flora
The relief that moves through her at his answer is quiet but undeniable, a gentle release of something she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. There’s no reason for it, not really—he’s not hers, never was, never could be—but still the idea of some unknown wife or child tugging at the corner of his story makes something in her chest go still.
As Neron adds more detail, Flora's head tilts slightly to the side, curiosity slipping back in to replace the worry. "Was that back in your world?" she asks softly, aqua eyes studying him with careful interest. "Or here?"
She smirks at his commentary on clothing, her laughter slipping out easily as she raises her glass again. "If you wore a black silk shirt to try and take on the Spark Bird during the war," she teases, eyes glittering, "then maybe you had it coming." A shrug follows, casual but not careless. "I wasn’t ready to die yet. Or at least not before making the person who murdered me really regret it."
Her gaze lingers as he lifts the glass, watching him closely, noting the way his expression shifts before the taste even touches his tongue. Her brows arch in silent question, the corners of her mouth already curled in anticipation, and when he sinks back with clear pleasure she beams at him, delighted. Still laughing, she leans in slightly, her shoulder brushing his with a light nudge. "Don’t worry," she says with a mock sigh, "I’m sure Remi will make it exceedingly easy for you if we’re late." Glancing over her shoulder, she casts a slow, deliberate look around the boutique bar as though expecting to find her father lurking in some shadowy alcove, arms crossed and judgment already written in the set of his mouth.
As Neron adds more detail, Flora's head tilts slightly to the side, curiosity slipping back in to replace the worry. "Was that back in your world?" she asks softly, aqua eyes studying him with careful interest. "Or here?"
She smirks at his commentary on clothing, her laughter slipping out easily as she raises her glass again. "If you wore a black silk shirt to try and take on the Spark Bird during the war," she teases, eyes glittering, "then maybe you had it coming." A shrug follows, casual but not careless. "I wasn’t ready to die yet. Or at least not before making the person who murdered me really regret it."
Her gaze lingers as he lifts the glass, watching him closely, noting the way his expression shifts before the taste even touches his tongue. Her brows arch in silent question, the corners of her mouth already curled in anticipation, and when he sinks back with clear pleasure she beams at him, delighted. Still laughing, she leans in slightly, her shoulder brushing his with a light nudge. "Don’t worry," she says with a mock sigh, "I’m sure Remi will make it exceedingly easy for you if we’re late." Glancing over her shoulder, she casts a slow, deliberate look around the boutique bar as though expecting to find her father lurking in some shadowy alcove, arms crossed and judgment already written in the set of his mouth.
you don't know that you're living til' you're carrying scars
you're either falling in love or falling apart
you're either falling in love or falling apart
