I'd burn my house down just to hear them scream my name
Flora watches them each pick a different name, and for a second she simply stands there, champagne-bright eyes moving from Danta to Kiada to Kai with her arms folding slowly over her chest. "Wow," she says with a playful roll of her eyes. The look she gives them is severe for approximately half a second before it cracks, laughter slipping through as she turns toward one of the crates she’d very intentionally left unopened until now. Taking up a crowbar, Flora wedges it beneath the lid and pries it free with considerably less flair than Kai would have managed (though given how busy he was itching himself, maybe he wouldn't have imagined anything at all), though she makes up for it by pulling out a bottle that looks old enough to have seen at least two major world wars.
Glancing toward Kiada, Flora lifts her brows. "Since you put the glassware away, can you grab us four champagne flutes?"
By the time the glasses are gathered, Flora’s already grinning, giving the bottle just enough of a shake to make the eventual pop feel less like an opening and more like a threat fulfilled. The cork fires free with a sharp, satisfying crack, bubbles spilling down the side of the old glass and over her fingers as she laughs, bright and pleased and entirely unbothered by the mess.
"To The Last Word," she announces. Pouring champagne into each flute, Flora lifts her own once they’re filled, gold rings catching against the glass as her gaze moves across the almost-bar around them. "May it burn less dramatically, gossip more effectively, and survive absolutely everyone who thinks they should get the final say."
Last round! Cheers! Thanks all!
Whoever posts last can fin
Glancing toward Kiada, Flora lifts her brows. "Since you put the glassware away, can you grab us four champagne flutes?"
By the time the glasses are gathered, Flora’s already grinning, giving the bottle just enough of a shake to make the eventual pop feel less like an opening and more like a threat fulfilled. The cork fires free with a sharp, satisfying crack, bubbles spilling down the side of the old glass and over her fingers as she laughs, bright and pleased and entirely unbothered by the mess.
"To The Last Word," she announces. Pouring champagne into each flute, Flora lifts her own once they’re filled, gold rings catching against the glass as her gaze moves across the almost-bar around them. "May it burn less dramatically, gossip more effectively, and survive absolutely everyone who thinks they should get the final say."
Last round! Cheers! Thanks all!
Whoever posts last can fin
I've carried hopes & heavy day dreams, but i'm all done with sleepin'
