Flora
Flora wrinkles her nose the instant he starts talking about her nipples pebbling up, her whole expression folding into exaggerated disgust as though he has just introduced the worst possible texture into an already deranged conversation. Worse than girth, honestly. "Ewwwwuh." The sound drags out of her dramatically, one hand lifting as if to physically ward the words away. "You’ve been reading too many of Mateo’s smut books."
The song saves her from whatever further crimes against imagery he might commit, and once Kaisel starts chasing after the words, Flora’s laughter only brightens. It slips between the lyrics and around them, turning the whole thing less into a performance than a shared disaster neither of them has any interest in surviving gracefully. Every time he mangles a line or catches up by pure sound rather than sense, she nearly loses the song completely, only to drag it back by force and make it even faster out of spite.
By the time he reaches for her, the campsite is all glowstone shine, half-gathered firewood, and nonsense ricocheting through the Undergrove. Flora lets herself be pulled into his absurd little dance without even trying to resist, throwing herself against him with her arms tangling around his shoulders. She’s laughing too hard to make the last of the words behave, her voice breaking around them until the song collapses entirely beneath the weight of their breathless, ridiculous joy.
When it finally ends, she releases him only enough to look up at him, still grinning so hard her cheeks ache. "That is called the Rattlin’ Bog." She gives the title the dignity of a formal introduction despite the way her laughter keeps threatening to ruin it. A few curls have escaped her ponytail during all of it, and Flora uses her fingers to push them back from her face, still flushed with amusement as she looks at him. Her eyes brighten with the same expectant challenge she’d turned on him for campsite selection, as if all of this is part of the same very official test. "Okay," she says, smile sharpening. "You’re up, hot shot."
The song saves her from whatever further crimes against imagery he might commit, and once Kaisel starts chasing after the words, Flora’s laughter only brightens. It slips between the lyrics and around them, turning the whole thing less into a performance than a shared disaster neither of them has any interest in surviving gracefully. Every time he mangles a line or catches up by pure sound rather than sense, she nearly loses the song completely, only to drag it back by force and make it even faster out of spite.
By the time he reaches for her, the campsite is all glowstone shine, half-gathered firewood, and nonsense ricocheting through the Undergrove. Flora lets herself be pulled into his absurd little dance without even trying to resist, throwing herself against him with her arms tangling around his shoulders. She’s laughing too hard to make the last of the words behave, her voice breaking around them until the song collapses entirely beneath the weight of their breathless, ridiculous joy.
When it finally ends, she releases him only enough to look up at him, still grinning so hard her cheeks ache. "That is called the Rattlin’ Bog." She gives the title the dignity of a formal introduction despite the way her laughter keeps threatening to ruin it. A few curls have escaped her ponytail during all of it, and Flora uses her fingers to push them back from her face, still flushed with amusement as she looks at him. Her eyes brighten with the same expectant challenge she’d turned on him for campsite selection, as if all of this is part of the same very official test. "Okay," she says, smile sharpening. "You’re up, hot shot."
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
