you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody
Flora lets herself be pulled the last step out of the puddle, her boots dragging with a wet reluctance before releasing her with a soft, sucking sound, and she’s already opening her mouth to protest the score, brows lifting in immediate, exaggerated offence as though she’s been wronged by some grand, governing body of puddle judges, but the argument dissolves almost as quickly as it forms, laughter cutting through it as easily as the rain cuts through the canopy overhead. "Only a 9.2?" she echoes, incredulous in a way that doesn’t quite hold, her grin tipping sideways as she flicks a bit of water from her sleeve in his direction, more gesture than retaliation. "Wow, okay, I see how it is. Guess next time I’d better try bribing the judge if I want a perfect score, huh?" Her eyebrows lift and dip in a pointed, playful rhythm, the suggestion sitting just beneath the words without needing to be named, her shoulder nudging his again as if to underline it.
Her gaze flickers briefly toward where Kaisel’s attention had tilted, catching the shapes of Dantalion and Astaroth through the shifting lanternlight and deepened shadows, and she offers them an easy smile and a small lift of her chin, something light and familiar before she turns back, the amusement lingering at the edges of her mouth. "He’s going to be like that until the season ends," she says, voice pitched low enough to stay between them. "Then he’ll go right back to his big, friendly self like nothing ever happened."
The path bends them naturally toward one of the thicker, lower branches where the leaves and limbs knit together just enough to dull the impact of the rain, her steps adjusting as she reaches up with the lanterns, fingers careful despite the damp as she hooks them carefully along the branch, one after the other, each small glow settling into place until they sway together in a loose constellation of warm light. "Here," she says, plucking the umbrella from Kaisel and angling it back over him instead so that he could more easily place his own lanterns. "Go on. I don't want you to be haunted by Vai, either."
Her gaze flickers briefly toward where Kaisel’s attention had tilted, catching the shapes of Dantalion and Astaroth through the shifting lanternlight and deepened shadows, and she offers them an easy smile and a small lift of her chin, something light and familiar before she turns back, the amusement lingering at the edges of her mouth. "He’s going to be like that until the season ends," she says, voice pitched low enough to stay between them. "Then he’ll go right back to his big, friendly self like nothing ever happened."
The path bends them naturally toward one of the thicker, lower branches where the leaves and limbs knit together just enough to dull the impact of the rain, her steps adjusting as she reaches up with the lanterns, fingers careful despite the damp as she hooks them carefully along the branch, one after the other, each small glow settling into place until they sway together in a loose constellation of warm light. "Here," she says, plucking the umbrella from Kaisel and angling it back over him instead so that he could more easily place his own lanterns. "Go on. I don't want you to be haunted by Vai, either."
