flora
Flora flashes Zavien a sheepish grin, biting her lower lip as he clutches his side. "Ooof, definitely my bad." Her voice is soft with guilt for a breath—then swings right back into sing-song as she shrugs and adds, "I meean I did say it was hypothetical." The grin she flashes him is all sass and zero remorse, but she could absolutely respect him not wanting to risk his relationship for the sake of her training.
At the mention of Pierce shamelessly flirting, though, her expression tightens—just slightly. She sinks her teeth into the inside of her cheek, that brief, sharp flicker in her eyes betraying the tangle of too many feelings pressed behind a single name. "Mm," she hums, nodding as her gaze drops to the ground. "You’re probably right." Her voice is flat, but there’s a strange kind of brightness to it too—like she’s holding the whole thought at arm’s length to keep it from biting.
Fortunately, Zavien’s suggestion makes her perk back up, her brow lifting with interest. "Underestimated," she echoes, the word tasting right. "Drunk or clumsy, huh?"
A slow grin spreads across her face. She backs up a few steps, brushing the dust from her thighs and rolling her shoulders. Then she clears her throat, rises onto her tiptoes like she’s strutting in stilettos, and throws her entire body into a transformation.
Suddenly, she’s all bright-eyed and unbalanced—an airy giggle escaping as she staggers forward like she’s half a cocktail away from a regretful tattoo. "Oopsie!" she chirps, miming a half-spilled drink in one hand as she stumbles right toward Zavien. The moment her arms hook around his biceps in mock desperation, the queen drops the act. Her hips shift, driving a sharp twist into Zavien’s stance with a practiced bump of force—aimed squarely at knocking him off balance.
At the mention of Pierce shamelessly flirting, though, her expression tightens—just slightly. She sinks her teeth into the inside of her cheek, that brief, sharp flicker in her eyes betraying the tangle of too many feelings pressed behind a single name. "Mm," she hums, nodding as her gaze drops to the ground. "You’re probably right." Her voice is flat, but there’s a strange kind of brightness to it too—like she’s holding the whole thought at arm’s length to keep it from biting.
Fortunately, Zavien’s suggestion makes her perk back up, her brow lifting with interest. "Underestimated," she echoes, the word tasting right. "Drunk or clumsy, huh?"
A slow grin spreads across her face. She backs up a few steps, brushing the dust from her thighs and rolling her shoulders. Then she clears her throat, rises onto her tiptoes like she’s strutting in stilettos, and throws her entire body into a transformation.
Suddenly, she’s all bright-eyed and unbalanced—an airy giggle escaping as she staggers forward like she’s half a cocktail away from a regretful tattoo. "Oopsie!" she chirps, miming a half-spilled drink in one hand as she stumbles right toward Zavien. The moment her arms hook around his biceps in mock desperation, the queen drops the act. Her hips shift, driving a sharp twist into Zavien’s stance with a practiced bump of force—aimed squarely at knocking him off balance.
I can't stop you putting roots in my dreamland
