Flora
Flora scoffs, rolling her eyes as she gestures vaguely at herself. "Please. If I were a ghost, I’d be way more dramatic about it." She presses a hand to her chest, tilting her head back as if overcome with sorrow. "Wailing in the halls, knocking over expensive glassware, whispering sweet nothings into the ears of unsuspecting men—" Her aqua eyes flick back to him with a smirk. "And then jump scaring them in the middle of the night when they get up to pee." You know, the usual.
At his remark about not being much of a runner, she snickers, tilting her head as she shifts slightly against the table, watching him with a softer gaze. "But I mean...I want to keep you around because I like you," she admits with an easy shrug. "Not like that, obviously," she adds quickly, rolling her eyes playfully. "I just… like you. You're not like anyone else I’ve met." There’s no flattery to it, no over-the-top dramatics—just a simple, matter-of-fact truth.
As for necromancers? The queen raises a brow. "Wh—how many are there?" She wonders, blinkly flatly in his direction and resisting the urge to look nervously over her shoulder.
"And since you refuse to admit you're sick, I guess I’ll have to keep you alive long enough to make sure you don’t keel over on me." Her smirk returns as she straightens, tilting her head toward the door. "So yeah, coffee sounds good" For now, though, she watches as he gets back to work, her gaze flicking between his hands and the pieces of metal and leather on the table. She’s careful not to stare too long at the scars lining his forearms, though they don’t go unnoticed. Instead, she just leans back against the table, letting the silence settle comfortably.
At his remark about not being much of a runner, she snickers, tilting her head as she shifts slightly against the table, watching him with a softer gaze. "But I mean...I want to keep you around because I like you," she admits with an easy shrug. "Not like that, obviously," she adds quickly, rolling her eyes playfully. "I just… like you. You're not like anyone else I’ve met." There’s no flattery to it, no over-the-top dramatics—just a simple, matter-of-fact truth.
As for necromancers? The queen raises a brow. "Wh—how many are there?" She wonders, blinkly flatly in his direction and resisting the urge to look nervously over her shoulder.
"And since you refuse to admit you're sick, I guess I’ll have to keep you alive long enough to make sure you don’t keel over on me." Her smirk returns as she straightens, tilting her head toward the door. "So yeah, coffee sounds good" For now, though, she watches as he gets back to work, her gaze flicking between his hands and the pieces of metal and leather on the table. She’s careful not to stare too long at the scars lining his forearms, though they don’t go unnoticed. Instead, she just leans back against the table, letting the silence settle comfortably.
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
