Flora
So that was a yes.
It makes her feel powerful in a way which only speaks to her own brand of trauma, and had she not been wearing a gown she didn't want him to tear off of her (yet), Flora might have indeed dragged the butcher's lips down against hers. "Not too good, I hope." Flora's voice is a velvet purr and had she not known what sort of man he was, she might have pressed her hips back against his own. Instead, she merely lets her tongue slide across her lower lip, painting in the faintest of reds before parting the curtain.
"Ah, very good sir." Reaching for a pad of paper and making a few notes, he waits politely as Asta moves to scrutinise Flora's gown.
Glancing over her shoulder, Flora's eyes widen as she looks at the fabric. She'd never have selected anything like it on her own, but in Asta's hands it suddenly seemed the most decadent fabric. Letting her fingertips trickle over the scales, her fingers weaving in and out of the shapes, Flora gently tucks a stray bit of hair behind one of Asta's horns with a coy wink. "I think it would look incredible. Would you wear it with something...fitted on the bottom? Or flowy?" It would depend on where she planned to wear it, of course, though really the answer she was hoping for was that he'd pair it with a glass of red wine and his own mouth.
The queen takes a moment to let her hands sweep down her own curves, savouring the way she looked in the dark fabric. Watching Asta go and pretending not to wonder what he was doing, the queen let her body undulate left and right if only to test the stretch of the lace. Rather, that's what she would say she was doing if asked.
"Of course, sir. And where shall I send everything when it's completed?" The shopkeep wonders politely as he notes down Danta's measurements and the instructions.
Turning towards the butcher, Flora stretches one of her arms around his waist, tucking herself at his side before appraising their reflection in the mirror. Their outfits didn't match presently, especially not the cheerful green of Asta's shirt and the wine-dark luxury of Flora's gown, and yet they looked good together. Asta, tall, refined and handsome, with eyes so wonderfully dark and possessing words that weren't just charming because of his accent, but dripped in knowledge and experience as well; Flora, toned, tannedfit and ready and poised, powerful and cunning in her own right with influence that was nearly unmatched. Yeah, they definitely looked cute together.
"Mmmm, I think so too. I almost don't want to put anything else on, after this, you know?" What else could possibly compare? Turning her head toward him, her eyes on his in the mirror she whispered, "—are you ready to take it off of me?"
It makes her feel powerful in a way which only speaks to her own brand of trauma, and had she not been wearing a gown she didn't want him to tear off of her (yet), Flora might have indeed dragged the butcher's lips down against hers. "Not too good, I hope." Flora's voice is a velvet purr and had she not known what sort of man he was, she might have pressed her hips back against his own. Instead, she merely lets her tongue slide across her lower lip, painting in the faintest of reds before parting the curtain.
"Ah, very good sir." Reaching for a pad of paper and making a few notes, he waits politely as Asta moves to scrutinise Flora's gown.
Glancing over her shoulder, Flora's eyes widen as she looks at the fabric. She'd never have selected anything like it on her own, but in Asta's hands it suddenly seemed the most decadent fabric. Letting her fingertips trickle over the scales, her fingers weaving in and out of the shapes, Flora gently tucks a stray bit of hair behind one of Asta's horns with a coy wink. "I think it would look incredible. Would you wear it with something...fitted on the bottom? Or flowy?" It would depend on where she planned to wear it, of course, though really the answer she was hoping for was that he'd pair it with a glass of red wine and his own mouth.
The queen takes a moment to let her hands sweep down her own curves, savouring the way she looked in the dark fabric. Watching Asta go and pretending not to wonder what he was doing, the queen let her body undulate left and right if only to test the stretch of the lace. Rather, that's what she would say she was doing if asked.
"Of course, sir. And where shall I send everything when it's completed?" The shopkeep wonders politely as he notes down Danta's measurements and the instructions.
Turning towards the butcher, Flora stretches one of her arms around his waist, tucking herself at his side before appraising their reflection in the mirror. Their outfits didn't match presently, especially not the cheerful green of Asta's shirt and the wine-dark luxury of Flora's gown, and yet they looked good together. Asta, tall, refined and handsome, with eyes so wonderfully dark and possessing words that weren't just charming because of his accent, but dripped in knowledge and experience as well; Flora, toned, tanned
"Mmmm, I think so too. I almost don't want to put anything else on, after this, you know?" What else could possibly compare? Turning her head toward him, her eyes on his in the mirror she whispered, "—are you ready to take it off of me?"
Fatefully, I tried to pick my battles 'til the battle picked me
Misery, Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep
Misery, Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep
Code stolen from Queen Sky
