this is why we can't have nice things, honey
Flora laughs again, shaking her head in sheer disbelief as she takes in the chaos—the cucumber slices still clinging bravely to Asta’s horns, the silk robe scandalously short against Danta’s thighs, the utter devastation of her very best face mask now plastered all over their absurdly handsome faces.
She sweeps toward the pair, all glitter and curls and sweet relief, and drops easily into the chair Danta vacates. "Oh, I see," she drawls, arching a delicate brow at Asta, taking the margarita from him with a grateful little hum. "You were keeping busy."
She crosses one leg over the other, leaning back luxuriously, and raises the glass in a toast to them both. The rim of her drink is salty and sharp against her tongue, the cool tang of lime and tequila instantly soothing whatever complicated mess the night had left curled up in her chest. "Well," she purrs, giving Danta a pointed look as she eyes the scandalously short robe draped over his lithe frame, "I suppose I'll just have to go find something else comfortable to slip into, since you've clearly staked your claim."
She rises from the chair with an exaggerated sigh, hips swaying as she heads toward her bedroom, pausing only briefly to shoot a wink back at them both. "Don't go anywhere." Disappearing into her room, Flora re-emerges shortly after, silk sliding effortlessly against her skin. She’s chosen something deliberately indulgent—a sheer babydoll slip that clings just enough to tease, delicate lace tracing the curves of her chest and hips, the thin straps threatening to slide off her shoulders with every confident step.
"Alright," she announces breezily, sweeping back into the living room with bare feet and a lazy smile, reclaiming her margarita and sinking back down with casual elegance. "Now, hand me that face mask. I'm not about to let you two have all the fun. I have wrinkles too you know."
She sweeps toward the pair, all glitter and curls and sweet relief, and drops easily into the chair Danta vacates. "Oh, I see," she drawls, arching a delicate brow at Asta, taking the margarita from him with a grateful little hum. "You were keeping busy."
She crosses one leg over the other, leaning back luxuriously, and raises the glass in a toast to them both. The rim of her drink is salty and sharp against her tongue, the cool tang of lime and tequila instantly soothing whatever complicated mess the night had left curled up in her chest. "Well," she purrs, giving Danta a pointed look as she eyes the scandalously short robe draped over his lithe frame, "I suppose I'll just have to go find something else comfortable to slip into, since you've clearly staked your claim."
She rises from the chair with an exaggerated sigh, hips swaying as she heads toward her bedroom, pausing only briefly to shoot a wink back at them both. "Don't go anywhere." Disappearing into her room, Flora re-emerges shortly after, silk sliding effortlessly against her skin. She’s chosen something deliberately indulgent—a sheer babydoll slip that clings just enough to tease, delicate lace tracing the curves of her chest and hips, the thin straps threatening to slide off her shoulders with every confident step.
"Alright," she announces breezily, sweeping back into the living room with bare feet and a lazy smile, reclaiming her margarita and sinking back down with casual elegance. "Now, hand me that face mask. I'm not about to let you two have all the fun. I have wrinkles too you know."
