we show off our different scarlet letters
"Call it an educated guess." Flora hums in a low voice, her smile giving the words buoyancy as she pointedly looked towards a few newer wounds amidst the hellish landscape; ones rather suspiciously shaped like fingernail marks and teeth. "Wait here." Sliding her hands up towards his shoulders in order to use him to help her stand, the queen went to her bag, retrieving a small jar of something as well as another bottle of wine. Slipping out of her shoes while she was at it—Asta wouldn't have reason to be looking at her legs if she did her job right—the queen returned took a moment to quickly refill each of their glasses before discarding the empty bottle.
Moving to sit properly astride the butcher this time so long as there were no objections, Flora unscrewed the lid of the jar with a secretive little bend to her lips. "There was no need for sunscreen down here, so I brought this." The queen explains. "My nonna's recipe, from when I was younger." The balm inside was murky in colour, though if they held a candle up to it the different strains of burnt reds and deep lilacs would blaze to life. She'd brought it with the assumption that he'd be putting it on her, (topless was her hope), but the queen was more than happy to adjust to this new set of circumstances. She was quite flexible after all. "Now, you have to promise you're not going to cry out." Flora says warningly as her lips bowed into a devilish little smile. "We wouldn't want to disturb anyone else." How impolite that would be.
Careful of his shirt, Flora applies a conservative amount onto one of his more ghastly scars. Immediately the air would smell of cloves, cinnamon, and some secret third element reminiscent of dying embers and woodsmoke. Presumably, if Asta kept his scars hidden, he probably wasn't keen to have them touched eitheryou don't count, Danta which likely explained why it was some had begun to twist over themselves, adding yet even more layers of tissue onto an already hard scar. "These ones will probably never fade," Flora continues, her touch still soft as she distributes the cream across a small section of his skin. "But there's no need for them to stay so stiff." Lifting her eyes to his, as the queen's smile blossoms again she presses with her thumb hard against the snaking line of one scar in a bid to force the skin below it to loosen and give up its hold on the matted tissue above. While her hands might not have been calloused that didn't mean there wasn't 37 strength in them, which no doubt Asta would realize given how little effort she seemed to be expending in relation to the pressure.
Moving to sit properly astride the butcher this time so long as there were no objections, Flora unscrewed the lid of the jar with a secretive little bend to her lips. "There was no need for sunscreen down here, so I brought this." The queen explains. "My nonna's recipe, from when I was younger." The balm inside was murky in colour, though if they held a candle up to it the different strains of burnt reds and deep lilacs would blaze to life. She'd brought it with the assumption that he'd be putting it on her, (topless was her hope), but the queen was more than happy to adjust to this new set of circumstances. She was quite flexible after all. "Now, you have to promise you're not going to cry out." Flora says warningly as her lips bowed into a devilish little smile. "We wouldn't want to disturb anyone else." How impolite that would be.
Careful of his shirt, Flora applies a conservative amount onto one of his more ghastly scars. Immediately the air would smell of cloves, cinnamon, and some secret third element reminiscent of dying embers and woodsmoke. Presumably, if Asta kept his scars hidden, he probably wasn't keen to have them touched either
