flora
Flora is already unrolling the travel cushions she'd packed by the time Kai's voice stretches the name into the air, the sound of it winding through the heat and the low, restless hiss of lava like something half-summoned, half-mispronounced, and she pauses only long enough to shoot him a look that is pure theatre, brows lifted, mouth pulled into a line that says she is unimpressed but indulging him anyway because that is the shape of so many of her smiles these days where last names are concerned. "Suriel?" she repeats, letting it sit there between them as she wrinkles her nose and shakes her head, curls bouncing against her shoulders, gold rings glinting as her hands smooth fabric against stone. "I'm pretty sure that's the name of one of the characters in those books my brother always reads."
The cushions settle under her palms in an effort to bring some comfort into roughing it, even as the world around them feels like it might crack open at any moment, heat breathing up from the Climb’s skin, the land alive and watchful beneath their feet. His suggestion of Spice has her snickering despite herself, the sound slipping out before she can stop it, lips quirking as she glances back at him and rolls her shoulders in a half-shrug. "I mean, Flora Spice doesn't sound terrible," she admits, smirk deepening, eyes bright with mischief, "but Kaisel Spice actually sounds like it could be some sort of spice. Like something expensive and rare that people argue about how to pronounce." Maybe something that looked vaguely like sprinkles.
She watches him with open amusement as the fire takes, the glow painting warmth streaks across her face and her grin widens. "Not bad for a city boy," she says, voice smooth, affectionate, before turning her attention back to the small comforts she has decided they need anyway, because comfort has always been her quiet rebellion against hostile places. She grabs the blanket—entirely unnecessary in the LongHeat, ridiculous even—and spreads it out with deliberate care, arranging the cushions atop it as though they are not sitting on volcanic land but somewhere far softer, far safer, a pocket of normal she is stubborn enough to insist into being. When she straightens, she gives him a slow, exaggerated round of applause, hands clapping together with theatrical enthusiasm. "Ashborn?" she says, head tilting, eyes dancing. "More like Fireborn." Cue laugh track. The words are barely out before she lifts a finger, already shaking her head, curls swaying as she cuts him off with a laugh that carries warmth and warning in equal measure. "Don't even think about it. Fireborn is absolutely not happening."
The cushions settle under her palms in an effort to bring some comfort into roughing it, even as the world around them feels like it might crack open at any moment, heat breathing up from the Climb’s skin, the land alive and watchful beneath their feet. His suggestion of Spice has her snickering despite herself, the sound slipping out before she can stop it, lips quirking as she glances back at him and rolls her shoulders in a half-shrug. "I mean, Flora Spice doesn't sound terrible," she admits, smirk deepening, eyes bright with mischief, "but Kaisel Spice actually sounds like it could be some sort of spice. Like something expensive and rare that people argue about how to pronounce." Maybe something that looked vaguely like sprinkles.
She watches him with open amusement as the fire takes, the glow painting warmth streaks across her face and her grin widens. "Not bad for a city boy," she says, voice smooth, affectionate, before turning her attention back to the small comforts she has decided they need anyway, because comfort has always been her quiet rebellion against hostile places. She grabs the blanket—entirely unnecessary in the LongHeat, ridiculous even—and spreads it out with deliberate care, arranging the cushions atop it as though they are not sitting on volcanic land but somewhere far softer, far safer, a pocket of normal she is stubborn enough to insist into being. When she straightens, she gives him a slow, exaggerated round of applause, hands clapping together with theatrical enthusiasm. "Ashborn?" she says, head tilting, eyes dancing. "More like Fireborn." Cue laugh track. The words are barely out before she lifts a finger, already shaking her head, curls swaying as she cuts him off with a laugh that carries warmth and warning in equal measure. "Don't even think about it. Fireborn is absolutely not happening."
i scream for whatever it's worth
"i love you" ain't that the worst thing you've ever heard?
"i love you" ain't that the worst thing you've ever heard?
