flora
Flora tilts her head, blonde curls shifting against the damp warmth gathered at the nape of her neck. "What do you mean?" she asks, fingers idly skimming over the surface of Safrin’s Mirror so the starlit water bends around her rings in tiny fractured halos. "Just to hear how it went down myself?" It isn’t that she has any reason to think Sohalia lied, but then again, if someone is going to go behind her back, Flora supposes there’s a certain satisfaction in seeing it with her own eyes, in making the memory unfold whether or not the person responsible had been brave enough to want her watching. Not that she was to know the opposite would in fact be true.
At Melita's answer, Flora’s expression shifts immediately, the theatrical edge of her face softening into something sharply relieved. "Exactly," she says, the word coming out with more force than she means it to, because there’s something almost embarrassing about how much better it feels to hear Melita say it plainly instead of having to pretend that new magic and divine favour should make everything inside her feel cleanly triumphant. The warning about battle tournaments has her chuckling despite herself, because of course Melita would say it with the kind of shrug that tried to make dying in one sound like an inconvenient bruise. "I for sure won’t," Flora laughs, rolling her eyes at Melita with a look that is entirely affectionate and entirely understanding, as if there is a whole conversation tucked into the space between them about impulse control, bad decisions, and annoying emo wolf-boys with lightning magic.
The grin returns easily enough at Melita’s hope, brighter now and less strained around the edges, and Flora lets herself sink back into the magical heat with a pleased little tilt of her chin. "I definitely think I will." Then, glancing at Melita with renewed curiosity, she angles her head again, aqua eyes narrowing just slightly. "Do you have Rescue?" she asks, slipping one hand beneath the water and then sending a wave over the lip of the pool toward one of the ningos. "The one where you can call in other demigods? It's the other ability I have so far."
At Melita's answer, Flora’s expression shifts immediately, the theatrical edge of her face softening into something sharply relieved. "Exactly," she says, the word coming out with more force than she means it to, because there’s something almost embarrassing about how much better it feels to hear Melita say it plainly instead of having to pretend that new magic and divine favour should make everything inside her feel cleanly triumphant. The warning about battle tournaments has her chuckling despite herself, because of course Melita would say it with the kind of shrug that tried to make dying in one sound like an inconvenient bruise. "I for sure won’t," Flora laughs, rolling her eyes at Melita with a look that is entirely affectionate and entirely understanding, as if there is a whole conversation tucked into the space between them about impulse control, bad decisions, and annoying emo wolf-boys with lightning magic.
The grin returns easily enough at Melita’s hope, brighter now and less strained around the edges, and Flora lets herself sink back into the magical heat with a pleased little tilt of her chin. "I definitely think I will." Then, glancing at Melita with renewed curiosity, she angles her head again, aqua eyes narrowing just slightly. "Do you have Rescue?" she asks, slipping one hand beneath the water and then sending a wave over the lip of the pool toward one of the ningos. "The one where you can call in other demigods? It's the other ability I have so far."
The rumors are terrible and cruel
But honey, most of them are true
But honey, most of them are true
