flora
Flora chuckles, a warm sound that bubbles up from her chest as she casts a fond look over her shoulder. "No dancing required," she promises with a wink, "but I’d absolutely adore a dance with you anyway. Even if it’s just a slow shuffle where you step on my toes a lot." She hums as she unrolls another bolt of fabric, clearly unbothered by the logistics.
When Niki mentions he may not be able to attend, she tsks softly under her breath, hands busy laying out the materials in precise little rows. "Well lucky for you, I happen to have my own personal skyship now," she says, tossing a grin his way like it’s the most casual thing in the world. "So if it’s held somewhere out of compass range, I can come scoop you up myself. You won’t even have to pack snacks—I’ll bring those too." And blankets, drinks, sleep-over clothing, and even a few books she thinks he might like to read.
As Niki heads off to the kitchen, Flora sets about assembling their miniature workshop: bolts of cloth unfurled like banners, her shears glinting where they’ve been laid beside coils of black thread and lengths of boning—some carved, some natural. There are little bundles of feathers, shell beads, and a tiny bone clasp in the shape of a moth she sets aside with a quiet oooooooh.
When he returns to the doorway, lurking in that comfortably observant way of his, she doesn’t look up right away—just smirks, threading a ribbon through her fingers. "Sooo?" she says after a moment, lifting her gaze to meet his with a mischievous spark. "How’d you like meeting my friend Kaisel?"
When Niki mentions he may not be able to attend, she tsks softly under her breath, hands busy laying out the materials in precise little rows. "Well lucky for you, I happen to have my own personal skyship now," she says, tossing a grin his way like it’s the most casual thing in the world. "So if it’s held somewhere out of compass range, I can come scoop you up myself. You won’t even have to pack snacks—I’ll bring those too." And blankets, drinks, sleep-over clothing, and even a few books she thinks he might like to read.
As Niki heads off to the kitchen, Flora sets about assembling their miniature workshop: bolts of cloth unfurled like banners, her shears glinting where they’ve been laid beside coils of black thread and lengths of boning—some carved, some natural. There are little bundles of feathers, shell beads, and a tiny bone clasp in the shape of a moth she sets aside with a quiet oooooooh.
When he returns to the doorway, lurking in that comfortably observant way of his, she doesn’t look up right away—just smirks, threading a ribbon through her fingers. "Sooo?" she says after a moment, lifting her gaze to meet his with a mischievous spark. "How’d you like meeting my friend Kaisel?"
I can't stop you putting roots in my dreamland
