Flora
Flora snickers, shaking her head as she takes in the warmth of the Sparkbird’s Nest, the way the golden light pools over the dark wood, casting flickering patterns against the walls. It’s a sharp contrast to the storm raging outside, and though she hadn’t realized just how much the cold had seeped into her bones, the immediate relief has her sighing softly.
"She absolutely said that," Flora confirms, tilting her head back to look up at him, lips curling with something wry. "Honestly, I don’t even think she realized how ridiculous she sounded, y'know?" Which seemed to be the worst thing about Maea in Flora's opinion: she absolutely believed every bullshit syllable leaving her own lips. Rolling her eyes, she shrugs off her shawl, absently smoothing the fabric before draping it over one arm. "I mean, I can respect a good martyr complex—" she waves a hand vaguely, "in theory—but you don’t get to play the victim and insist that you’re the one who should be calling the shots. Pick one."
Her smirk softens just a fraction at his words, though, her gaze flickering back up to his with something a little more genuine beneath the amusement. "Mm, thank you, darling," she purrs, echoing the term of endearment right back at him before stepping forward to fully take in the inn. "Wow this is...not what I expected," she murmurs, glancing around. Having pictured something a good deal more rustic and lacking in charm, the Doubletake flashes the butcher a bright smile.
"Drink?"
"She absolutely said that," Flora confirms, tilting her head back to look up at him, lips curling with something wry. "Honestly, I don’t even think she realized how ridiculous she sounded, y'know?" Which seemed to be the worst thing about Maea in Flora's opinion: she absolutely believed every bullshit syllable leaving her own lips. Rolling her eyes, she shrugs off her shawl, absently smoothing the fabric before draping it over one arm. "I mean, I can respect a good martyr complex—" she waves a hand vaguely, "in theory—but you don’t get to play the victim and insist that you’re the one who should be calling the shots. Pick one."
Her smirk softens just a fraction at his words, though, her gaze flickering back up to his with something a little more genuine beneath the amusement. "Mm, thank you, darling," she purrs, echoing the term of endearment right back at him before stepping forward to fully take in the inn. "Wow this is...not what I expected," she murmurs, glancing around. Having pictured something a good deal more rustic and lacking in charm, the Doubletake flashes the butcher a bright smile.
"Drink?"
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
