i could be the reason you can't sleep at night
Flora’s eyes widen with the sort of dramatic, deeply doubtful alarm usually reserved for discovering that someone has put molten pineapple on the wrong food, because Kaisel is absolutely not doing exactly what she’s doing. What he’s doing is more like tripping without actually falling over, all sideways scooching and urgent fabric-swish, like his joggers are trying to escape the situation before the rest of him catches on.
"Mmm, no." With their arms still linked at the elbow, Flora huffs a curl out of her face and glances down at his feet with a helpless little scrunch of her nose, aqua eyes bright with barely contained laughter. The port is already awake around them in all its salt-sticky, shouty glory, Flora keeps her attention on the very important business of not letting her husband commit crimes against skipping in public. "It’s actually way harder when you do it slowly, but okay, watch."
She makes an unnecessarily grand show of preparing herself, squaring her shoulders as if this is a formal demonstration before a council of dance scholars rather than a very early hour in Kaiholo with her arm looped through the man proudly advertising her name and newest title across his body. There is still something warm and ridiculous twisting through her chest every time she catches sight of it, the bold HOT TAKE on his windbreaker, the orange flowers, the bright little blaze of it all. Where Kaisel's version is as you'd expect, Flora isn't entirely sold on it yet, such that she'd asked the designers to take another crack at it. The version she's wearing is a black sweater, soft and cropped and fitted, with glossy black lettering across the front that reads HOT TAKE in a tone-on-tone shine only visible when the light hits it right.
"Okay, so it’s not a run, and it’s not a hop, and it’s definitely not whatever haunted shuffle you just did." Flora’s voice lifts with each correction, playful and merciless as she eases into the motion, her free hand hovering slightly for balance while her engagement ring flashes in the morning light. She starts slowly, deliberately, one foot stepping forward before the opposite knee lifts, her weight bouncing lightly through the ball of her foot as she switches, each movement exaggerated enough for him to follow. Her curls bob with the motion, her bracelets chiming faintly beneath the noise of the port, and the whole thing is made infinitely more ridiculous by how seriously she’s taking it. "Step, lift, switch. Step, lift, switch."
Her gaze flicks briefly toward one of the quieter stalls tucked back from the louder, glossier press of merchants, where the sign reading ONE RING BELLS sits with the understated confidence of someone who knows perfectly well that the tackier displays are doing too much. Flora’s attention catches there, but only for a moment, because more urgently than whatever potential disaster or treasure waits on that table, she has Kaisel to deal with still.
"Mmm, no." With their arms still linked at the elbow, Flora huffs a curl out of her face and glances down at his feet with a helpless little scrunch of her nose, aqua eyes bright with barely contained laughter. The port is already awake around them in all its salt-sticky, shouty glory, Flora keeps her attention on the very important business of not letting her husband commit crimes against skipping in public. "It’s actually way harder when you do it slowly, but okay, watch."
She makes an unnecessarily grand show of preparing herself, squaring her shoulders as if this is a formal demonstration before a council of dance scholars rather than a very early hour in Kaiholo with her arm looped through the man proudly advertising her name and newest title across his body. There is still something warm and ridiculous twisting through her chest every time she catches sight of it, the bold HOT TAKE on his windbreaker, the orange flowers, the bright little blaze of it all. Where Kaisel's version is as you'd expect, Flora isn't entirely sold on it yet, such that she'd asked the designers to take another crack at it. The version she's wearing is a black sweater, soft and cropped and fitted, with glossy black lettering across the front that reads HOT TAKE in a tone-on-tone shine only visible when the light hits it right.
"Okay, so it’s not a run, and it’s not a hop, and it’s definitely not whatever haunted shuffle you just did." Flora’s voice lifts with each correction, playful and merciless as she eases into the motion, her free hand hovering slightly for balance while her engagement ring flashes in the morning light. She starts slowly, deliberately, one foot stepping forward before the opposite knee lifts, her weight bouncing lightly through the ball of her foot as she switches, each movement exaggerated enough for him to follow. Her curls bob with the motion, her bracelets chiming faintly beneath the noise of the port, and the whole thing is made infinitely more ridiculous by how seriously she’s taking it. "Step, lift, switch. Step, lift, switch."
Her gaze flicks briefly toward one of the quieter stalls tucked back from the louder, glossier press of merchants, where the sign reading ONE RING BELLS sits with the understated confidence of someone who knows perfectly well that the tackier displays are doing too much. Flora’s attention catches there, but only for a moment, because more urgently than whatever potential disaster or treasure waits on that table, she has Kaisel to deal with still.
