flora
The front door creaks open on Flora’s hip as she shoulders it aside, the grin on her lips bright and unbothered despite the armful of writhing fur currently attempting to claw its way down her torso. "Excuse me, pardon me—coming through," she lilts cheerfully, sidestepping around Theea and Damien as if she weren’t hauling a raccoon that’s actively auditioning for an escape act. Spice flutters beside her, tiny claws hooked around another squirming bundle, the dragon’s wings beating furiously to keep her catch pinned.
Flora’s curls bounce as she cranes her head toward the yard, eyes narrowing in search of her dad. “"Remi!" she calls over the racket, her voice cutting through the morning air with the precision of a dagger. "This should have been your job!" The complaint is half-tease, half-accusation, carried on a huff as she trudges toward the line of trees. The jaguar pads silently at her heel, low and regal as a tide rolling in, its presence enough to send smaller creatures scuttling from their path.
Once under the canopy, Flora crouches, muscles tightening as she lowers her struggling prize. She gives Spice a quick nod, and the little dragon releases her own captive in a flurry of frost and feathers. The two raccoons tumble together into the underbrush, hissing in indignation but free. "Keep them from doubling back," she instructs briskly, flicking her hand toward both companions. Spice takes to the air with a determined trill, and the jaguar prowls forward, golden eyes sharp on the shadows.
Only then does Flora spin on her heel, invisible once more as she dashes back inside. She reappears a moment later with the rattling cage, the mother snarling ferociously behind the bars. Carrying it out with exaggerated care, she unlatches the door at the forest’s edge, stepping back as the raccoon bolts free, reuniting with her chattering brood. Spice herds them farther from the house until they vanish into green, the only trace a rustle of leaves and a last indignant screech.
Flora exhales, brushing invisible dust from her hands before plucking the signet from the ground. The jaguar melts away as it slides back onto her finger, the shimmer of its power coiling silent once more. Spice circles down to perch daintily on her shoulder, smug as anything. And Flora? She strolls back toward the deck with her grin wide and unrepentant, curls haloed gold in the morning light. "Kitchen’s all yours now," she declares to Theea, as if she’d only gone out to fetch an armful of flowers rather than wrangle a family of raccoons.
Flora releases the raccoons into the trees and has Spice herd them away before returning to Theea!
Flora’s curls bounce as she cranes her head toward the yard, eyes narrowing in search of her dad. “"Remi!" she calls over the racket, her voice cutting through the morning air with the precision of a dagger. "This should have been your job!" The complaint is half-tease, half-accusation, carried on a huff as she trudges toward the line of trees. The jaguar pads silently at her heel, low and regal as a tide rolling in, its presence enough to send smaller creatures scuttling from their path.
Once under the canopy, Flora crouches, muscles tightening as she lowers her struggling prize. She gives Spice a quick nod, and the little dragon releases her own captive in a flurry of frost and feathers. The two raccoons tumble together into the underbrush, hissing in indignation but free. "Keep them from doubling back," she instructs briskly, flicking her hand toward both companions. Spice takes to the air with a determined trill, and the jaguar prowls forward, golden eyes sharp on the shadows.
Only then does Flora spin on her heel, invisible once more as she dashes back inside. She reappears a moment later with the rattling cage, the mother snarling ferociously behind the bars. Carrying it out with exaggerated care, she unlatches the door at the forest’s edge, stepping back as the raccoon bolts free, reuniting with her chattering brood. Spice herds them farther from the house until they vanish into green, the only trace a rustle of leaves and a last indignant screech.
Flora exhales, brushing invisible dust from her hands before plucking the signet from the ground. The jaguar melts away as it slides back onto her finger, the shimmer of its power coiling silent once more. Spice circles down to perch daintily on her shoulder, smug as anything. And Flora? She strolls back toward the deck with her grin wide and unrepentant, curls haloed gold in the morning light. "Kitchen’s all yours now," she declares to Theea, as if she’d only gone out to fetch an armful of flowers rather than wrangle a family of raccoons.
Flora releases the raccoons into the trees and has Spice herd them away before returning to Theea!
We need love, But all we want is danger
We team up, Then switch sides like a record changer
We team up, Then switch sides like a record changer
