Flora
Flora makes a face so dramatic it could win awards, groaning, "Ewwwwuh," like she’s just been subjected to the concept of hot dog water on a summer’s day. "Reduced to their essence? That’s horrifying, Kaisel." Whether it qualifies as tea or not, the mental image of gummy worm stock is enough to make her nose wrinkle. "You’re disgusting," she adds with a grin, voice warm despite the judgment.
Still, she nods emphatically at his next declaration, chin tilting in agreement. "Exactly. Carbs, cheese, hot sauce—everything else is just set dressing."
His sneezing fit catches her off guard, and she watches with a smirk as he darts to the sink, watery-eyed and half-drowning in pepper vengeance. "Relatable," she mutters under her breath of things growing spicy when left alone for too long, arms folding loosely across her chest as she leans a hip into the counter and waits for him to recover. Her grin returns in full as he glances back, and she fixes him with the kind of look that curls at the edges—bright, baiting, and just a touch wicked.
"I thought you liked spicy things?" she teases, a lilt of challenge in her tone as she begins to spread the chips across the pan. A generous scatter of cheese follows, not remotely measured but entirely satisfying, the heap of it crackling softly against the foil.
Once the first layer is complete, she nudges the tray toward him with a flick of her wrist. "Go on, top chef. Do your worst." Once he has, she'll drown it with the remainder of the cheese before tucking it into her little oven.
Still, she nods emphatically at his next declaration, chin tilting in agreement. "Exactly. Carbs, cheese, hot sauce—everything else is just set dressing."
His sneezing fit catches her off guard, and she watches with a smirk as he darts to the sink, watery-eyed and half-drowning in pepper vengeance. "Relatable," she mutters under her breath of things growing spicy when left alone for too long, arms folding loosely across her chest as she leans a hip into the counter and waits for him to recover. Her grin returns in full as he glances back, and she fixes him with the kind of look that curls at the edges—bright, baiting, and just a touch wicked.
"I thought you liked spicy things?" she teases, a lilt of challenge in her tone as she begins to spread the chips across the pan. A generous scatter of cheese follows, not remotely measured but entirely satisfying, the heap of it crackling softly against the foil.
Once the first layer is complete, she nudges the tray toward him with a flick of her wrist. "Go on, top chef. Do your worst." Once he has, she'll drown it with the remainder of the cheese before tucking it into her little oven.
I hope you're sweating the bigger stuff,
finding some peace in an honest love
Hope you stop when you've had enough & throw the towel in
finding some peace in an honest love
Hope you stop when you've had enough & throw the towel in
Code stolen from Queen Sky
