[PQ+] don't matter the weather if we're standing together

your battle worn tongue doesn't say the truth anymore;
/// that you are ruined ///

An innocent, fanged grin is shot toward Flora as she levels her serious gaze at them, unworried despite what the look might suggest. And as she breaks into a laugh and picks up a crowbar and pries open the lid of the crate in question, Kiada’s laugh joins in. The bottle retrieved looks old and by extension is probably divine, and when the question is aimed her way the harpy nods. “Sure!”

Slipping away, Kia collects four of the champagne flutes, returning and handing the glasses out so that they can be filled when Flora’s done opening the bottle. The cork explodes, champagne glittering around in a foamy mess that has Kiada snorting softly as she gets her glass filled.

Surveying all the work they did, her tail twitches at her heels as she nods and raises her glass in a toast to cheer all the hard work. “To The Last Word.” She parrots before she’s downing the sip of the champagne very contently with the aged quality of it.

kiada

and you wonder why he lets you, the butcher ///
touch him, the sun ///