ditch the clowns, get the crown
As Kai asks about her friends, Flora beings scanning the chaos before something familiar catches at the corner of her vision; a tall silhouette framed by the glow of a taffy stall, the striped canopy dripping rain but still bright enough to illuminate one very distinctive profile. She nudges Kai’s arm with her knuckles, chin tilting toward the booth. "I think that’s Asta over there," she murmurs, voice warm and a little triumphant. It really could be no one else—only Astaroth could make standing beside a vat of molten candy look like a dramatic portrait. "We could go over and see?"
What she gets instead is Kai planting his feet like he’s about to summon a god. Her eyes widen as he tips back with the confidence of a man who absolutely believes in the acoustic superiority of his own lungs, and then he's screaming out Charlie's name. The final vowel shreds into the downpour like a sonic boom. Flora can only blink, cup frozen halfway to her lips, her expression stuck somewhere between admiration and horrified delight. She glances around as if expecting the crowd to turn and stare, and in the firelit beat before sound seems to return to the world she thinks, Surely that didn’t—
Oh but it did, because Charlie doesn’t appear so much as detonate into existence.
Flora’s shoulders jerk up with a tiny startled squeak as lace and legs and impossible enthusiasm erupt at Kai’s side. It’s like being hit by a glitter tsunami. The priestess coils around him like a sugar-scented cyclone, and Flora freezes in place with her drink clutched to her chest, aqua eyes enormous as she takes in the impossibly tiny blonde in what is essentially lingerie dipped in moonlight.
This—this—is who Kai drew naked? Her brain tries very nobly to process that while Charlie whips around to her like a divine heat-seeking missile, turning the entirety of her focus upon Flora. Her brain hasn’t caught up enough to produce a sound before Charlie is gushing, screaming, praising, assessing, interrogating, planning wardrobe changes and possible ritual combustion, and Flora has no time to answer anything because Charlie is already gone again in a puff of sparkled, scented chaos.
The silence that follows feels like it’s been vacuum-sealed around her, before Flora slowly turns her head toward Kai, eyes still wide, lips parted in stunned disbelief. Rain spatters against her curls, caught in the leather of her corset, sliding down her cheek as if even the weather is trying to hydrate her back into functioning. "Am I....okay with fire?" she repeats, voice soft and incredulous, blinking up at him like maybe the love of her life can explain why she is suddenly being pre-screened for spontaneous combustion.
What she gets instead is Kai planting his feet like he’s about to summon a god. Her eyes widen as he tips back with the confidence of a man who absolutely believes in the acoustic superiority of his own lungs, and then he's screaming out Charlie's name. The final vowel shreds into the downpour like a sonic boom. Flora can only blink, cup frozen halfway to her lips, her expression stuck somewhere between admiration and horrified delight. She glances around as if expecting the crowd to turn and stare, and in the firelit beat before sound seems to return to the world she thinks, Surely that didn’t—
Oh but it did, because Charlie doesn’t appear so much as detonate into existence.
Flora’s shoulders jerk up with a tiny startled squeak as lace and legs and impossible enthusiasm erupt at Kai’s side. It’s like being hit by a glitter tsunami. The priestess coils around him like a sugar-scented cyclone, and Flora freezes in place with her drink clutched to her chest, aqua eyes enormous as she takes in the impossibly tiny blonde in what is essentially lingerie dipped in moonlight.
This—this—is who Kai drew naked? Her brain tries very nobly to process that while Charlie whips around to her like a divine heat-seeking missile, turning the entirety of her focus upon Flora. Her brain hasn’t caught up enough to produce a sound before Charlie is gushing, screaming, praising, assessing, interrogating, planning wardrobe changes and possible ritual combustion, and Flora has no time to answer anything because Charlie is already gone again in a puff of sparkled, scented chaos.
The silence that follows feels like it’s been vacuum-sealed around her, before Flora slowly turns her head toward Kai, eyes still wide, lips parted in stunned disbelief. Rain spatters against her curls, caught in the leather of her corset, sliding down her cheek as if even the weather is trying to hydrate her back into functioning. "Am I....okay with fire?" she repeats, voice soft and incredulous, blinking up at him like maybe the love of her life can explain why she is suddenly being pre-screened for spontaneous combustion.
Flora
baby i'm the one to beat
