EVIE
His laughter softens her, taming the lick of fire from the ever-simmering coals inside that yearn to have her prove herself, to surprise and overcome. With him they are more juvenile urges, but Evie has never outgrown looking at a cliff and rolling up her sleeves to find a way to climb it. Even though she is quite aware Deimos would crush her in just about every arena, it did nothing to stop the bratty insolence inside from urging her to try. Still, she ignores him pointedly, forcing her gaze down to their ingredients even as her lips stretch in a grin.
“And I thought my life was fit for novels, yours doesn’t even sound real,” she chuckles helplessly, because how else is she supposed to react? He doesn’t seem real sometimes too, heroic and dauntless and unbendable as he is. Evie is privileged to see beneath that veneer to this, below; the blue shock of his eyes going wide, the trail of egg white down his hair and to his forehead, the cute wrinkle in the bridge of his nose. Evie holds her breath until her cheeks go pink, because it’s the only defense she has against the laughter that boils in her chest. She’s no actress, though, and even her enforced silence can’t conceal the tremble of her shoulders and the sparkle of mirth in her eyes. Only once he admits to deserving it does she begin to laugh - which means it’s short lived, because she shrieks know surprise a moment later when her weapon of choice is suddenly lifted seamlessly off his head and turned into a projectile aimed for her own.
Ducking sideways does little to save her, in fact it makes it inarguably worse as the egg smears across her cheek and the top of her ear before catching in her hair. “No!” is yelped belatedly, a denial that has no worth. The bowl only needs the flour added by portions, and so she abandons it to thrust her hands into the flour near him before lunging towards him, forsaking all magic for the chance to smear her hands over his neck and chest to coat him in the flour, laughing all the while.
“And I thought my life was fit for novels, yours doesn’t even sound real,” she chuckles helplessly, because how else is she supposed to react? He doesn’t seem real sometimes too, heroic and dauntless and unbendable as he is. Evie is privileged to see beneath that veneer to this, below; the blue shock of his eyes going wide, the trail of egg white down his hair and to his forehead, the cute wrinkle in the bridge of his nose. Evie holds her breath until her cheeks go pink, because it’s the only defense she has against the laughter that boils in her chest. She’s no actress, though, and even her enforced silence can’t conceal the tremble of her shoulders and the sparkle of mirth in her eyes. Only once he admits to deserving it does she begin to laugh - which means it’s short lived, because she shrieks know surprise a moment later when her weapon of choice is suddenly lifted seamlessly off his head and turned into a projectile aimed for her own.
Ducking sideways does little to save her, in fact it makes it inarguably worse as the egg smears across her cheek and the top of her ear before catching in her hair. “No!” is yelped belatedly, a denial that has no worth. The bowl only needs the flour added by portions, and so she abandons it to thrust her hands into the flour near him before lunging towards him, forsaking all magic for the chance to smear her hands over his neck and chest to coat him in the flour, laughing all the while.
Don't look up, just let them think
There's no place else you'd rather be
There's no place else you'd rather be
