flora
Flora tuts under her breath, the sound soft but pointed as she lifts one brow in mock reprimand. "This might be Caido and not wherever you came from, but yes, there are always social rankings at play," she says, voice dipped in playful scorn, as if the very idea of him forgetting that is somehow charmingly offensive.
But when he offers the name of his imagined in-between bar, her grin flickers wider, and she nods once with a quiet laugh that hums in her throat. "Nowhere," she repeats, tasting it like a rare vintage, letting the cleverness of it settle before giving a satisfied little sigh. "I love it. But I do notice how quickly it went from our bar to your bar." She raises her brow again, this time with mock accusation. "I see how it is. Just because you're dead you think you deserve full creative control?"
Still laughing, she drains the rest of her wine in a slow, unbothered motion, the warmth of it blooming in her chest and colouring her cheeks with an easy flush. Setting the glass down with a soft clink, she glances back at him, eyes glittering. "I seriously doubt there’s anything you could write down that would shock my Nonna," she murmurs, lips curving. "But now I’m curious."
She leans slightly forward, elbow resting against the table, tilting her head to the side with deliberate softness as her gaze meets his. "What sort of dirty little cravings are we talking about that you wouldn’t want her to see?" Her tone is low and inviting, not pushing him to answer, just coaxing the heat in the air to smoulder rather than spark.
As the dessert menu lands between them, Flora barely hesitates. Her eyes skim the options with ease before her finger taps lightly against the page. "Chocolate sundae," she declares, already reaching for another slice of cheese with the other hand.
But when he offers the name of his imagined in-between bar, her grin flickers wider, and she nods once with a quiet laugh that hums in her throat. "Nowhere," she repeats, tasting it like a rare vintage, letting the cleverness of it settle before giving a satisfied little sigh. "I love it. But I do notice how quickly it went from our bar to your bar." She raises her brow again, this time with mock accusation. "I see how it is. Just because you're dead you think you deserve full creative control?"
Still laughing, she drains the rest of her wine in a slow, unbothered motion, the warmth of it blooming in her chest and colouring her cheeks with an easy flush. Setting the glass down with a soft clink, she glances back at him, eyes glittering. "I seriously doubt there’s anything you could write down that would shock my Nonna," she murmurs, lips curving. "But now I’m curious."
She leans slightly forward, elbow resting against the table, tilting her head to the side with deliberate softness as her gaze meets his. "What sort of dirty little cravings are we talking about that you wouldn’t want her to see?" Her tone is low and inviting, not pushing him to answer, just coaxing the heat in the air to smoulder rather than spark.
As the dessert menu lands between them, Flora barely hesitates. Her eyes skim the options with ease before her finger taps lightly against the page. "Chocolate sundae," she declares, already reaching for another slice of cheese with the other hand.
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
