melita
“Sure,” she mused, taking another swipe of cheesecake and berries, humming contentedly under her breath as the flavor combination settled on her tongue again. Deeply satisfied by these endeavors, she watched his brief comedy act and slapstick routine with an arched brow, trying not to spit out her food in a bout of laughter. Barely stifled, it came out as a loud snort, head shaking while she tried to hide it and failing to do so. She only wrinkled her nose thereafter when it became apparent he was still going to use it as a utensil, then swallowed down the remains of her bite, as if she hadn’t been struggling the whole time.
Competitive to a fault, she snagged another portion soon after his, and as the question arose, she gave the pretense of some poised, dignified lady, crown aloft and still perched on her head. “A rousing success, I’d say. You?” Her eyes flicked back over at him, and then she snatched another larger cut of the cheesecake. By that time though, her stomach was protesting, and soon after she was stretched out like a cat, lounging across the stones and quilt, nearly queenly and sovereign-esque, head propped upwards, supported by the way her hand and elbow extended.
Only then did the berry, in retaliation, ping directly off her forehead. She let out a giggle, and made to snatch it, but Fangorn was much faster – little vines grabbing hold and placing it in his mouth quickly. Not to be deterred (and ignoring that she’d started the whole thing), she dipped her spoon back into some small cut of the dessert, and utilized it as a miniature catapult, wringing it back juuuuust enough so that it launched at Iskra again.
salvation doesn't look like light
