never be so kind you forget to be clever
Flora snorts a laugh under her breath, glancing sidelong at Spice as though this betrayal is somehow the dragon’s fault. "Yeah, well, some of us don’t have wings." Spice promptly rises on her crate and fans hers wide, stretching them until the white membranes catch the sunlight in a pearly shimmer. The display is far too deliberate to be anything but mockery, and Flora rolls her eyes as she turns back toward Finch. "Yet," she mutters beneath her breath, because there’s no sense letting Spice become too comfortable with the advantage.
At Finch's question, her attention shifts over the course, following the ropes and barriers she’s already disturbed on her way through. "Well, there are lots of ways through, especially if you take things slow." Flora lifts one shoulder as though the route is largely a matter of personal taste, but then her brows waggle and amusement brightens her expression. "Buuutttt you aren’t supposed to take it slow."
One of the feather daggers slips into her hand, and she tosses it lazily into the air. It turns once above her palm, pale and gleaming, before dropping neatly back into her grasp. "Usually I have someone giving me a little extra motivation to go fast," she adds, the emphasis landing with all the subtlety of the blade in her hand.
Her gaze travels over Finch then, taking in his height, the loose economy of the way he moves, and the fact that he’d been examining the ropes rather than merely admiring the targets. Flora arches one brow, the corner of her mouth pulling higher as the dagger rolls once between her fingers. "Wanna give it a go?"
At Finch's question, her attention shifts over the course, following the ropes and barriers she’s already disturbed on her way through. "Well, there are lots of ways through, especially if you take things slow." Flora lifts one shoulder as though the route is largely a matter of personal taste, but then her brows waggle and amusement brightens her expression. "Buuutttt you aren’t supposed to take it slow."
One of the feather daggers slips into her hand, and she tosses it lazily into the air. It turns once above her palm, pale and gleaming, before dropping neatly back into her grasp. "Usually I have someone giving me a little extra motivation to go fast," she adds, the emphasis landing with all the subtlety of the blade in her hand.
Her gaze travels over Finch then, taking in his height, the loose economy of the way he moves, and the fact that he’d been examining the ropes rather than merely admiring the targets. Flora arches one brow, the corner of her mouth pulling higher as the dagger rolls once between her fingers. "Wanna give it a go?"
