oblivion is the name of this abode: and she is there
Her fingers are like little lightning strikes across Anju's skin, which so often feels the hard hit of fists and blades instead of this playful, barely-there dance. Anju's own shadow as she leans over Flora makes the young woman's face easy to see when she reclines - enough so that the Dragoon shamelessly takes in the tiny details that do not remain obscured by large sunglasses.
Not the type of woman to beat around the bush, Anju's free arm slides off the arm of the chair and onto Flora's thigh. "You took quite the risk in stealing my ring instead of a more valuable object. Do you think I am enticed to return your lovely feathers for that old thing?" Mahogany irises become partially concealed as her eyes lid themselves. "Or, given your flirtations, were you hoping for a different exchange?" She may be forthright, but Anju has some eloquence when it is necessary.
Not the type of woman to beat around the bush, Anju's free arm slides off the arm of the chair and onto Flora's thigh. "You took quite the risk in stealing my ring instead of a more valuable object. Do you think I am enticed to return your lovely feathers for that old thing?" Mahogany irises become partially concealed as her eyes lid themselves. "Or, given your flirtations, were you hoping for a different exchange?" She may be forthright, but Anju has some eloquence when it is necessary.
