we show off our different scarlet letters
Flora regards Asta with the kind of expression usually reserved for wild animals with very soft ears and very sharp teeth. It’s fondness tempered by caution—by the fact that she knows what kind of season this is for him, what Danta had said, and what Astaroth himself has been wrestling to keep caged behind charming smiles and crackling fire.
Still, her body language says she isn’t afraid, even if she very much should be.
She watches as he bends the flame into colder shades, the gourd’s husk glinting with frostbitten char, and her smile lifts in quiet amusement. There’s something mesmerizing about the way he plays with heat, like a child testing the edge of danger just to see if it’ll bite back. Her dagger stills, then twists again between her fingers, catching the light like a tease.
"Was just out wandering," she says with an easy shrug, though the flicker in her voice hints at everything not said—names like Kaisel and Jack and Dahlia coiled like thorns behind her teeth. Her gaze sharpens when he says brawl, and a grin blooms like a bruise; sudden, a little reckless, and laced with something hungry.
"Now that you mention it," she says, twirling the dagger in a neat circle before wagging it in his direction, "a proper fight sounds lovely." Her boots crunch softly as she shifts her stance, spine loose and hips tilted with a dancer’s fluidity. "What d’you say, Asta?" she purrs, eyes bright and gleaming. "That's if you think you're up for it." Likely he needs no provocation at all, gentleman butcher than he is.
Still, her body language says she isn’t afraid, even if she very much should be.
She watches as he bends the flame into colder shades, the gourd’s husk glinting with frostbitten char, and her smile lifts in quiet amusement. There’s something mesmerizing about the way he plays with heat, like a child testing the edge of danger just to see if it’ll bite back. Her dagger stills, then twists again between her fingers, catching the light like a tease.
"Was just out wandering," she says with an easy shrug, though the flicker in her voice hints at everything not said—names like Kaisel and Jack and Dahlia coiled like thorns behind her teeth. Her gaze sharpens when he says brawl, and a grin blooms like a bruise; sudden, a little reckless, and laced with something hungry.
"Now that you mention it," she says, twirling the dagger in a neat circle before wagging it in his direction, "a proper fight sounds lovely." Her boots crunch softly as she shifts her stance, spine loose and hips tilted with a dancer’s fluidity. "What d’you say, Asta?" she purrs, eyes bright and gleaming. "That's if you think you're up for it." Likely he needs no provocation at all, gentleman butcher than he is.
