you look like my next mistake
Flora preens, absolutely basking in Jack’s begrudging concession, even if it's more of a complaint than an actual admission of her superior knowledge. "Ooooh, is that so?" she hums, tilting her chin up at him, a slow grin curling across her lips. "Last year you'd never even seen a forest before, and now suddenly I'm going to be schooled on my childhood home, huh?"she teases, giving his coat a playful little tug; though for all her sarcasm, she'd love to know what the Greatwood looks like through Jack's eyes.
"Yeah, well," she mutters, exhaling sharply. "I hated it." Because the implication of Vox always listening, always watching, is something she doesn’t particularly want to think about. Instead, she pivots to the task at hand, rolling her shoulders before turning her attention to the woods. "Alright, alright," she sighs, shaking out her hands as if that’ll somehow make communing with the Greatwood easier. "A silver tongue won't get you as far here, but sugared?" With a theatrical clearing of her throat, she steps forward, pressing her palms lightly against the nearest tree trunk.
The thing about the Greatwood is that it does listen—when it wants to. And it does seem to like her, or at least tolerate her in a way it certainly doesn't tolerate outsiders even though its been years since she lived amidst the trees. "Hey there, beautiful," she murmurs, her voice dipping into something honey-sweet, the way she might talk to a particularly charming stranger at the Hanged Man. "Mind showing us a way that doesn't involve those creepy things wandering around your paths?" Her fingers trace the bark in slow, absent patterns as she tilts her head, and wouldn't you know it, should the pair look closer, the path they'd just come from now looks subtly different.
"Yeah, well," she mutters, exhaling sharply. "I hated it." Because the implication of Vox always listening, always watching, is something she doesn’t particularly want to think about. Instead, she pivots to the task at hand, rolling her shoulders before turning her attention to the woods. "Alright, alright," she sighs, shaking out her hands as if that’ll somehow make communing with the Greatwood easier. "A silver tongue won't get you as far here, but sugared?" With a theatrical clearing of her throat, she steps forward, pressing her palms lightly against the nearest tree trunk.
The thing about the Greatwood is that it does listen—when it wants to. And it does seem to like her, or at least tolerate her in a way it certainly doesn't tolerate outsiders even though its been years since she lived amidst the trees. "Hey there, beautiful," she murmurs, her voice dipping into something honey-sweet, the way she might talk to a particularly charming stranger at the Hanged Man. "Mind showing us a way that doesn't involve those creepy things wandering around your paths?" Her fingers trace the bark in slow, absent patterns as she tilts her head, and wouldn't you know it, should the pair look closer, the path they'd just come from now looks subtly different.
