flora
Still laughing as the population of Floraopolis expands in her imagination, Flora grins broadly and nudges her shoulder against his with a theatrical sigh. "Now you’re thinking like a proper leader," she teases, her brows rising as if impressed with the mounting logistical concerns of city-wide lounging regulations, clearly delighted by how seriously he takes his nonsense and how easily he spins it into something better.
Shrugging as the laughter lingers between them, she leans further into him and adds with an airy, wry note, "Maybe next time I die, I will write a book," and though the words should land with more weight than they do, she grins through them, the idea of Phlora or Arolf tickling her enough that she laughs again, bright and unbothered. "Or we make it some totally unhinged anagram of my name. I think fertilisation koala is one of the longer ones, but I’m still working out what genre that fits into." There’s a pause, not because she doesn’t have ideas, but because she’s too busy laughing at them to articulate a single one.
When he tuts at her with a tap to her nose, she huffs in mock indignation, though her eyes remain fond, and her smile stays wide and helpless. "You offered the one you were wearing,”" she insists with a smirk, but as he brings up a fashion show, her grin sharpens with sudden interest. "It’s not too late for that," she murmurs, her voice dipping to something far more sultry, as if trying on his entire wardrobe is suddenly the most seductive and best idea in the world.
The ring on her finger remains quiet and cool against her skin, and though she rolls her eyes dramatically at his flattery, there’s no disguising the way her cheeks round with the force of the smile she tries not to let take over. "Y'know, I have the best tailor in Torchline. He could make you a dress of your own, one that fits, to properly show off all your muscles." Her gaze sweeps over him pointedly, lips twitching mischievously as if to say you know, the ones I couldn't find earlier?
Snorting under her breath at the mention of Hadama, her shoulders shake with restrained laughter as she steals the wine glass for another sip, only to nearly choke on it when he brandishes the Sunjata shirt instead. "Absolutely not," she says flatly, shaking her head with the force of the veto. "Wearing your step-dad’s face is not the vibe I’m going for tonight." Still grinning, she plucks the dragon one from his hands with a flourish and turns her back on him with the mock-affectation of modesty, even though he’s already seen every inch of her by now.
She tugs off the shirt she’s wearing and lets it fall to the floor, the cool air teasing across her bare back as she stands in just her lacy underwear, light catching on the curve of her hip and the silvered lines of her scars. "So," she begins, the story tumbling easily from her lips now that the memory’s been unearthed, "a few years back, Maea decided to hold this Midwinter Ball, and in the middle of it she called a meeting of all the leaders." Her hands sweep out in a half-mocking gesture as if to emphasize how ridiculous the situation already was. "And since Dahlia technically was a leader, she decided to show up."
Glancing over her shoulder at Kaisel as she balls up his shirt to slip it over her head, Flora's expression shifts toward something between disbelief and second-hand embarrassment, though her grin doesn’t falter. "Instead of just, you know, playing it cool and pretending the meeting wasn’t secretly about the Family, Maea straight-up told her to leave."
Shrugging as the laughter lingers between them, she leans further into him and adds with an airy, wry note, "Maybe next time I die, I will write a book," and though the words should land with more weight than they do, she grins through them, the idea of Phlora or Arolf tickling her enough that she laughs again, bright and unbothered. "Or we make it some totally unhinged anagram of my name. I think fertilisation koala is one of the longer ones, but I’m still working out what genre that fits into." There’s a pause, not because she doesn’t have ideas, but because she’s too busy laughing at them to articulate a single one.
When he tuts at her with a tap to her nose, she huffs in mock indignation, though her eyes remain fond, and her smile stays wide and helpless. "You offered the one you were wearing,”" she insists with a smirk, but as he brings up a fashion show, her grin sharpens with sudden interest. "It’s not too late for that," she murmurs, her voice dipping to something far more sultry, as if trying on his entire wardrobe is suddenly the most seductive and best idea in the world.
The ring on her finger remains quiet and cool against her skin, and though she rolls her eyes dramatically at his flattery, there’s no disguising the way her cheeks round with the force of the smile she tries not to let take over. "Y'know, I have the best tailor in Torchline. He could make you a dress of your own, one that fits, to properly show off all your muscles." Her gaze sweeps over him pointedly, lips twitching mischievously as if to say you know, the ones I couldn't find earlier?
Snorting under her breath at the mention of Hadama, her shoulders shake with restrained laughter as she steals the wine glass for another sip, only to nearly choke on it when he brandishes the Sunjata shirt instead. "Absolutely not," she says flatly, shaking her head with the force of the veto. "Wearing your step-dad’s face is not the vibe I’m going for tonight." Still grinning, she plucks the dragon one from his hands with a flourish and turns her back on him with the mock-affectation of modesty, even though he’s already seen every inch of her by now.
She tugs off the shirt she’s wearing and lets it fall to the floor, the cool air teasing across her bare back as she stands in just her lacy underwear, light catching on the curve of her hip and the silvered lines of her scars. "So," she begins, the story tumbling easily from her lips now that the memory’s been unearthed, "a few years back, Maea decided to hold this Midwinter Ball, and in the middle of it she called a meeting of all the leaders." Her hands sweep out in a half-mocking gesture as if to emphasize how ridiculous the situation already was. "And since Dahlia technically was a leader, she decided to show up."
Glancing over her shoulder at Kaisel as she balls up his shirt to slip it over her head, Flora's expression shifts toward something between disbelief and second-hand embarrassment, though her grin doesn’t falter. "Instead of just, you know, playing it cool and pretending the meeting wasn’t secretly about the Family, Maea straight-up told her to leave."
lust's a liar, a short lived fire
it isn't what you and I are at all
it isn't what you and I are at all
