flora
Flora’s gaze flicks to Deimos as he comes into view, the shape of him registering with the easy inevitability of someone who always seems to be exactly where duty drags him, especially in Halo. It doesn’t surprise her in the slightest, but the smile she gives him is still bright and immediate, eyes crinkling warmly despite the cold nibbling at her cheeks. At the mention of Erebos, a laugh slips out of her, soft and genuine, her shoulders lifting in a small, pleased shrug beneath all that fur and wool. "Oh, he absolutely earned every bit of it," she says, tone light and fond all at once, before it eases into something gentler, more sincere. "He seems like a really great kid."
The explanation of the work ahead earns a quiet, dramatic sigh from behind her scarf, the sound exaggerated on purpose as she peers at the snow-crusted ground and the assortment of tools like they might suddenly transform into something far more glamorous if she squints hard enough. "Just once," she murmurs, not quite under her breath, "I wish someone would ask for my help taste testing cocktails or...I don’t know, evaluating mattress softness."
She flashes a grin between Noah and Deimos, unapologetic, rolling one shoulder as if to shake off the complaint as quickly as it arrived. "I just came from King’s End," she adds lightly, as though this explains everything, "helped Colt prep for her rodeo. So clearly I’m on a thrilling tour of physical labour this season."
The rake settles into her gloved hands, metal cold even through the leather, and she gets to work without further fuss, dragging it through loose brush and brittle debris, the scrape and crunch oddly satisfying as she corrals ice chunks and dead growth into a growing pile. She leaves the heavier roots and stubborn slabs where they are for Deimos and Noah to deal with, breath puffing steadily in the cold while Spice darts overhead, entirely delighted by the chaos below.
The explanation of the work ahead earns a quiet, dramatic sigh from behind her scarf, the sound exaggerated on purpose as she peers at the snow-crusted ground and the assortment of tools like they might suddenly transform into something far more glamorous if she squints hard enough. "Just once," she murmurs, not quite under her breath, "I wish someone would ask for my help taste testing cocktails or...I don’t know, evaluating mattress softness."
She flashes a grin between Noah and Deimos, unapologetic, rolling one shoulder as if to shake off the complaint as quickly as it arrived. "I just came from King’s End," she adds lightly, as though this explains everything, "helped Colt prep for her rodeo. So clearly I’m on a thrilling tour of physical labour this season."
The rake settles into her gloved hands, metal cold even through the leather, and she gets to work without further fuss, dragging it through loose brush and brittle debris, the scrape and crunch oddly satisfying as she corrals ice chunks and dead growth into a growing pile. She leaves the heavier roots and stubborn slabs where they are for Deimos and Noah to deal with, breath puffing steadily in the cold while Spice darts overhead, entirely delighted by the chaos below.
lust's a liar, a short lived fire
it isn't what you and I are at all
it isn't what you and I are at all
