when I walk in a room, I can still make the whole place shimmer
Charlie doesn’t even blink at the way she drags Kaisel off balance; if anything, the tiny wobble only seems to delight her more, her smile stretching huge and sunshine-warm as she looks up at him like he’s the most wonderfully surprising part of her day. When he mutters that he doesn’t want to know, she tilts her head with an inquisitive little mmm?, lashes fluttering in a way that suggests she absolutely intends to misunderstand him.
Her gaze slides over her shoulder to the half-open door and the blood-slicked scene beyond, then back to him with a bright, fanged grin. "Oh, that?" she croons as if he’d asked about spilled tea or a smudged painting, not whatever was happening in that room. A bubbly shrug lifts her shoulders, her gold curls bouncing with it. "There are so many ways to worship Dygra! And I’m here to help people however they need it." The way she says it suggests an encyclopedia’s worth of “help,” all of it enthusiastic.
She leans into him without hesitation, sliding her arm fully around his waist as though they’ve been walking around like that for years, her cheek brushing his chest with casual fondness. The frown she gives when he mentions feeling sick at the Festival is genuine, her brows knitting with gentle concern. "Oh no!" she gasps, her hand squeezing at his side. "You poor thing, you should have told me! I could have helped!"
At the mention of setting Flora on fire, Charlie shakes her head, then pauses mid-shake, kombucha girl style, as if reconsidering the accuracy of the statement. "Not on fire," she clarifies in a way that absolutely does not clarify anything. "More like—"
She slips away from him with a deft little spin, giving him just enough space that the sudden flare of fire erupting around her doesn’t scorch his hoodie. The flames curl up her body in flickering ribbons, wrapping her limbs and waist and shoulders like living silk, close enough to kiss her skin but not quite touching it, bathing her in orange-gold light that makes the blood streaking her dress look like moving art. "Like this!" she announces proudly, her grin bright through the heat haze. "That's why I asked about her outfit, because of how hot leather gets." Naked, of course, would have been Charlie's suggestion.
Then the flames blink out all at once, leaving her radiating warmth, almost fever-glow warm, as she slips right back into his side like nothing happened, her cheek returning to its spot against his ribs.
"Good!" she chirps, triumphant. Her tail traces up the small of his back in a teasing little spiral, feather-light, the equivalent of a playful hand brushing between his shoulder blades. Her eyes lift to his again, bright enough to rival the fire she just wore. "I’m so excited for you to meet Dygra," she practically sings. "Did you bring an offering?" Her head tilts in curiosity, curls shimmering with movement, then she waves her free hand immediately, almost vibrating with eagerness. "It’s okay if you didn’t! I can show you how."
Her gaze slides over her shoulder to the half-open door and the blood-slicked scene beyond, then back to him with a bright, fanged grin. "Oh, that?" she croons as if he’d asked about spilled tea or a smudged painting, not whatever was happening in that room. A bubbly shrug lifts her shoulders, her gold curls bouncing with it. "There are so many ways to worship Dygra! And I’m here to help people however they need it." The way she says it suggests an encyclopedia’s worth of “help,” all of it enthusiastic.
She leans into him without hesitation, sliding her arm fully around his waist as though they’ve been walking around like that for years, her cheek brushing his chest with casual fondness. The frown she gives when he mentions feeling sick at the Festival is genuine, her brows knitting with gentle concern. "Oh no!" she gasps, her hand squeezing at his side. "You poor thing, you should have told me! I could have helped!"
At the mention of setting Flora on fire, Charlie shakes her head, then pauses mid-shake, kombucha girl style, as if reconsidering the accuracy of the statement. "Not on fire," she clarifies in a way that absolutely does not clarify anything. "More like—"
She slips away from him with a deft little spin, giving him just enough space that the sudden flare of fire erupting around her doesn’t scorch his hoodie. The flames curl up her body in flickering ribbons, wrapping her limbs and waist and shoulders like living silk, close enough to kiss her skin but not quite touching it, bathing her in orange-gold light that makes the blood streaking her dress look like moving art. "Like this!" she announces proudly, her grin bright through the heat haze. "That's why I asked about her outfit, because of how hot leather gets." Naked, of course, would have been Charlie's suggestion.
Then the flames blink out all at once, leaving her radiating warmth, almost fever-glow warm, as she slips right back into his side like nothing happened, her cheek returning to its spot against his ribs.
"Good!" she chirps, triumphant. Her tail traces up the small of his back in a teasing little spiral, feather-light, the equivalent of a playful hand brushing between his shoulder blades. Her eyes lift to his again, bright enough to rival the fire she just wore. "I’m so excited for you to meet Dygra," she practically sings. "Did you bring an offering?" Her head tilts in curiosity, curls shimmering with movement, then she waves her free hand immediately, almost vibrating with eagerness. "It’s okay if you didn’t! I can show you how."
.
Hella golden retriever energy. Small unrefined horns made of ruby. Regular spade-shaped tail.
