ditch the clowns, get the crown
Flora’s grin is already forming at the expectation of seeing Safrin, untikl her mouth drops open as her gaze snaps out toward the water where He simply is, impossibly distant and impossibly present all at once, the air around her going thin in that peculiar way it does when reality tilts just enough to remind her she is, in fact, playing with forces that do not play back the same way.
Her head jerks toward Melita, curls catching against her cheek as she mutters, low and fast and entirely unqueenly, "oh shit," before straightening again like posture alone might undo what’s already happened, her lips snapping into a dazzling, overly bright smile that feels like it belongs in a toothpaste commericla rather than on her face as she lifts her chin toward Vi as though this were all very much under control and absolutely intentional. "Hi," she offers, saccharine and sharp-edged all at once, because apparently this is happening.
There’s a flicker of something in her eyes—half disbelief, half well we’ve come this far—as he gestures, as if the god of life has just handed them permission to do something that feels wildly inappropriate and yet somehow too late to reconsider, and Flora glances once more toward Melita, that same spark of reckless delight resurfacing despite the situation.
This time she doesn’t forget about how loud the cannon is; her hands clamp firmly over her ears, rings pressing cold against her skin as she braces just ahead of the blast, shoulders tightening in anticipation as the fuse catches and the cannon answers...only for it to resolve into something so profoundly underwhelming that it takes her a second to process it at all. A dull, flat bang reaches her through the muffled ringing, and she blinks, lowering her hands slowly as her gaze lifts toward the sky where fireworks bloom; not with devastation, not with spectacle, but with the most deadpan declarations imaginable, her lips twitching as she reads them, the absurdity of it cracking straight through whatever tension had coiled there.
She presses her lips inward, teeth catching them as if she can physically hold the laughter back, eyes wide and bright as she turns toward Melita and bursts with laughter.
Her head jerks toward Melita, curls catching against her cheek as she mutters, low and fast and entirely unqueenly, "oh shit," before straightening again like posture alone might undo what’s already happened, her lips snapping into a dazzling, overly bright smile that feels like it belongs in a toothpaste commericla rather than on her face as she lifts her chin toward Vi as though this were all very much under control and absolutely intentional. "Hi," she offers, saccharine and sharp-edged all at once, because apparently this is happening.
There’s a flicker of something in her eyes—half disbelief, half well we’ve come this far—as he gestures, as if the god of life has just handed them permission to do something that feels wildly inappropriate and yet somehow too late to reconsider, and Flora glances once more toward Melita, that same spark of reckless delight resurfacing despite the situation.
This time she doesn’t forget about how loud the cannon is; her hands clamp firmly over her ears, rings pressing cold against her skin as she braces just ahead of the blast, shoulders tightening in anticipation as the fuse catches and the cannon answers...only for it to resolve into something so profoundly underwhelming that it takes her a second to process it at all. A dull, flat bang reaches her through the muffled ringing, and she blinks, lowering her hands slowly as her gaze lifts toward the sky where fireworks bloom; not with devastation, not with spectacle, but with the most deadpan declarations imaginable, her lips twitching as she reads them, the absurdity of it cracking straight through whatever tension had coiled there.
She presses her lips inward, teeth catching them as if she can physically hold the laughter back, eyes wide and bright as she turns toward Melita and bursts with laughter.
Flora
baby i'm the one to beat
