flora
Flora grins at Deimos’ reaction, shoulders lifting beneath her layers as if the whole thing is simply the most natural progression in the world. "They have charms so that letters and stuf falways find them, buttt..." Her mouth quirks as she adds, a touch more conspiratorial now, "They’re in King’s End at the moment at the baby patch." A vague tilt of her head follows, the sentence tapering off into an airy shrug. "Since, y’know.." She lets the rest dissolve into the cold air without spelling it out, doubting she needed to clarify.
When Deimos’ gaze sharpens with that familiar, assessing curiosity, Flora meets it head-on, fluttering her lashes at him with exaggerated innocence before offering a noncommittal little hum that lives somewhere between a shrug and a tease.
She turns back to the work with Noah easily, chuckling as he explains the cement. "Goldilocks cement, huh?" she says, amused, before nodding and stepping away to grab the trowel as asked. The wheelbarrow is noticeably heavier now, and she lets Noah take the lead with it, falling into place beside him as they move back toward the cleared ground.
Once the mix starts pouring out, she’s quick and focused, using the trowel to smooth rough edges and coax the cement into place, small, precise motions jiggling it just enough to settle evenly. The cold nips at her fingers even through her gloves, but she works steadily.
When Deimos’ gaze sharpens with that familiar, assessing curiosity, Flora meets it head-on, fluttering her lashes at him with exaggerated innocence before offering a noncommittal little hum that lives somewhere between a shrug and a tease.
She turns back to the work with Noah easily, chuckling as he explains the cement. "Goldilocks cement, huh?" she says, amused, before nodding and stepping away to grab the trowel as asked. The wheelbarrow is noticeably heavier now, and she lets Noah take the lead with it, falling into place beside him as they move back toward the cleared ground.
Once the mix starts pouring out, she’s quick and focused, using the trowel to smooth rough edges and coax the cement into place, small, precise motions jiggling it just enough to settle evenly. The cold nips at her fingers even through her gloves, but she works steadily.
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
