i'd wipe the dirt off your name with the shirt off my back
Flora snickers into the back of her hand, eyes glittering as she watches the barman disappear. "Gee, where do you think they got it from?" she asks sweetly, lashes fluttering like the picture of innocence, right before Danta shoves her empty glass off the edge of the bar like a cat punishing a trinket. The shatter is crisp, theatrical, and absolutely unnecessary and gods she adores him for it.
"Might wanna get that looked at," she teases, propping her chin in her hand. "Your inner drama queen’s showing."
But as he curseswhat an odd thing to say her to a slow, overheated demise at the hands of a sex-crazed lover, Flora wrinkles her nose. “"Ugh. Think of the chafing." A sip of laughter escapes her lips, though it falters just slightly as she adds, "Anyway, I’m putting myself on timeout when it comes to falling for anyone. That part’s been a disaster lately."
She waves a dismissive hand as if brushing off smoke from a too-hot flame. "Mm, no chef's roleplay." But then her eyes flick back to his, playful once more. "Doesn’t mean you can’t still smack my ass with a spatula, though." A wicked grin unfurls. "We could always go the classic route. I’m the maid. You’re the disgruntled bachelor who gets real mad when I fold your linens wrong and put your utensils away in the wrong place."
Reaching for the drink he’s set down for her, she wraps her fingers around the glass and watches him as he speaks of the Climb. Of fronting out fear and losing the gamble. Her expression softens, quiet sympathy threading through her features as she murmurs, "Gods. I can’t even imagine." She doesn’t press, though, and instead takes his lead and lets the topic dissolve as easily as salt in surf with a quiet, "yeah, it was super impressive."
She lifts her drink, the chill of it brushing her lower lip. "So what do you think?" she asks, casting him a sidelong look. "Do we wait ‘til Leafchange is over, or do you think it won't matter how Asta is? I mean, the whole point is letting out all the things you’re not supposed to act on, right?"
"Might wanna get that looked at," she teases, propping her chin in her hand. "Your inner drama queen’s showing."
But as he curses
She waves a dismissive hand as if brushing off smoke from a too-hot flame. "Mm, no chef's roleplay." But then her eyes flick back to his, playful once more. "Doesn’t mean you can’t still smack my ass with a spatula, though." A wicked grin unfurls. "We could always go the classic route. I’m the maid. You’re the disgruntled bachelor who gets real mad when I fold your linens wrong and put your utensils away in the wrong place."
Reaching for the drink he’s set down for her, she wraps her fingers around the glass and watches him as he speaks of the Climb. Of fronting out fear and losing the gamble. Her expression softens, quiet sympathy threading through her features as she murmurs, "Gods. I can’t even imagine." She doesn’t press, though, and instead takes his lead and lets the topic dissolve as easily as salt in surf with a quiet, "yeah, it was super impressive."
She lifts her drink, the chill of it brushing her lower lip. "So what do you think?" she asks, casting him a sidelong look. "Do we wait ‘til Leafchange is over, or do you think it won't matter how Asta is? I mean, the whole point is letting out all the things you’re not supposed to act on, right?"
