flora
Flora snickers into her glass, the sound affectionate but entirely disbelieving as she narrows her eyes over the rim. "Mhm." For all the teasing, there is no old hurt tucked beneath it now, no sharp little thorn waiting for one careless touch. At the time, it had stung badly enough that kicking the pair out of her bar had seemed like the least dramatic option available to her, which, frankly, had taken heroic restraint, but the shape of things has changed with time and distance and the absurdly inconvenient fact that sometimes people really do fall in love messily around the edges of someone else’s feelings. Now there is only fondness, bright and sincere and a little smug, because whatever else that night had been, it had led both Asta and Danta exactly where they were supposed to go, and Flora has ended up with Kai besides.
Spice, meanwhile, does not appear even remotely bothered by Sicarius’s horrific little squeals, though Flora visibly winces. When the bone dragonling bumps her nose into Spice’s wing and bolts away, Spice lifts her head with the solemn importance of a creature who has been gravely challenged, then very slowly and very labouriously rolls herself upright before launching after Sicarius in swooping, frosty arcs. To any casual observer, it might look as though she is trying very hard and simply missing by inches; to Flora, who knows Spice far too well, it is obvious the little white dragon is making herself look more dramatic than dangerous, giving the younger creature plenty of room to clatter and evade while pretending the chase requires her full and noble effort.
Leaning more comfortably against the bar, Flora props her chin delicately on her fingers and widens her eyes in a pantomime of theatrical listening, her brows lifting with exaggerated sympathy as soon as Asta mentions Dygra summoning him in the middle of the night. "In the Climb?" she repeats, wrinkling her nose for effect. As he explains, though, her expression turns more attentive, the playfulness still there but softened around the edges by genuine fascination. "Danta mentioned to me once that she isn’t often seen," Flora says quickly, careful not to pull too much space away from his story, before her grin returns with immediate appreciation. The Hot Take could of course, appreciate a goddess who was beautiful, terrifying, impossible to ignore, and absolutely not interested in being convenient.
Her mouth drops open a touch comically at the mention of Dygra possibly requiring a Butcher, and she accepts the fresh mimosa with an appreciative little wrinkle of her nose so she does not have to interrupt him. The effect lasts only until he mentions falling asleep, at which point Flora’s laugh breaks bright and helpless across the bar. "She slapped you?" Flora echoes, feigning a grimace that is entirely ruined by the delighted sparkle in her eyes. "Okay, I’m sorry, but that is awful and also incredible." And she was fairly certain he'd liked it.
The amusement lingers as he continues, though it dims into something more curious at the mention of the bite, of losing shifts and magics, of being remade by something both violent and divine. Biting and being bitten in return is, truthfully, the one part of being Ancient that has never appealed to Flora. Her gaze traces the branded kiss on his cheek anew, studying it with less mischief this time and more thoughtfulness. "I guess I’m lucky because I didn’t really have much to take," she says with a small shrug. "But does it feel emptier for you? Or do you feel like what she gave you filled in the cracks of what was taken?"
Then the green flame blooms in his palm, and whatever sincere, careful consideration had been gathering in her expression is instantly overtaken by dramatic delight. "Shut up," Flora gasps, leaning forward so quickly that her curls spill over one shoulder. "That’s so cool." She holds out one hand toward the ghoulish light just near enough to feel the heat radiating from it, her aqua eyes reflecting the eerie green flicker as her smile spreads. There is something terribly fitting about it, she thinks, the way the flame looks less like ordinary fire now and more like something hauled up from a deeper, older place, bright in a way that does not bother pretending it is safe.
With a sigh of her own, Flora draws her hand back and curls it around her glass. "I know what you mean, though. I was talking to Melita about it, and apparently it’s a thing when you become a new demigod where you’re stronger in some ways but way weaker in others." She shakes her head, struggling for a second to find language that does not flatten the strangeness of it, because the sensation is not exactly loss and not exactly growth, either. Her mouth twists into a crooked grin as she looks back at him, warmth and mischief returning in equal measure. "But if you ever want a new-demigod training buddy where no one has to see how weirdly weak we’ve become, I’m your girl."
Taking a sip of the fresh mimosa, Flora hums her pleasure immediately. When she lowers the glass again, her eyes are bright over the rim, curiosity already sharpening into gossip’s more elegant cousin. "Soooooo, what did Danta think?"
Spice, meanwhile, does not appear even remotely bothered by Sicarius’s horrific little squeals, though Flora visibly winces. When the bone dragonling bumps her nose into Spice’s wing and bolts away, Spice lifts her head with the solemn importance of a creature who has been gravely challenged, then very slowly and very labouriously rolls herself upright before launching after Sicarius in swooping, frosty arcs. To any casual observer, it might look as though she is trying very hard and simply missing by inches; to Flora, who knows Spice far too well, it is obvious the little white dragon is making herself look more dramatic than dangerous, giving the younger creature plenty of room to clatter and evade while pretending the chase requires her full and noble effort.
Leaning more comfortably against the bar, Flora props her chin delicately on her fingers and widens her eyes in a pantomime of theatrical listening, her brows lifting with exaggerated sympathy as soon as Asta mentions Dygra summoning him in the middle of the night. "In the Climb?" she repeats, wrinkling her nose for effect. As he explains, though, her expression turns more attentive, the playfulness still there but softened around the edges by genuine fascination. "Danta mentioned to me once that she isn’t often seen," Flora says quickly, careful not to pull too much space away from his story, before her grin returns with immediate appreciation. The Hot Take could of course, appreciate a goddess who was beautiful, terrifying, impossible to ignore, and absolutely not interested in being convenient.
Her mouth drops open a touch comically at the mention of Dygra possibly requiring a Butcher, and she accepts the fresh mimosa with an appreciative little wrinkle of her nose so she does not have to interrupt him. The effect lasts only until he mentions falling asleep, at which point Flora’s laugh breaks bright and helpless across the bar. "She slapped you?" Flora echoes, feigning a grimace that is entirely ruined by the delighted sparkle in her eyes. "Okay, I’m sorry, but that is awful and also incredible." And she was fairly certain he'd liked it.
The amusement lingers as he continues, though it dims into something more curious at the mention of the bite, of losing shifts and magics, of being remade by something both violent and divine. Biting and being bitten in return is, truthfully, the one part of being Ancient that has never appealed to Flora. Her gaze traces the branded kiss on his cheek anew, studying it with less mischief this time and more thoughtfulness. "I guess I’m lucky because I didn’t really have much to take," she says with a small shrug. "But does it feel emptier for you? Or do you feel like what she gave you filled in the cracks of what was taken?"
Then the green flame blooms in his palm, and whatever sincere, careful consideration had been gathering in her expression is instantly overtaken by dramatic delight. "Shut up," Flora gasps, leaning forward so quickly that her curls spill over one shoulder. "That’s so cool." She holds out one hand toward the ghoulish light just near enough to feel the heat radiating from it, her aqua eyes reflecting the eerie green flicker as her smile spreads. There is something terribly fitting about it, she thinks, the way the flame looks less like ordinary fire now and more like something hauled up from a deeper, older place, bright in a way that does not bother pretending it is safe.
With a sigh of her own, Flora draws her hand back and curls it around her glass. "I know what you mean, though. I was talking to Melita about it, and apparently it’s a thing when you become a new demigod where you’re stronger in some ways but way weaker in others." She shakes her head, struggling for a second to find language that does not flatten the strangeness of it, because the sensation is not exactly loss and not exactly growth, either. Her mouth twists into a crooked grin as she looks back at him, warmth and mischief returning in equal measure. "But if you ever want a new-demigod training buddy where no one has to see how weirdly weak we’ve become, I’m your girl."
Taking a sip of the fresh mimosa, Flora hums her pleasure immediately. When she lowers the glass again, her eyes are bright over the rim, curiosity already sharpening into gossip’s more elegant cousin. "Soooooo, what did Danta think?"
I hope you're wetting your appetite, finding your way into someone's eyes
I hope you're dreaming in black and white, and seeing in colour
I hope you're dreaming in black and white, and seeing in colour
