slow down, you're doing fine
Flora huffs out a laugh at Hawthorn, waving a dismissive hand as though this is nothing more than slapstick timing. The burn in her cheeks feels warm and traitorous, but she refuses to let it linger there long enough to root. "Guess someone was being clumsy, huh?" she says lightly, wringing the hem of her shirt between her fingers as red syrup drips stubbornly toward the dust.
Kaisel ’s disgusted prancing beside her earns a crooked grin despite everything. The stickiness, the eyes on her, the deliberate nature of it all, she smooths it down with humour like she always does, folding it small and tucking it somewhere private for later dissectionand letter writing.
They hover near the exit where Soh and Koa should reappear, dust curling in the wake of movement and applause still buzzing from the stands. Flora shifts her weight, hands on her hips, crop top clinging damp and ruined against her skin. Then she sees it—the same ripple in the crowd Kaisel catches—and her gaze lifts instinctively. As aqua finds copper, for a heartbeat the world narrows; noise dulls, the sticky red on her shirt cools against her skin, but her smile does the opposite. It turns slow. Sharp. Absolutely shit-eating.
One brow lifts as Flora casually shrugs. "Oh well," she says easily, as if this is nothing more than laundry misfortune. "The shirt was ruined anyway." And before Kaisel can protest, despite this having been his idea, she hooks her fingers into the soaked fabric and peels it up and over her head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside without ceremony. The white cotton lands in the dust at her husband's feet, abandoned.
She stands there in nothing but her short shorts and boots and a pair of bold nipple pasties catching the sun; no tan lines, no hesitation, shoulders back and chin high like she has just made a perfectly reasonable decision in perfectly reasonable weather. The air feels hotter against her skin, but she does not flinch, instead turning slightly toward Kaisel, back toward the stands, smile bright and feral and entirely unbothered.
Flora is standing with Thorn and Kai waiting for Soh and Koa!
Clothing 5/6 (not wearing a shirt, only nipple pasties).
Kaisel ’s disgusted prancing beside her earns a crooked grin despite everything. The stickiness, the eyes on her, the deliberate nature of it all, she smooths it down with humour like she always does, folding it small and tucking it somewhere private for later dissection
They hover near the exit where Soh and Koa should reappear, dust curling in the wake of movement and applause still buzzing from the stands. Flora shifts her weight, hands on her hips, crop top clinging damp and ruined against her skin. Then she sees it—the same ripple in the crowd Kaisel catches—and her gaze lifts instinctively. As aqua finds copper, for a heartbeat the world narrows; noise dulls, the sticky red on her shirt cools against her skin, but her smile does the opposite. It turns slow. Sharp. Absolutely shit-eating.
One brow lifts as Flora casually shrugs. "Oh well," she says easily, as if this is nothing more than laundry misfortune. "The shirt was ruined anyway." And before Kaisel can protest, despite this having been his idea, she hooks her fingers into the soaked fabric and peels it up and over her head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside without ceremony. The white cotton lands in the dust at her husband's feet, abandoned.
She stands there in nothing but her short shorts and boots and a pair of bold nipple pasties catching the sun; no tan lines, no hesitation, shoulders back and chin high like she has just made a perfectly reasonable decision in perfectly reasonable weather. The air feels hotter against her skin, but she does not flinch, instead turning slightly toward Kaisel, back toward the stands, smile bright and feral and entirely unbothered.
Flora is standing with Thorn and Kai waiting for Soh and Koa!
Clothing 5/6 (not wearing a shirt, only nipple pasties).
Flora
you can't be everything you wanna be before your time
