I hope you're wetting your appetite, finding your way into someone's eyes
I hope you're dreaming in black and white, and seeing in colour

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Kaisel

Haters on my back like a backpack

Oh right, he forgot he's speaking to the Love Master, so everything has to be run past her first. "I mean, you never forget your first right," he cuts back with a wolfish grin, as if he is definitely remembering it right now, which hey, she brought it up. However Rebecca's name earns a snort and an eye roll. After a pause, wherein he takes a moment to trace the way her hair shifts with every laugh that slips free, a view he could truly never tire of, he says, "sometimes Love isn't that loud." Even if it should be. Sometimes Love is the shape of someone's laugh, no louder than the space between two people.

She definitely isn't going to go grey if she keeps up her current pace. "What if the long time is the good time?" If there's a joke here about not finishing too fast, it isn't where his head is at. He'd much prefer the idea of keeping her around as long as he can, is all.

As she requests another flower, he plucks off just one petal and drops it into her awaiting grip. "Ew, he does what?!" He's practically clutching his pearls at the idea that Mateo's waltzing around with part of a body on him. "That's disgusting. Next you're gonna tell me he has tooth earrings." Body parts and a skeleton he has to wheel around is strictly out, but the idea of a possessed object has a certain appeal. "I can see that," he laughs freely, picturing her as a shrieking sword that screams not with metal on metal in the heat of battle, but the scorn of not being polished just so. As she turns towards him, he jousts out experimentally with his flower-sword, swiping it to and fro in front of her face, petals shaking with the promise of glinting steel. "You think I'd actually pass up the chance to have you roast my enemies and my fashion choices?" He grins, booping her nose with a flower. "No shot. If you're a haunted sword, I'd carry you all over Caido."

Blowin' up I'm fucking flawless

flora

At first, Flora's smile lingers, warm and real, until his words settle in enough to nudge her thoughts down a path they hadn’t meant to walk today. It’s the “you never forget your first” that dims her expression, just slightly, as memories she’s long since tried to bury push up through the soft earth of her laughter. Her lips part, but she doesn’t say anything right away—just nods, eyes briefly distant. Yeah. You don’t forget, but sometimes that's the problem.

Still, the weight lifts again when she snorts softly and shoots him a sideways look. "Love might not be loud, but you are," she says with fond exasperation, bumping his shoulder lightly as she glances down at the grave before them. She hums, low and pensive, as she twirls the flower he’d dropped into her hand, sans petal. "Good thing I’ve got parents who can bring me back from the dead then, huh?" she murmurs, then bends to tuck the half-dressed flower gently into place. Her fingers linger on the moss-soft stone a second longer than needed.

His reaction to Mateo earns a dramatic snort and a shake of her curls. "Our nonna was a witch and a healer. Apparently some of the magic stuck around after she died, so...yeah, he wears them." She lifts a brow at him, entirely unrepentant. "And honestly? Tooth earrings sound exactly like something Mateo would wear. Especially if they were like, molars. Maybe dipped in gold."

The flower-to-the-nose boop makes her wrinkle her nose and laugh despite herself, swatting vaguely at him with a grin that curls up from somewhere warm. "You’re such an ass," she says, clearly meaning it as a compliment. Her smile softens, slow and unguarded, as she tilts her head. "Alright then. When I die, you can have the most sword-like part of me." Pausing, Flora considers which bit that might be. "My hips might be too big, but they'd make a cool hilt." Very curvy, very grippable.

She turns, flicking her hair off her shoulder like a cape, then gestures toward the next row of graves. "Come on, flower boy, your turn. So other than turning your grave into a playground, any other requests?"

I hope you're wetting your appetite, finding your way into someone's eyes
I hope you're dreaming in black and white, and seeing in colour

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Kaisel

Haters on my back like a backpack

Although he doesn't say it, being brought back time and time again seems a hell of a lot worse than just, not dying to begin with. Maybe she wouldn't remain, but it doesn't keep all the pain away, and he's  pretty certain doing that too many times will leave some sort of irreparable damage. "There's other ways you could visit Mort," he scoffs. The world generally likes to maintain its balance, achieved with the designed flows. Cheat it too often, and seems like inviting the kind of attention you don't want.

He makes a face at the idea of Mateo traipsing around with gold-lacquered molars dangling merrily from his ears like some kind of fucked up cat bell. An involuntary shudder rolls through him, and he quickly shoves that picture right out of his head. No thank you.

His grin rises to hers, although it quickly falters when she goes back to chopping up body parts like she's Dexter. "Uh, no," he clarifies as he sticks out his tongue in disgust. "I meant like, putting your essence in a sword. I am not gonna cart around your mouth and your fingers." Her being a ghost is much better than whatever black magic fuckery this is. Though, he can't help himself, something smug sweeping over his expression. "The best hilt," he says with a suggestive drawl and a wink, purposefully made over the top just to stifle some of the honesty that otherwise threatens to break a moment managing to stay cooled.

His attention follows her hand to the next row of graves with a huff. How many dead people are there?? "Yeah," he says too quickly, stepping up beside her suddenly, shoulder drifting just next to hers. "Lunch!" With a laugh he smacks the back of his hand playfully at her arm and darts forward, whipping flowers towards graves like an errant paper boy. "Last one there has to pretend to be a dog for an hour, IN PUBLIC!" he calls out as he breaks into a full on run.

[FIN]

Blowin' up I'm fucking flawless