Flora
Flora’s brows rise with the slow satisfaction of someone watching a suspect reveal exactly where the bodies are buried. The sudden shift in his priorities, the searching fingers, the careful suspicion narrowed in her direction, all of it confirms the charge she’d only just finished inventing. "Uh huh. Just as I thought." Her mouth presses into a solemn line that does absolutely nothing to hide how pleased she is with herself. "No s’mores, no camping husband. Good to know."
It is hardly a discovery that wounds her, not with the ring on her finger and the sparkly orange hair tie still looped around her wrist like a private punchline only the two of them are allowed to make precious. She knows exactly where she stands, which is why needling him about it is so fun. Even before they’d been dating, teasing Kaisel with her body like this had been one of her most cherished pastimes, and marriage has only made it worse in the way a bonfire gets worse when someone decides to throw more wood on it. Watching his attention catch exactly where she wants it to, seeing his eyes drink in the line of her crossed arms and the stretch of bare skin above her cargo pants, makes triumph bloom bright and wicked through her.
His teeth click around nothing but air, and Flora’s grin sharpens. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d been given something useful to do in the Oerwoud only to offload the work onto spirits so they could make much better use of their time, but the tent lies limp between them and the campsite is still very much not a campsite yet. Waiting until it’s set up is probably prudent. Annoyingly responsible, but prudent.
At least the glowstones offer a new, safer distraction, and her eyebrows lift at the idea as she glances from the scattered shine of them back to him. "Oh, are we now? And how will that work?" Her interest is genuine, even if the curve of her smile makes it clear that she’s still holding the whole jellybean-sized crime in reserve for later.
For now, she turns her attention to the pole in her hands, letting her fingers slide along it with the kind of unhurried familiarity that makes the tent between them feel abruptly much less like the point. "Oh the tip is sensitive, mm?" Her grip shifts with exaggerated care, thumb brushing near the end as she looks up at him from beneath raised brows, all wide-eyed innocence laid over a trap with teeth. "Any other tips you think I should know?" The question hangs there sweetly, daring him to suggest there’s anything about her hands, her mouth, or what she already knows how to do with him that could possibly need improvement when it comes to pitching a tent.
It is hardly a discovery that wounds her, not with the ring on her finger and the sparkly orange hair tie still looped around her wrist like a private punchline only the two of them are allowed to make precious. She knows exactly where she stands, which is why needling him about it is so fun. Even before they’d been dating, teasing Kaisel with her body like this had been one of her most cherished pastimes, and marriage has only made it worse in the way a bonfire gets worse when someone decides to throw more wood on it. Watching his attention catch exactly where she wants it to, seeing his eyes drink in the line of her crossed arms and the stretch of bare skin above her cargo pants, makes triumph bloom bright and wicked through her.
His teeth click around nothing but air, and Flora’s grin sharpens. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d been given something useful to do in the Oerwoud only to offload the work onto spirits so they could make much better use of their time, but the tent lies limp between them and the campsite is still very much not a campsite yet. Waiting until it’s set up is probably prudent. Annoyingly responsible, but prudent.
At least the glowstones offer a new, safer distraction, and her eyebrows lift at the idea as she glances from the scattered shine of them back to him. "Oh, are we now? And how will that work?" Her interest is genuine, even if the curve of her smile makes it clear that she’s still holding the whole jellybean-sized crime in reserve for later.
For now, she turns her attention to the pole in her hands, letting her fingers slide along it with the kind of unhurried familiarity that makes the tent between them feel abruptly much less like the point. "Oh the tip is sensitive, mm?" Her grip shifts with exaggerated care, thumb brushing near the end as she looks up at him from beneath raised brows, all wide-eyed innocence laid over a trap with teeth. "Any other tips you think I should know?" The question hangs there sweetly, daring him to suggest there’s anything about her hands, her mouth, or what she already knows how to do with him that could possibly need improvement when it comes to pitching a tent.
Fatefully, I tried to pick my battles 'til the battle picked me
Misery, Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep
Misery, Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep
Code stolen from Queen Sky
