flora
At first, it's all just sounds. They make up words that Flora understands, but none of it means anything much to the Doubletake until—
—I can’t sleep well unless he’s there.
It has something terribly cold reaching up from the pit of her stomach, wrapping icy fingers around her throat that have her wanting to gasp while also making sure there wasn't enough air to make a sound. The muscles of her stomach clench as her hands fall away from Asta's face and crumple into her lap. At some point Flora has also lowered her eyes, not wanting to see the thin line of Asta's mouth made blurry by the sheen of her tears. "But you feel like you'd die without him, right?" She asks, her voice dull, the question rhetorical. "Like if something did happen to him, you'd sell every little bit of yourself to fix it?"
She sighs, shakily.
Being sad drunk was quickly taking over, but before it could, boldly boss bitch drunk had one last card to play.
Reaching for the drink Asta had made, Flora takes it from him and downs it in one gulp. It's horribly sugary, but liquid confidence came in many forms and right now Flora didn't have the nerve to be choosey about it. Twisting away from the butcher, Flora hops off the other side of the bar and storms toward the stage, snatching the microphone away from Danta and tapping her fingers loudly against it.
"Listen up." She yells, the feedback hostile and loud from the speakerbecause I guess it's an 80s PA system and not magic. "Asta, Danta loves you but he's too scared to say it. Danta, Asta loves you but thinks having been a bastard to you in the past means he doesn't get to." Running her tongue along her teeth, too late for the bloom of pain to stop her tears, Flora gives her head a little shake as she shoots a bitter smile at each of them.
"Danta you're an asshole for setting us up as if it wasn't going to gnaw at you, and you—" Flora turns her stare onto Asta, her breath momentarily catching on the sob building in the back of her throat. "..are just an asshole." She manages, her voice tight and small, her cheeks flushed and hot beneath the tears that streamed down them.
Dropping the mic, Flora points at the door. "Go tell each other you love one another and get the fuck out of my bar."
—I can’t sleep well unless he’s there.
It has something terribly cold reaching up from the pit of her stomach, wrapping icy fingers around her throat that have her wanting to gasp while also making sure there wasn't enough air to make a sound. The muscles of her stomach clench as her hands fall away from Asta's face and crumple into her lap. At some point Flora has also lowered her eyes, not wanting to see the thin line of Asta's mouth made blurry by the sheen of her tears. "But you feel like you'd die without him, right?" She asks, her voice dull, the question rhetorical. "Like if something did happen to him, you'd sell every little bit of yourself to fix it?"
She sighs, shakily.
Being sad drunk was quickly taking over, but before it could, boldly boss bitch drunk had one last card to play.
Reaching for the drink Asta had made, Flora takes it from him and downs it in one gulp. It's horribly sugary, but liquid confidence came in many forms and right now Flora didn't have the nerve to be choosey about it. Twisting away from the butcher, Flora hops off the other side of the bar and storms toward the stage, snatching the microphone away from Danta and tapping her fingers loudly against it.
"Listen up." She yells, the feedback hostile and loud from the speaker
"Danta you're an asshole for setting us up as if it wasn't going to gnaw at you, and you—" Flora turns her stare onto Asta, her breath momentarily catching on the sob building in the back of her throat. "..are just an asshole." She manages, her voice tight and small, her cheeks flushed and hot beneath the tears that streamed down them.
Dropping the mic, Flora points at the door. "Go tell each other you love one another and get the fuck out of my bar."
Flexing like a goddamn acrobat
Me and karma vibe like that
Me and karma vibe like that
