Flora
Flora nods, confirming easily, "Yeah, same dad. Remi." Her lips quirk into a small smile, the warmth of it tempered by something more complicated that she couldn't really give a name to. "And yeah, it helps. It's more than most people get, y’know?" Her aqua eyes flick toward him, as if weighing whether or not to add something before she does. "They bring my baby sister back once a year too. And usually the third slot is for my nonna." Flora explains, but her grin turns wry. "Honestly, it’s probably why he had to bring me back—he didn’t have enough visitation slots for all of us if I stayed dead."
Following Niki up the steps, Flora lets the silence settle for a moment, rolling his words over in her mind. There’s something almost delicate in the way he'd phrased it—that he hadn’t been sad to see the old undertaker go—that makes her want to curl herself around him and learn all there is that makes him tick. Instead, she merely nods politely. "So… metalwork is the real passion, then? Or..." She frowns. "What do you make, when it’s not just to keep food on the table?" Because she knew the difference; knew what it was to do something because you had to, and to do something because it set something alight inside of you.
Stepping through the door as he holds it open, Flora glances around, her gaze catching on the decor that seemed slightly out of time (but then, this was the Greatwood). The scent of peppermint and tea tree fills the space, cleaner and more inviting than she might have expected, given the whole "former mortuary" situation. "Nice place," she says with a grin before heading toward the living room and flopping down comfortably onto the couch.
Following Niki up the steps, Flora lets the silence settle for a moment, rolling his words over in her mind. There’s something almost delicate in the way he'd phrased it—that he hadn’t been sad to see the old undertaker go—that makes her want to curl herself around him and learn all there is that makes him tick. Instead, she merely nods politely. "So… metalwork is the real passion, then? Or..." She frowns. "What do you make, when it’s not just to keep food on the table?" Because she knew the difference; knew what it was to do something because you had to, and to do something because it set something alight inside of you.
Stepping through the door as he holds it open, Flora glances around, her gaze catching on the decor that seemed slightly out of time (but then, this was the Greatwood). The scent of peppermint and tea tree fills the space, cleaner and more inviting than she might have expected, given the whole "former mortuary" situation. "Nice place," she says with a grin before heading toward the living room and flopping down comfortably onto the couch.
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
