slow down, you're doing fine
Flora laughs, bright and delighted, the sound spilling out of her like sun-warm water. "Of course," she says, absolutely charmed as Asta holds up the hellhound shorts. She drifts with him toward the chairs and the little changing alcoves, curls bouncing, towel tucked beneath her arm. At the question, she rolls her eyes so dramatically it’s a wonder they don’t fall straight out of her head. "Oh gods, well...Kaisel’s ex burned it down." She says of the Hanged Man, pausing just long enough to let the absurdity settle before widening her eyes for emphasis, hands splaying as if displaying a particularly spicy piece of art. "Because he told her he was dating me. Which—" she lifts a shoulder, "—rude, but also deeply flattering if you look at it from the right angle." In the words of Taylor Swift, it's actually romantic.
There’s enough distance from the sting now that she can appreciate the theatricality of it; the jealous blaze, the collapse of one era, the chance to build something shinier and wilder from the ashes. "And to save face," she adds with a groan, pressing a hand to her forehead, "I told all of Torchline that I burned it down so I could rebuild something better. So now I actually have to rebuild something better. Which is...honestly exhausting."
Her laughter softens into a grin as she turns back toward Asta, standing with arms full of towel and robe. At the mention of Danta’s birthday she gasps, the sound high and scandalously enthusiastic. "What have you planned? Tell me everything. And is it something just between the two of you, or am I invited?" Her brows lift, hopeful, playful.
Then, a sigh—warm, fond, affectionate enough to glow—Flora glances back over her shoulder as he strips down, her aqua eyes tracing the new pale arcs on his arm, the bruises still tinting his skin, the familiar constellation of old scars. "Honestly," she murmurs, voice dipping into something soft and delighted, "you just get more handsome every single time I see you." The grin that follows is mischievous but full of admiration.
With that, she slips behind one of the frosted privacy screens, her silhouette briefly visible between the drifting steam; long legs, a flash of lifted arms as she changes, curls shaking loose. She reappears moments later in a black one-piece, the plunging neckline sweeping all the way down to reveal the dip of her navel, the fabric sleek against her sun-bronzed skin. Her gold jewellery catches the light like tiny comet trails as she tosses her towel down nearby and steps into the water with a delighted hum of approval.
There’s enough distance from the sting now that she can appreciate the theatricality of it; the jealous blaze, the collapse of one era, the chance to build something shinier and wilder from the ashes. "And to save face," she adds with a groan, pressing a hand to her forehead, "I told all of Torchline that I burned it down so I could rebuild something better. So now I actually have to rebuild something better. Which is...honestly exhausting."
Her laughter softens into a grin as she turns back toward Asta, standing with arms full of towel and robe. At the mention of Danta’s birthday she gasps, the sound high and scandalously enthusiastic. "What have you planned? Tell me everything. And is it something just between the two of you, or am I invited?" Her brows lift, hopeful, playful.
Then, a sigh—warm, fond, affectionate enough to glow—Flora glances back over her shoulder as he strips down, her aqua eyes tracing the new pale arcs on his arm, the bruises still tinting his skin, the familiar constellation of old scars. "Honestly," she murmurs, voice dipping into something soft and delighted, "you just get more handsome every single time I see you." The grin that follows is mischievous but full of admiration.
With that, she slips behind one of the frosted privacy screens, her silhouette briefly visible between the drifting steam; long legs, a flash of lifted arms as she changes, curls shaking loose. She reappears moments later in a black one-piece, the plunging neckline sweeping all the way down to reveal the dip of her navel, the fabric sleek against her sun-bronzed skin. Her gold jewellery catches the light like tiny comet trails as she tosses her towel down nearby and steps into the water with a delighted hum of approval.
Flora
you can't be everything you wanna be before your time
