karma's a relaxing thought, aren't you envious that for you it's not?
Flora wrinkles her nose, lips curling in something between amusement and mock distaste. "Well it definitely doesn’t suit me," she says, voice warm with the ease of someone entirely sure of that fact. At the rest, her shoulders lift in a light shrug, gold rings catching the sun. "Seems a bit inconvenient to go around asking every person if they’re some ruler or another when you take on a job. Though—" her mouth curves, tone dipping into something cheeky, "—if you’re really worried about it, you could always add it to your order form. Right next to ‘lumber type’ and ‘delivery date.’"
She tips her head, braid sliding over her shoulder. "I don’t really expect much deference in other regions anyway, least of all in Halo."
Her gaze sharpens then, head canting to the side as her eyes narrow in mock scrutiny. "Is...that supposed to be a criticism?" she asks, voice lilting with faux offense. "Because if it’d make you feel more comfortable, I can happily throw you in jail for your purported insolence." The term comes out with deliberate over-pronunciation, her grin slipping wicked at the edges.
When he settles into the sand beside her, she watches him for a moment, noting the sunlight slicking along his temples and the back of his neck. Without a word, she flicks a glance skyward, sending a silent nudge up to Spice. The little dragon dips in a lazy spiral before fanning them both with a crisp, salt-laced breeze, the kind that smells faintly of distant rain.
At the mention of rum, Flora’s smile blossoms wide with mischief. She springs to her feet, the motion quick enough to send her braid swaying. "Nearly forgot," she says, stretching both hands toward him in a no-room-for-argument gesture. "We should absolutely go now." Her grin tilts crooked as she adds, with mock solemnity, "And if you turn me down, I’ll have to take it as a personal slight and an insult to Torchline. Which means I’ll be forced to write to Deimos about the conduct of his citizens." The glint in her aqua eyes makes it perfectly clear she’s already picturing the letter and the sorts of lies she might tell Halo's Warden.
She tips her head, braid sliding over her shoulder. "I don’t really expect much deference in other regions anyway, least of all in Halo."
Her gaze sharpens then, head canting to the side as her eyes narrow in mock scrutiny. "Is...that supposed to be a criticism?" she asks, voice lilting with faux offense. "Because if it’d make you feel more comfortable, I can happily throw you in jail for your purported insolence." The term comes out with deliberate over-pronunciation, her grin slipping wicked at the edges.
When he settles into the sand beside her, she watches him for a moment, noting the sunlight slicking along his temples and the back of his neck. Without a word, she flicks a glance skyward, sending a silent nudge up to Spice. The little dragon dips in a lazy spiral before fanning them both with a crisp, salt-laced breeze, the kind that smells faintly of distant rain.
At the mention of rum, Flora’s smile blossoms wide with mischief. She springs to her feet, the motion quick enough to send her braid swaying. "Nearly forgot," she says, stretching both hands toward him in a no-room-for-argument gesture. "We should absolutely go now." Her grin tilts crooked as she adds, with mock solemnity, "And if you turn me down, I’ll have to take it as a personal slight and an insult to Torchline. Which means I’ll be forced to write to Deimos about the conduct of his citizens." The glint in her aqua eyes makes it perfectly clear she’s already picturing the letter and the sorts of lies she might tell Halo's Warden.
