flora
Flora doesn’t take Maea’s arm right away, but she also doesn’t brush her off. She lets the gesture hang politely between them, acknowledging it with a small quirk of her mouth before sliding her arm through. Her movements are fluid, practiced, more grace than warmth, but then, it isn't like one letter and rose makes the pair best friends.
"Oh? Ulterior motives, huh? Colour me intrigued." Her tone is calm, almost detached. Not cruel, but unconcerned, like she’s speaking from just a little ways outside herself. A side effect of everything that’s happened. Of what she’s become.
She adjusts the drape of her jacket with her free hand as they walk, fingers flicking at the lapel like she’s brushing off imaginary dust—or attention she doesn't want. Her jewelry catches the lanternlight: thin gold bangles stacked on her wrist, the glint of rings she never takes off.
As they near the bar, Flora scans the crowd with idle disinterest, slipping through it like water parting around a rock. If she notices Maea’s attempt at dressing up, she doesn’t say anything—though her gaze does skim briefly across the embroidery with a flicker of acknowledgment that never quite lands. "Place has improved since I was here last," she notes, nodding toward the drink menu as they take their place in line. Her weight shifts slightly onto one hip, releasing Maea's arm in order to loosely cross hers over her chest as she scans the options with an absent look.
Only then does she glance sidelong at Maea, expression unreadable. One brow lifts, just enough to be felt. "Soooooo." Her voice is smooth. "If this isn’t an ambush or a guilt trip—what… is it?"
"Oh? Ulterior motives, huh? Colour me intrigued." Her tone is calm, almost detached. Not cruel, but unconcerned, like she’s speaking from just a little ways outside herself. A side effect of everything that’s happened. Of what she’s become.
She adjusts the drape of her jacket with her free hand as they walk, fingers flicking at the lapel like she’s brushing off imaginary dust—or attention she doesn't want. Her jewelry catches the lanternlight: thin gold bangles stacked on her wrist, the glint of rings she never takes off.
As they near the bar, Flora scans the crowd with idle disinterest, slipping through it like water parting around a rock. If she notices Maea’s attempt at dressing up, she doesn’t say anything—though her gaze does skim briefly across the embroidery with a flicker of acknowledgment that never quite lands. "Place has improved since I was here last," she notes, nodding toward the drink menu as they take their place in line. Her weight shifts slightly onto one hip, releasing Maea's arm in order to loosely cross hers over her chest as she scans the options with an absent look.
Only then does she glance sidelong at Maea, expression unreadable. One brow lifts, just enough to be felt. "Soooooo." Her voice is smooth. "If this isn’t an ambush or a guilt trip—what… is it?"
We need love, But all we want is danger
We team up, Then switch sides like a record changer
We team up, Then switch sides like a record changer
