flora
For all her cleverness and all her confidence, Flora doesn’t quite know what’s being proposed—at least, not exactly. The words hum between them, subtle and charged, their edges softened by the lull of music and the slow melt of alcohol in her veins. As Asta’s fingers brush lightly along her shoulder, she tilts instinctively toward the touch, eyes hungry as they flick between him and Danta. There’s no hesitation in the way she looks at them now. No doubt about the heat curling in her stomach or the buzz along her skin.
Glancing over her shoulder, Theea’s laughter is pealing somewhere near the dance floor, Kaisel is at the bar clearly flirting with Calypso, and while Koa and Sohalia still aren’t talking, the tension between them could probably be bottled and sold as an aphrodisiac. Flora snorts softly. Of course they’d work it out. Probably right here, right now, under her nose. And as for Jack? Still no sign of him. Not that she’s looking. Not that she cares.
Turning back, she smirks lazily and leans in. "No one will have the chance to miss me," she murmurs, voice low and velvet-slick. "Not if I'm not gone at least for a little while." She swirls what’s left in her glass, the ice clinking quietly before she tosses it back, standing with a stretch that has her corsette shifting against her hips. Her gaze flicks between the two of them once more, half-lidded and glittering with suggestion.
"And besides," she adds breezily, already starting to move, "there’s a lot of my best liquor in the back. Be a real shame to let it go to waste."
Glancing over her shoulder, Theea’s laughter is pealing somewhere near the dance floor, Kaisel is at the bar clearly flirting with Calypso, and while Koa and Sohalia still aren’t talking, the tension between them could probably be bottled and sold as an aphrodisiac. Flora snorts softly. Of course they’d work it out. Probably right here, right now, under her nose. And as for Jack? Still no sign of him. Not that she’s looking. Not that she cares.
Turning back, she smirks lazily and leans in. "No one will have the chance to miss me," she murmurs, voice low and velvet-slick. "Not if I'm not gone at least for a little while." She swirls what’s left in her glass, the ice clinking quietly before she tosses it back, standing with a stretch that has her corsette shifting against her hips. Her gaze flicks between the two of them once more, half-lidded and glittering with suggestion.
"And besides," she adds breezily, already starting to move, "there’s a lot of my best liquor in the back. Be a real shame to let it go to waste."
We can't make any promises now can we babe?
But you can make me a drink.
But you can make me a drink.
