Flora
Flora huffs like he’s just insulted her deeply held aesthetic principles, rolling her eyes with all the performative scorn of a theatre kid denied the lead. "Times are changing," she declares, swanning a little ahead of him, the jellyfish umbrella casting soft, rippling light along the walls. "These days, women get to do the sweeping. And frankly? Leading men without a barrel chest and protein shake dependency are very in right now. It’s giving nuance. It’s giving realism."
She tosses a glance over her shoulder, the grin curling at her lips belying her faux-exasperation. "But maybe I’m just biased," she muses with a shrug, "since I’ve never dated anyone who could keep up with mestats-wise."
The first fireplace is—unsurprisingly—just ashes and a half-singed paperback novel. Flora bends to nudge it with a finger and gives a small, confused tilt of her head, having no memory of putting it there. Turning toward Niki as they continue the search, her tone softens just slightly, folding around a warmth that doesn’t need to be loud to be sincere. "Maybe," she begins lightly, "you could be my date for one night. Or afternoon. Or morning. Gods know it’s pitch black the whole time so it barely matters."
She smiles at him, eyes crinkling at the corners. "And then you could vanish back to Wildering House like a very elegant ghost while the rest of us keep glittering in the distance. No pressure, but it is kind of a thing, and it'd be a shame if you missed seeing it."
She tosses a glance over her shoulder, the grin curling at her lips belying her faux-exasperation. "But maybe I’m just biased," she muses with a shrug, "since I’ve never dated anyone who could keep up with me
The first fireplace is—unsurprisingly—just ashes and a half-singed paperback novel. Flora bends to nudge it with a finger and gives a small, confused tilt of her head, having no memory of putting it there. Turning toward Niki as they continue the search, her tone softens just slightly, folding around a warmth that doesn’t need to be loud to be sincere. "Maybe," she begins lightly, "you could be my date for one night. Or afternoon. Or morning. Gods know it’s pitch black the whole time so it barely matters."
She smiles at him, eyes crinkling at the corners. "And then you could vanish back to Wildering House like a very elegant ghost while the rest of us keep glittering in the distance. No pressure, but it is kind of a thing, and it'd be a shame if you missed seeing it."
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
