flora
Flora nods in clear approval as both of them settle into the rhythm of scrubbing, though she can’t resist rolling her eyes at Ronin with all the theatrical flourish of someone long resigned to dad-logic. "I would have asked him," she says, lifting her voice just enough to carry over the bubbling water, "but the last time I saw Sunjata he was up to his knees in mud, which—let’s be honest—is basically shoulder height for normal people."
She shrugs, curls bouncing, and grabs a sponge of her own. Spice perks up at Ronin’s purposeful splashing, wings flicking happily, clearly convinced she’s supervising a highly important aquatic mission.
At Ronin’s question about the task, Flora straightens just enough to glance over her shoulder. "Yeah," she says, offering a small, satisfied nod. "Once this is done we can bottle it, label it, and make sure all of our people have some."
She bends back to the work just as footsteps patter across the marble behind her, small, hurried, carrying the tremble of something going very wrong. Flora turns, expecting maybe a messenger only to see a boy no older than ten or eleven approaching with a cluster of friends hovering nervously behind him. His arm is held stiffly to his chest, blood tracking down in shaky lines, and the way he’s biting the inside of his cheek tells her the tears are right there, waiting to spill.
He swallows hard, voice thin as he looks between the three of them. "Um...can we—can we use the fountain? Please? It really hurts."
Round 2
oh no! someone needs the fountain but we're cleaning it!
She shrugs, curls bouncing, and grabs a sponge of her own. Spice perks up at Ronin’s purposeful splashing, wings flicking happily, clearly convinced she’s supervising a highly important aquatic mission.
At Ronin’s question about the task, Flora straightens just enough to glance over her shoulder. "Yeah," she says, offering a small, satisfied nod. "Once this is done we can bottle it, label it, and make sure all of our people have some."
She bends back to the work just as footsteps patter across the marble behind her, small, hurried, carrying the tremble of something going very wrong. Flora turns, expecting maybe a messenger only to see a boy no older than ten or eleven approaching with a cluster of friends hovering nervously behind him. His arm is held stiffly to his chest, blood tracking down in shaky lines, and the way he’s biting the inside of his cheek tells her the tears are right there, waiting to spill.
He swallows hard, voice thin as he looks between the three of them. "Um...can we—can we use the fountain? Please? It really hurts."
Round 2
oh no! someone needs the fountain but we're cleaning it!
I hold my breath just a little bit longer
halfway out the door but it won't close
halfway out the door but it won't close
