your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand
Flora rolls her eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck, her scoff exaggerated for full dramatic effect as she turns toward Mateo with a hand tossed skyward like she can’t believe she’s still related to him. "All I ever learned about soil was that Mateo is a great big liar," she declares with theatrical flair, her hand flopping down against her hip as she flashes Kai an incredulous look.
"He gave me these stupid seeds one year," she explains, her voice lifting with the same breathless, mock-offended tone she’d used when they were kids and she’d first discovered the trick. "Told me they were magic. So I planted some and so did he. Only he swapped out MY seeds for a pot with nothing in it and then kept changing out HIS pot to make it look like he'd gone from a little sprout to a full bloom overnight." Her tone softens on that last bit, the memory too silly now to hold a real grudge, though she still narrows her eyes toward her brother with a pointed you’re the worst sort of grin.
Heading over toward where Kai had valiantly given his life to try and save her, she’s laughing and in the process of pretending to bring him back from the dead— gummy worm still in hand and Spice circling above like a tiny snack-obsessed gremlin—that she sees movement in the doorway. Her smile falters the moment her gaze lands on the arrival of the dads.
The sight of Ronin standing beside Remi, holding the pot like some ridiculous exclamation mark to a sentence no one wanted finished, wipes the amusement clean from her features. She doesn’t flinch when the gummy worm plops into the jambalaya, doesn’t laugh or recoil or make some quip about cursed dinner. She simply straightens where she stands, the curve of her body uncoiling, her fingers tightening slightly at her sides as the light in her eyes dims. The muscles in her jaw shift as she swallows her reaction, the joy that had filled her moments ago now tucked away behind the quiet, unreadable frown that settles onto her face.
"He gave me these stupid seeds one year," she explains, her voice lifting with the same breathless, mock-offended tone she’d used when they were kids and she’d first discovered the trick. "Told me they were magic. So I planted some and so did he. Only he swapped out MY seeds for a pot with nothing in it and then kept changing out HIS pot to make it look like he'd gone from a little sprout to a full bloom overnight." Her tone softens on that last bit, the memory too silly now to hold a real grudge, though she still narrows her eyes toward her brother with a pointed you’re the worst sort of grin.
Heading over toward where Kai had valiantly given his life to try and save her, she’s laughing and in the process of pretending to bring him back from the dead— gummy worm still in hand and Spice circling above like a tiny snack-obsessed gremlin—that she sees movement in the doorway. Her smile falters the moment her gaze lands on the arrival of the dads.
The sight of Ronin standing beside Remi, holding the pot like some ridiculous exclamation mark to a sentence no one wanted finished, wipes the amusement clean from her features. She doesn’t flinch when the gummy worm plops into the jambalaya, doesn’t laugh or recoil or make some quip about cursed dinner. She simply straightens where she stands, the curve of her body uncoiling, her fingers tightening slightly at her sides as the light in her eyes dims. The muscles in her jaw shift as she swallows her reaction, the joy that had filled her moments ago now tucked away behind the quiet, unreadable frown that settles onto her face.
