lay your soul onto mine
Flora’s head tilts slowly as the word girth lands, her lashes lowering as she looks up at Kaisel with the kind of flat, unblinking Kubrick stare that promises death. It’s patient. It’s regal. It’s a silent promise of later consequences. She doesn’t get the chance to deploy them, because Tension Tom barrels right on, and Flora’s eyes flick sideways just long enough to catch Kaisel’s mouthed horror. Her brows lift a fraction in response, a tiny omg? written plainly across her face.
Tom, meanwhile, finally seems to register where he is, who he’s with, and the way Flora’s hands are still very competently removing homicidal mud from his person. He glances back at her, something smug and entirely misplaced settling into his expression thanks to his interpretation of Kaisel's reassurances. "Oh," he chuckles, the panic giving way to sleaze with whiplash efficiency. "I didn’t realise this was that kind of place." His gaze skims her in a way that suggests he thinks he’s very clever. "Not one to turn down a happy ending though, especially if it’s on my wife’s dime." His eyebrows bounce, twice, enthusiastically, like he’s expecting applause.
Flora stops moving. Slowly, deliberately, she lifts her eyes from the mud-slick shoulder she’s been freeing and looks at Kaisel instead, utterly deadpan. No smile. No humour. Just a calm, judicial this is on you, because he is absolutely the one who planted that idea and therefore he can absolutely reap what he has sown.
When Tom is guided toward the steam room, still dripping and blissfully misunderstanding the entire situation, Flora follows a step behind, mud drying in faint streaks along her sweater. She watches as he nods along to the instructions, clearly hearing something else entirely. "Wet heat," Tom repeats with a filthy little laugh, nudging Kaisel conspiratorially. "Yeah. I like the sound of that," he adds, eyebrows bouncing again like they’ve got a mind of their own.
Tom, meanwhile, finally seems to register where he is, who he’s with, and the way Flora’s hands are still very competently removing homicidal mud from his person. He glances back at her, something smug and entirely misplaced settling into his expression thanks to his interpretation of Kaisel's reassurances. "Oh," he chuckles, the panic giving way to sleaze with whiplash efficiency. "I didn’t realise this was that kind of place." His gaze skims her in a way that suggests he thinks he’s very clever. "Not one to turn down a happy ending though, especially if it’s on my wife’s dime." His eyebrows bounce, twice, enthusiastically, like he’s expecting applause.
Flora stops moving. Slowly, deliberately, she lifts her eyes from the mud-slick shoulder she’s been freeing and looks at Kaisel instead, utterly deadpan. No smile. No humour. Just a calm, judicial this is on you, because he is absolutely the one who planted that idea and therefore he can absolutely reap what he has sown.
When Tom is guided toward the steam room, still dripping and blissfully misunderstanding the entire situation, Flora follows a step behind, mud drying in faint streaks along her sweater. She watches as he nods along to the instructions, clearly hearing something else entirely. "Wet heat," Tom repeats with a filthy little laugh, nudging Kaisel conspiratorially. "Yeah. I like the sound of that," he adds, eyebrows bouncing again like they’ve got a mind of their own.
