flora
Flora tilts her head slowly to one side as the shape of what Asta is saying rearranges itself in her mind, all those strange flashes from the Peepholes taking on an even more ominous little shine now that Dygra herself has apparently decided the matter might require a Butcher. "So wait," she says, her brows drawing together as she tries to sift through the jungle glow, the sleepiness, the wrongness, all of it refusing to sit neatly inside any single explanation. "All that weird shit in the jungle was..." Flora frowns, fingers tightening thoughtfully around her mimosa before she finally lands on the only word broad enough to survive the sentence. "A thing?"
Her expression shifts as he speaks of everything he has lost, the shifts and magics peeled away to make room for whatever Dygra has pressed into him instead, and for a moment Flora’s eyes remain on his face with genuine understanding brightening beneath the mischief. She knows, at least in some small and newly intimate way, the oddness of being made more and less in the same divine breath, of feeling power arrive with one hand and consequence with the other. "Gods, I can’t wait to see what you’ll be able to do now, though," she says, the words bright with anticipation as her gaze flicks over him, taking in the kiss-scar, the lethal elegance of him, the new danger threaded through old charm.
As Asta leans in, all tall, dark, handsome and now significantly more lethal than he's ever been, Flora beams adoringly up at him, her own expression sparkling back at his shadowed grin. "It’s a date," she says, with a wink and a warm spill of laughter.
As the Butcher continues, Flora is not terribly surprised to hear how excited Danta had been. Kaisel had been the same, after all, all bright-eyed devotion and immediate action. "Pfft," she snorts under her breath, unable to help herself as Asta explains Danta’s reaction. "Like he wasn’t already," she snickers, of Danta worshipping him.
"Kai's reaction was..." Flora begins, and immediately her entire face changes. The grin that takes her is helpless and utterly twitterpated, softening her mouth and rounding her lips around a breath she has not yet figured out how to turn into words. For a second she can only look down into her mimosa and when she looks back up at Asta her smile has run away with itself completely. "He was so happy for me," she says, and even that sounds too small for the way the memory lights her from the inside. "Which in hindsight was amazing, because my parents were real assholes about it." Her fingers curl against the glass, and she laughs at herself, breathless with it. "The first thing he did was run upstairs and channel me so we could both see what it was like."
Her expression shifts as he speaks of everything he has lost, the shifts and magics peeled away to make room for whatever Dygra has pressed into him instead, and for a moment Flora’s eyes remain on his face with genuine understanding brightening beneath the mischief. She knows, at least in some small and newly intimate way, the oddness of being made more and less in the same divine breath, of feeling power arrive with one hand and consequence with the other. "Gods, I can’t wait to see what you’ll be able to do now, though," she says, the words bright with anticipation as her gaze flicks over him, taking in the kiss-scar, the lethal elegance of him, the new danger threaded through old charm.
As Asta leans in, all tall, dark, handsome and now significantly more lethal than he's ever been, Flora beams adoringly up at him, her own expression sparkling back at his shadowed grin. "It’s a date," she says, with a wink and a warm spill of laughter.
As the Butcher continues, Flora is not terribly surprised to hear how excited Danta had been. Kaisel had been the same, after all, all bright-eyed devotion and immediate action. "Pfft," she snorts under her breath, unable to help herself as Asta explains Danta’s reaction. "Like he wasn’t already," she snickers, of Danta worshipping him.
"Kai's reaction was..." Flora begins, and immediately her entire face changes. The grin that takes her is helpless and utterly twitterpated, softening her mouth and rounding her lips around a breath she has not yet figured out how to turn into words. For a second she can only look down into her mimosa and when she looks back up at Asta her smile has run away with itself completely. "He was so happy for me," she says, and even that sounds too small for the way the memory lights her from the inside. "Which in hindsight was amazing, because my parents were real assholes about it." Her fingers curl against the glass, and she laughs at herself, breathless with it. "The first thing he did was run upstairs and channel me so we could both see what it was like."
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
