flora
Flora snorts delicately, rolling her eyes at his ridiculous name suggestions. "I vote for UNeviscerated," she drawls, entirely deadpan. "Sounds way scarier when no one knows what the hell you're talking about." But she squeezes his arm gently as they walk, falling comfortably into stride beside him, and the bright, playful smirk she wears softens into a familiar warmth.
She gives an exaggerated gasp at his next words, pressing her free hand theatrically against her chest. "Excuse me, I did not brag about beating children," she insists primly, eyes glittering mischievously. "I bragged about beating you, and a win is a win."
Waiting with pointed patience while he rinses his wounds in the very questionable barrel-water—she cringes dramatically, whispering, "You know, I could just... heal that properly for you? Without the horse piss or whatever is in there?"—Flora nevertheless gives a thoughtful hum as they finally move on toward the cluster of seedy taverns ahead.
Her gaze skims the ramshackle signs, lip curling in playful disdain at their names. "Oh yeah, we've got some real gems here," she says dryly. "You feeling more 'Rusty Anchor' or 'The Soggy Siren'? Both sound incredibly classy, obviously." Though at this point in the evening, so long as they served something that could passingly be called liquor, she'd be happy. "Oh, did you hear I own a bar in Torchline now?" Glancing at the dragoon over her shoulder, the queen grins. "So I'm going to be a real snob regardless of where you pick."
She gives an exaggerated gasp at his next words, pressing her free hand theatrically against her chest. "Excuse me, I did not brag about beating children," she insists primly, eyes glittering mischievously. "I bragged about beating you, and a win is a win."
Waiting with pointed patience while he rinses his wounds in the very questionable barrel-water—she cringes dramatically, whispering, "You know, I could just... heal that properly for you? Without the horse piss or whatever is in there?"—Flora nevertheless gives a thoughtful hum as they finally move on toward the cluster of seedy taverns ahead.
Her gaze skims the ramshackle signs, lip curling in playful disdain at their names. "Oh yeah, we've got some real gems here," she says dryly. "You feeling more 'Rusty Anchor' or 'The Soggy Siren'? Both sound incredibly classy, obviously." Though at this point in the evening, so long as they served something that could passingly be called liquor, she'd be happy. "Oh, did you hear I own a bar in Torchline now?" Glancing at the dragoon over her shoulder, the queen grins. "So I'm going to be a real snob regardless of where you pick."
We can't make any promises now can we babe?
But you can make me a drink.
But you can make me a drink.
