flora
Flora’s mouth drops open in exaggerated horror, the reaction so theatrical it borders on performance art, before it melts immediately into genuine delight. "Rude Mateo," she protests, leaning over to swat her brother's shoulder with the back of her fingers, laughter bright in her voice. That he was quite literally correct hardly mattered.
She wrinkles her nose dramatically at the mention of the babypatch, lifting her glass as if in defence. "Hard agree," Flora adds, shuddering just a little for emphasis. "We do not need details. Ever." Then she tilts her head, eyes narrowing thoughtfully as another concern clicks into place. "And maybe also, like, fence it off or something?" She lifts her glass again in a small, decisive toast. "Safety first."
She wrinkles her nose dramatically at the mention of the babypatch, lifting her glass as if in defence. "Hard agree," Flora adds, shuddering just a little for emphasis. "We do not need details. Ever." Then she tilts her head, eyes narrowing thoughtfully as another concern clicks into place. "And maybe also, like, fence it off or something?" She lifts her glass again in a small, decisive toast. "Safety first."
The rumors are terrible and cruel
But honey, most of them are true
But honey, most of them are true
