you look like my next mistake
"Kaizel," Flora sasses at once, the z drawn just enough to make it a pointed little correction, her mouth curving as she slides more fully into his side like she’s testing the fit of him against her. Her fingers hook lightly into the fabric at his waist again, as if to keep him exactly where she’s decided he belongs, even as her gaze flicks up at him with something bright and teasing that suggests she’s not even slightly sorry.
Charlie ’s arrival pulls her attention like a spark catching silk, and Flora’s hands come together in a quick, delighted applause, her grin flashing wide as she watches the priestess blaze her way into the room, all heat and movement and unapologetic spectacle.
The sound of her name has her turning easily, the shift in her posture immediate and warm as Aithne comes into view. "Hey, girl!" Flora answers brightly. At the ancient's praise of her beau, Flora’s expression doesn’t falter so much as sharpen into something pleased, her eyes sliding back toward Kaisel with a look that’s openly appreciative, a little wicked around the edges, and undeniably fond. "I am, aren’t I?" she says, the words light but anchored in something that doesn’t feel like a joke, her hand giving the smallest, almost absent squeeze at his side. "He’s my fiancé," she adds, the word set down with an easy sort of certainty that doesn’t beg for reaction so much as invite it, her gaze drifting back to Aithne with a spark of mischief already building again.
Charlie ’s arrival pulls her attention like a spark catching silk, and Flora’s hands come together in a quick, delighted applause, her grin flashing wide as she watches the priestess blaze her way into the room, all heat and movement and unapologetic spectacle.
The sound of her name has her turning easily, the shift in her posture immediate and warm as Aithne comes into view. "Hey, girl!" Flora answers brightly. At the ancient's praise of her beau, Flora’s expression doesn’t falter so much as sharpen into something pleased, her eyes sliding back toward Kaisel with a look that’s openly appreciative, a little wicked around the edges, and undeniably fond. "I am, aren’t I?" she says, the words light but anchored in something that doesn’t feel like a joke, her hand giving the smallest, almost absent squeeze at his side. "He’s my fiancé," she adds, the word set down with an easy sort of certainty that doesn’t beg for reaction so much as invite it, her gaze drifting back to Aithne with a spark of mischief already building again.
