I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings
Flora makes an incredulous sound in the back of her throat, turning a look on Kaisel that makes it quite clear she cannot believe he thinks she has stripped off her shirt for any reason other than the entirely practical one of having been thrown into a pool twice, with the added bonus of it then being used as a weapon.
His quiet observation only makes her smile slowly, the expression sharpening as though he has finally recognized the severity of the situation. Flora leans into it at once, every inch the wicked queen whose enemy has made the grave mistake of surviving long enough to mock her. It does not matter that the enemy in question is her husband, damp-haired and armed with an inflatable tumsea; the set of her shoulders and the cool, patient look in her eyes suggest something far more personal than a few trips into the pool. "Oh, I love you too, babe," she whispers threateningly, as if he has razed her kingdom, stolen her birthright, and then had the nerve to laugh while doing it, the words somehow sounding like an indictment of his doom rather than a declaration of love.
Turning toward him properly, she lets the wet shirt fall loose from her fist and speaks with the calm politeness of an executioner granting someone the courtesy of a final choice. "Do you think you’ll slide better if you’re cold like the floor, or if you’re covered in something slippery?" Nearby, Spice exhales a soft plume of frost, the little dragon committing herself fully to the performance as if she is the loyal henchman prepared to ice him down on command.
Flora’s gaze never leaves Kaisel’s face as she reaches into one of the cupboards beside her, fingers closing around a squat glass jar. When she brings it out, the bright red of strawberry jam catches through the kitchen light, and her smile turns almost sweet again as she holds it up between them. "You can pick," she says.
His quiet observation only makes her smile slowly, the expression sharpening as though he has finally recognized the severity of the situation. Flora leans into it at once, every inch the wicked queen whose enemy has made the grave mistake of surviving long enough to mock her. It does not matter that the enemy in question is her husband, damp-haired and armed with an inflatable tumsea; the set of her shoulders and the cool, patient look in her eyes suggest something far more personal than a few trips into the pool. "Oh, I love you too, babe," she whispers threateningly, as if he has razed her kingdom, stolen her birthright, and then had the nerve to laugh while doing it, the words somehow sounding like an indictment of his doom rather than a declaration of love.
Turning toward him properly, she lets the wet shirt fall loose from her fist and speaks with the calm politeness of an executioner granting someone the courtesy of a final choice. "Do you think you’ll slide better if you’re cold like the floor, or if you’re covered in something slippery?" Nearby, Spice exhales a soft plume of frost, the little dragon committing herself fully to the performance as if she is the loyal henchman prepared to ice him down on command.
Flora’s gaze never leaves Kaisel’s face as she reaches into one of the cupboards beside her, fingers closing around a squat glass jar. When she brings it out, the bright red of strawberry jam catches through the kitchen light, and her smile turns almost sweet again as she holds it up between them. "You can pick," she says.
and I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this
