Flora
Flora lets out a warm, musical chuckle, eyebrows lifting with an expression that lands somewhere between mock-offended and conceding. "Touché," she hums, lips curving, because he was absolutely right. At the mention of the sarong, though, her gaze drops meaningfully to the very sensible pants he’s chosen. Her mouth purses in the faintest pout, disappointed not for modesty’s sake but for the sheer missed aesthetic.
"A sarong would let you move your legs so much more," she points out breezily, making a vague wave with one hand like she’s painting the image. "Let those muscles stretch," Her tone is pure theatre, but there’s a glint in her eye as she adds, "Maybe they were just trying to help loosen you up a little."
His intel earns an actual gasp, one hand flying to her chest as if she’s just received news of a royal inheritance. "You do? That's amazing!" she cries, and if it weren’t for her ingrained awareness of his balance, she might’ve launched herself at him in dramatic gratitude. Instead, she skims her fingertips lightly up the length of his arm in a feather-soft tickle, a grin blossoming across her face like a flower soaking in sun. "You’re my hero."
Turning her attention to the great expanse of the hallway beyond, Flora narrows her eyes playfully. "Alright," she calls aloud, to Niki and perhaps to the mischievous house itself, "if I were a magical torch that turned fire into rainbow light and only came out to party—where would I be hiding?"
"A sarong would let you move your legs so much more," she points out breezily, making a vague wave with one hand like she’s painting the image. "Let those muscles stretch," Her tone is pure theatre, but there’s a glint in her eye as she adds, "Maybe they were just trying to help loosen you up a little."
His intel earns an actual gasp, one hand flying to her chest as if she’s just received news of a royal inheritance. "You do? That's amazing!" she cries, and if it weren’t for her ingrained awareness of his balance, she might’ve launched herself at him in dramatic gratitude. Instead, she skims her fingertips lightly up the length of his arm in a feather-soft tickle, a grin blossoming across her face like a flower soaking in sun. "You’re my hero."
Turning her attention to the great expanse of the hallway beyond, Flora narrows her eyes playfully. "Alright," she calls aloud, to Niki and perhaps to the mischievous house itself, "if I were a magical torch that turned fire into rainbow light and only came out to party—where would I be hiding?"
passion is a passing thing, it's accidental chemistry
caught up in a feelin', it can be deceivin'.
this is like breaking for me
caught up in a feelin', it can be deceivin'.
this is like breaking for me
Code stolen from Queen Sky
