i'd wipe the dirt off your name with the shirt off my back
Flora turns at the sound of his voice, and gods, she lights up like she means it. "Oh, this old thing?" she says breezily, glancing down at herself like the dress hadn’t been picked with malicious intent. "It practically threw itself on me. I didn’t have the heart to say no." But it’s the jam streak on his cheek that gets her. Her brows bounce as her gaze skims him head to toe; apron, flour, that infuriatingly self-satisfied grin. "And you look like a pastry I’d ruin my reputation for. What were you even doing back there? Baking for your sins?"
She lifts the margarita as it slides her way, the scent of lime and spice curling up toward her nose. "We?" she echoes, cocking her head with mock suspicion just before he clarifies. When he mentions Asta, Flora mock-pouts, plush lips curling downward in exaggerated woe. "Aww, and here I was starting to really like Leafchange Asta. Did you know we had ourselves a proper little scrap the other day?" Her grin turns sly, the gleam in her seaglass eyes sharpening. "I enjoyed it much more than I ever thought I would."
She takes a slow sip, the heat of the chili-salt rimming her glass prickling against her lips. "We actually thought maybe we'd make a game out of it in the rage room."
She lifts the margarita as it slides her way, the scent of lime and spice curling up toward her nose. "We?" she echoes, cocking her head with mock suspicion just before he clarifies. When he mentions Asta, Flora mock-pouts, plush lips curling downward in exaggerated woe. "Aww, and here I was starting to really like Leafchange Asta. Did you know we had ourselves a proper little scrap the other day?" Her grin turns sly, the gleam in her seaglass eyes sharpening. "I enjoyed it much more than I ever thought I would."
She takes a slow sip, the heat of the chili-salt rimming her glass prickling against her lips. "We actually thought maybe we'd make a game out of it in the rage room."
