flora
Flora leans happily against Kaisel, weight light and warm at his side, blissfully unaware of how many times his hand has hovered to steady the tray balanced on her fingertips. Her curls are still damp, trailing against his shoulder, and there’s a rosy gleam to her cheeks that has less to do with LongNight’s torches and more to do with laughter and saltwater. "Lots," she replies with a grin that stretches bright as a spark. "And that one’s yours—" she nods to the violet-hued glass shimmering on the tray, "—creamsicle cocktail. With poprocks." The last word comes out like a secret, followed by a soft laugh as she watches the faint crackle of sugar against the rim.
"The spirits tried to play," she adds, amusement curling through her tone, "but either they didn't understand the rules, or ghosts just aren't good at jenga."
When he leans his head against hers, she juts her chin just enough to press a quick, fond kiss to his cheek—salt and warmth and mischief in one motion—before the familiar purr of Asta’s voice has her turning. Her face lights instantly, beam wide and delighted as she takes in the butcher emerging from the shadows like some gilded secret.
She catches the flicker of his gaze and wrinkles her nose affectionately in response, all teasing fondness that speaks of too many shopping trips and shared mischief to not understand what the gesture meant. Flora beams as Danta joins them, offering the tray with a little flourish that sends the torchlight dancing over the glasses. One holds a dark cherry old fashioned—the liquid a deep crimson that gleams like garnet, the rim dusted with cane sugar and stained faintly pink from blood cherry liqueur—the other glows copper beneath the flame, a classic mule crowned with crushed ice and a curl of lime, the mint sprig trembling each time the breeze shifts.
"I’m sure you know which is which," she says with a knowing tilt of her head, the corners of her mouth curving in a smile that’s both teasing and affectionate. Her own drink—a violet gin mix that matches the streak in her smile—she plucks from the tray before flicking it like a frisbee back toward the general direction of the party, unconcerned if it lands somewhere near the sand.
Sliding an arm around Kaisel’s waist, she grins between the pair of them, tone bright and bubbling. "This is Kai!" she declares, as though the introduction itself should come with fanfare.
At Danta’s question, her teeth catch briefly on her bottom lip, and she glances up at Kaisel with eyes full of warmth and wicked affection. "I certainly thought so," she says, her voice lilting with laughter that needs no elaboration at all.
"The spirits tried to play," she adds, amusement curling through her tone, "but either they didn't understand the rules, or ghosts just aren't good at jenga."
When he leans his head against hers, she juts her chin just enough to press a quick, fond kiss to his cheek—salt and warmth and mischief in one motion—before the familiar purr of Asta’s voice has her turning. Her face lights instantly, beam wide and delighted as she takes in the butcher emerging from the shadows like some gilded secret.
She catches the flicker of his gaze and wrinkles her nose affectionately in response, all teasing fondness that speaks of too many shopping trips and shared mischief to not understand what the gesture meant. Flora beams as Danta joins them, offering the tray with a little flourish that sends the torchlight dancing over the glasses. One holds a dark cherry old fashioned—the liquid a deep crimson that gleams like garnet, the rim dusted with cane sugar and stained faintly pink from blood cherry liqueur—the other glows copper beneath the flame, a classic mule crowned with crushed ice and a curl of lime, the mint sprig trembling each time the breeze shifts.
"I’m sure you know which is which," she says with a knowing tilt of her head, the corners of her mouth curving in a smile that’s both teasing and affectionate. Her own drink—a violet gin mix that matches the streak in her smile—she plucks from the tray before flicking it like a frisbee back toward the general direction of the party, unconcerned if it lands somewhere near the sand.
Sliding an arm around Kaisel’s waist, she grins between the pair of them, tone bright and bubbling. "This is Kai!" she declares, as though the introduction itself should come with fanfare.
At Danta’s question, her teeth catch briefly on her bottom lip, and she glances up at Kaisel with eyes full of warmth and wicked affection. "I certainly thought so," she says, her voice lilting with laughter that needs no elaboration at all.
I hope you're wetting your appetite, finding your way into someone's eyes
I hope you're dreaming in black and white, and seeing in colour
I hope you're dreaming in black and white, and seeing in colour
