flora
Flora is not, as a rule, accustomed to people being the bigger person. Or maybe that isn't quite fair. People are capable of kindness, obviously, and sometimes even grace, and Flora has been on the receiving end of both often enough to know what they look like when they arrive without teeth hidden behind them. Still, coming from Colt, standing here with champagne and compliments and a tone that doesn't immediately try to wedge itself beneath Flora's ribs, the whole thing lands somewhere awkwardly between unexpected and inconveniently nice.
"Mmm," Flora hums, her aqua gaze sliding briefly around the bar as if the place itself might help her decide what to do with the compliment. "Well, it took a bit." At the mention of the Hot Take, though, her lips betray her, quirking into a slight, almost helpless smile before she can quite stop them. It doesn't bloom into anything bright, not fully, but it is there, small and real at the corner of her mouth as her fingers settle around the highball glass. "Thanks," she murmurs, softer than the rest of her has been.
She watches Colt pour, eyes tracking the fizzing amber as it climbs inside the glasses, and for just a moment the whole thing threatens to feel normal. Two women at a bar, champagne between them, a rebuilt room waiting for noise and music and the sticky-gloss aftermath of other people’s terrible decisions. As Colt mentions ice, Flora lets one shoulder lift to nudge the pale dragon curled around her throat. "Well," she says, glancing sideways at Spice, "you heard her."
Spice lifts her head at once, all pearly scales and bright, chilly attention, before fluttering down from Flora’s shoulders to the bartop. Her claws click lightly against the polished surface as she steps between the glasses, inspecting them with the solemn importance of someone who has been asked to perform an extremely sacred duty and absolutely not merely chill a drink. Then she opens her mouth and exhales. The icy blast rolls over both glasses in a glittering breath, frost blooming up their sides in delicate white lace before catching along the rims. A few stray crystals scatter across the bar, sharp and pretty as powdered diamonds.
Flora’s mouth twitches again despite herself, but when she looks back to Colt, the smile is already cooling. Because the champagne is thoughtful, and the congratulations are kind, and the fact that Colt can stand here and offer both without immediately defending herself is something Flora has enough sense to recognize, but it doesn’t mean she has to trust it all at once. She curls her fingers around her glass but doesn’t drink yet. Instead, she lifts a brow, the shape of it arch and deliberate, her expression settling back into something bright enough to be pretty and guarded enough to be dangerous.
"Really," Flora says, almost conversationally, "I might have you to thank for my first ability from Safrin." Her aqua eyes raise fully to Colt’s then, holding there with the same polished chill as before, only now there’s something sharper beneath it. Not anger exactly, or not only anger. Hurt, yes. Vindication, definitely. The desire not to be made to feel insane for reacting exactly how she had. "It lets me replay memories of what happened in the past."
With a small wave of her hand, light spills into the air beside them, gathering itself into shape and colour until the empty space of the bar is suddenly overlaid with another scene entirely. The spa appears in soft, warm fragments: the ease of lounging bodies, wine glasses, familiar closeness, Sohalia and Flora tucked comfortably together in the sort of peace that comes only after difficult honesty has finally softened into something survivable. There is no accusation in the beginning of it, no grand setup, no careful trap laid at Colt’s feet. Just Flora and Soh, relaxed enough that the silence between them has become friendly again.
Then Sohalia’s voice, hesitant but clear, carries through the illusion.
“So... about Hak Etme. You should probably know that Colt's trying to poach me from Torchline.”
Flora watches the memory rather than Colt at first, her jaw tightening faintly as the scene continues. Her remembered self laughs at first, bright and immediate, because of course Sohalia isn’t moving to the desert. Of course Colt wouldn’t have done something like that without saying anything to Flora first. The memory shows the disbelief plainly enough, the ease of it, the assumption that they were all friends now and therefore certain things were obvious.
The memory fades before it can become anything more than it needs to be, the spa dissolving back into the empty bar, leaving only frost, champagne, and the newly rebuilt Last Word between them. Flora finally looks back to Colt, brows lifted. "I can even do it for memories I wasn’t there for," she adds, her tone light in the way that means it isn’t light at all. One shoulder rises in a small shrug as her fingers tap once against the side of her chilled glass. "So...y’know. Pretty handy."
"Mmm," Flora hums, her aqua gaze sliding briefly around the bar as if the place itself might help her decide what to do with the compliment. "Well, it took a bit." At the mention of the Hot Take, though, her lips betray her, quirking into a slight, almost helpless smile before she can quite stop them. It doesn't bloom into anything bright, not fully, but it is there, small and real at the corner of her mouth as her fingers settle around the highball glass. "Thanks," she murmurs, softer than the rest of her has been.
She watches Colt pour, eyes tracking the fizzing amber as it climbs inside the glasses, and for just a moment the whole thing threatens to feel normal. Two women at a bar, champagne between them, a rebuilt room waiting for noise and music and the sticky-gloss aftermath of other people’s terrible decisions. As Colt mentions ice, Flora lets one shoulder lift to nudge the pale dragon curled around her throat. "Well," she says, glancing sideways at Spice, "you heard her."
Spice lifts her head at once, all pearly scales and bright, chilly attention, before fluttering down from Flora’s shoulders to the bartop. Her claws click lightly against the polished surface as she steps between the glasses, inspecting them with the solemn importance of someone who has been asked to perform an extremely sacred duty and absolutely not merely chill a drink. Then she opens her mouth and exhales. The icy blast rolls over both glasses in a glittering breath, frost blooming up their sides in delicate white lace before catching along the rims. A few stray crystals scatter across the bar, sharp and pretty as powdered diamonds.
Flora’s mouth twitches again despite herself, but when she looks back to Colt, the smile is already cooling. Because the champagne is thoughtful, and the congratulations are kind, and the fact that Colt can stand here and offer both without immediately defending herself is something Flora has enough sense to recognize, but it doesn’t mean she has to trust it all at once. She curls her fingers around her glass but doesn’t drink yet. Instead, she lifts a brow, the shape of it arch and deliberate, her expression settling back into something bright enough to be pretty and guarded enough to be dangerous.
"Really," Flora says, almost conversationally, "I might have you to thank for my first ability from Safrin." Her aqua eyes raise fully to Colt’s then, holding there with the same polished chill as before, only now there’s something sharper beneath it. Not anger exactly, or not only anger. Hurt, yes. Vindication, definitely. The desire not to be made to feel insane for reacting exactly how she had. "It lets me replay memories of what happened in the past."
With a small wave of her hand, light spills into the air beside them, gathering itself into shape and colour until the empty space of the bar is suddenly overlaid with another scene entirely. The spa appears in soft, warm fragments: the ease of lounging bodies, wine glasses, familiar closeness, Sohalia and Flora tucked comfortably together in the sort of peace that comes only after difficult honesty has finally softened into something survivable. There is no accusation in the beginning of it, no grand setup, no careful trap laid at Colt’s feet. Just Flora and Soh, relaxed enough that the silence between them has become friendly again.
Then Sohalia’s voice, hesitant but clear, carries through the illusion.
“So... about Hak Etme. You should probably know that Colt's trying to poach me from Torchline.”
Flora watches the memory rather than Colt at first, her jaw tightening faintly as the scene continues. Her remembered self laughs at first, bright and immediate, because of course Sohalia isn’t moving to the desert. Of course Colt wouldn’t have done something like that without saying anything to Flora first. The memory shows the disbelief plainly enough, the ease of it, the assumption that they were all friends now and therefore certain things were obvious.
The memory fades before it can become anything more than it needs to be, the spa dissolving back into the empty bar, leaving only frost, champagne, and the newly rebuilt Last Word between them. Flora finally looks back to Colt, brows lifted. "I can even do it for memories I wasn’t there for," she adds, her tone light in the way that means it isn’t light at all. One shoulder rises in a small shrug as her fingers tap once against the side of her chilled glass. "So...y’know. Pretty handy."
My house of stone, your ivy grows
And now I'm covered in you
And now I'm covered in you
