we write out the ends on our palms, then forget to read
Flora just grins, wicked and unrepentant. She’s been known to lob the occasional conversational landmine for fun, and just because Zavien spotted this one doesn’t mean she’s about to wave a white flag. "Oh weird," she says, her tone dripping with faux innocence. "Here I thought you called me up to thank me for sending you all my handsome and capable soldiers." She gives a dramatic blink, like she’s shocked her own generosity didn’t warrant a fruit basket.
Trailing after him, her curls bounce with each step, and she surveys the rack of options with the casual appraisal of someone more interested in style than practicality. "Normally I just use my daggers," she admits, reaching out to trail her fingers along the assortment of wooden weaponry. "But I guess it’s probably time to branch out."
Her gaze lands on the staff and something in her expression shifts; familiarity, maybe, or just curiosity wrapped in nostalgia. "Ooooh, a lot of the Fae used these in the Greatwood where I grew up," she says, reaching for it with an impressed little coo. "They made it look very dramatic. Lots of flipping and spinning."
Flora, naturally, attempts exactly that.
She swings the staff in a wide arc, twirling it through her fingers in a way that’s more flair than form, her sweater riding slightly up as she spins once with it in hand. The result is flashy, if not especially functional. Above her, Spice lets out a delighted, hiccupy little chirp of laughter, clearly entertained by her bonded’s sudden shift into a very extra martial artist.
Flora pauses mid-spin, staff planted (a little off-centre) and brows bouncing toward Zavien with a grin. "Convincing, right?"
Trailing after him, her curls bounce with each step, and she surveys the rack of options with the casual appraisal of someone more interested in style than practicality. "Normally I just use my daggers," she admits, reaching out to trail her fingers along the assortment of wooden weaponry. "But I guess it’s probably time to branch out."
Her gaze lands on the staff and something in her expression shifts; familiarity, maybe, or just curiosity wrapped in nostalgia. "Ooooh, a lot of the Fae used these in the Greatwood where I grew up," she says, reaching for it with an impressed little coo. "They made it look very dramatic. Lots of flipping and spinning."
Flora, naturally, attempts exactly that.
She swings the staff in a wide arc, twirling it through her fingers in a way that’s more flair than form, her sweater riding slightly up as she spins once with it in hand. The result is flashy, if not especially functional. Above her, Spice lets out a delighted, hiccupy little chirp of laughter, clearly entertained by her bonded’s sudden shift into a very extra martial artist.
Flora pauses mid-spin, staff planted (a little off-centre) and brows bouncing toward Zavien with a grin. "Convincing, right?"
