Charlie
You know I talk too much
honey, come put your lips on mine & shut me up
honey, come put your lips on mine & shut me up
Charlie listens to Kaisel spiral with the patient expression of someone watching a particularly dramatic stage performance, her hand resting lightly on his knee as though she might steady him through sheer proximity. If she has pieced together the very specific and wildly incorrect conclusion he seems to be circling—that his presence, or worse, his extracurricular habits, have somehow cosmically contributed to this—she gives absolutely no sign of it. Instead, she simply studies the elaborate geometry his fingers attempt to demonstrate and offers a casual little shrug. "No," she answers easily, tone bright and unbothered, "not always." Which is entirely true, and she lets that truth sit there without further elaboration, like a cat setting down a mouse and pretending it is finished playing.
When he emphatically spells out Flora’s name as though she might have forgotten, Charlie blinks up at him with wide, guileless blue eyes and then smiles, warm and magnanimous. "I remember," she assures him, lifting one shoulder again in a soft shrug. "It doesn’t bother me."
At his anguished demand for reason, for logic, for some tidy explanation that does not exist, Charlie tips her head thoughtfully. "She’s the goddess of chaos," she reminds him gently. "I’ve served her for centuries and I still don’t know why she does half the things she does." Her smile brightens, almost wicked. "But that’s part of the fun!"
When he groans that he will be there for her, she has to press her lips together for half a second to keep from laughing outright, because the situation is already deliciously tangled and she refuses to ruin the tension too soon. Instead, she nods with solemn sincerity, reaching to squeeze his knee once. "For us," she corrects softly, eyes sparkling as she glances down at her still-flat stomach. Her palm drifts there again, smoothing over the fabric of her dress with unmistakable pride. "I wonder how big I’ll get," she muses brightly, as though contemplating a new wardrobe rather than a demigod, and the grin that follows is pure romcom chaos incarnate.
When he emphatically spells out Flora’s name as though she might have forgotten, Charlie blinks up at him with wide, guileless blue eyes and then smiles, warm and magnanimous. "I remember," she assures him, lifting one shoulder again in a soft shrug. "It doesn’t bother me."
At his anguished demand for reason, for logic, for some tidy explanation that does not exist, Charlie tips her head thoughtfully. "She’s the goddess of chaos," she reminds him gently. "I’ve served her for centuries and I still don’t know why she does half the things she does." Her smile brightens, almost wicked. "But that’s part of the fun!"
When he groans that he will be there for her, she has to press her lips together for half a second to keep from laughing outright, because the situation is already deliciously tangled and she refuses to ruin the tension too soon. Instead, she nods with solemn sincerity, reaching to squeeze his knee once. "For us," she corrects softly, eyes sparkling as she glances down at her still-flat stomach. Her palm drifts there again, smoothing over the fabric of her dress with unmistakable pride. "I wonder how big I’ll get," she muses brightly, as though contemplating a new wardrobe rather than a demigod, and the grin that follows is pure romcom chaos incarnate.
Hella golden retriever energy. Small unrefined horns made of ruby. Regular spade-shaped tail.
