we show off our different scarlet letters
Flora stays tucked against him without hesitation, their messy, half-savage spar leaving behind a sense of satisfaction that hums warmly beneath her skin. The sharp edges of adrenaline have dulled into something giddy and companionable, her ribs still sore but her smile brighter than it has any right to be, especially with blood on her sleeves and shadow-smoke still clinging faintly to the air.
Grinning up at Asta, her cheek pressed comfortably against the slick warmth of his chest, she lets her thoughts tumble out before they get too filtered. "We should definitely beat each other up more," she announces cheerfully, her voice muffled slightly by his shirt. "I’m tougher than I look. And faster." Her grin sharpens as her thoughts wind down the same pathway as his was. "We could use the rage room and make up rules. You can exit twice, but every time you leave it lowers your score, and whoever’s still standing or has the most points wins."
She taps her fingers lightly against his sternum, playful despite the blood. "Honestly, not the reason I thought I'd ever use the rage room, but could be fun."
As he smooshes her hand more firmly against him in a well-intentioned effort not to ruin her coat, Flora laughs softly, the sound vibrating gently between them. She shakes her head against him when he pulls back slightly to ask after her injuries. "I healed on the fly," she assures him, her tone affectionate. "But—" her eyes glint up at him, conspiratorial and fond, "that was a really good hit. Might need to ice it later just so I can dramatically moan about it to someone." Not that she had anyone to moan to, but that was for later-Flora to figure out.
Flora shifts slightly in his arms, just enough to tilt her chin up and catch his gaze. "Are you staying out here a while longer?" she asks, fingers still idly tracing a small, invisible circle against his chest, "or do you want to walk me back into town and maybe see if you can handle getting a drink without biting anyone?"
Grinning up at Asta, her cheek pressed comfortably against the slick warmth of his chest, she lets her thoughts tumble out before they get too filtered. "We should definitely beat each other up more," she announces cheerfully, her voice muffled slightly by his shirt. "I’m tougher than I look. And faster." Her grin sharpens as her thoughts wind down the same pathway as his was. "We could use the rage room and make up rules. You can exit twice, but every time you leave it lowers your score, and whoever’s still standing or has the most points wins."
She taps her fingers lightly against his sternum, playful despite the blood. "Honestly, not the reason I thought I'd ever use the rage room, but could be fun."
As he smooshes her hand more firmly against him in a well-intentioned effort not to ruin her coat, Flora laughs softly, the sound vibrating gently between them. She shakes her head against him when he pulls back slightly to ask after her injuries. "I healed on the fly," she assures him, her tone affectionate. "But—" her eyes glint up at him, conspiratorial and fond, "that was a really good hit. Might need to ice it later just so I can dramatically moan about it to someone." Not that she had anyone to moan to, but that was for later-Flora to figure out.
Flora shifts slightly in his arms, just enough to tilt her chin up and catch his gaze. "Are you staying out here a while longer?" she asks, fingers still idly tracing a small, invisible circle against his chest, "or do you want to walk me back into town and maybe see if you can handle getting a drink without biting anyone?"
