liars and lovers combine tonight, we're gonna make a scene
"I look forward to it," Neron purrs; more than Flora knows, in fact. Or perhaps she does know, after their conversation so far tonight, that the afterlife and eternal paradise can get real old, real quick. And considering that what she says next sounds an awful lot like a challenge, the Launceleyn tips his glass towards her in a return salute, before drinking deeply from it again. (And yes, at this rate she will absolutely have to gently steer him back towards Remi and the portal to Mort's realm, because two is a lot for a man who has been stone cold sober for far too long). "To not being as much of a bastard as your last squeeze, then," he quips, happy to toast to that.
And luckily for the both of them, the arrival of the sundae that comes on the wake of wine and charcuterie means that Neron is far from displeased by the direction the night is taking. Good company, great gossip, and a chance to indulge senses that have been numbed for as long as he can remember? Count him in, every single time. "Or maybe she just wanted to do something nice for you without thinking much past that," he suggests, taking a small bite of the sundae himself and pausing for a moment to enjoy the decadent sweetness that melts across his tongue.
Only as he lowers his spoon and finds it clinking against Flora's does he pull himself back together, scoffing and clacking his spoon back with revenge. "Flora," he says, voice low and rich with wine and chocolate, "if you must know, you could satisfy my mysterious cravings with a pair of stilettos and a hard slap across my face. Alas, you aren't in a position to provide that, unless your new squeeze is truly a saint."
And luckily for the both of them, the arrival of the sundae that comes on the wake of wine and charcuterie means that Neron is far from displeased by the direction the night is taking. Good company, great gossip, and a chance to indulge senses that have been numbed for as long as he can remember? Count him in, every single time. "Or maybe she just wanted to do something nice for you without thinking much past that," he suggests, taking a small bite of the sundae himself and pausing for a moment to enjoy the decadent sweetness that melts across his tongue.
Only as he lowers his spoon and finds it clinking against Flora's does he pull himself back together, scoffing and clacking his spoon back with revenge. "Flora," he says, voice low and rich with wine and chocolate, "if you must know, you could satisfy my mysterious cravings with a pair of stilettos and a hard slap across my face. Alas, you aren't in a position to provide that, unless your new squeeze is truly a saint."
Neron
