flora
'Well it's no surprise you're so pale, then.' Flora huffs with a chuckle, and had this not been the first time they'd been on speaking terms in months, she might have reached over to pinch his cheek. 'What? Eww.' She grimaces, of trying out sobriety, regardless of what necessitated it. "I tried to make gin like Dad's...but...without using any of the ingredients he normally does. Eucalyptus instead of current, jasmine instead of lavender, honey instead of sugar..." Trailing off as he reveals the canvas, Flora stutter-steps over the cobblestones.
'Oh,' she ohs, and it's hard to tell if this is her way of softening a forthcoming criticism or if it's awkwardness over the thoughtfulness of the gesture. "Well...I mean, if you aren't leaving right away, you could always bring it to my apartment and see if you think it goes with the colours we..." Not as much colour as you might expect, but some, drains from Flora's checks before she sniffs and carries on. "..that I have."
'Oh,' she ohs, and it's hard to tell if this is her way of softening a forthcoming criticism or if it's awkwardness over the thoughtfulness of the gesture. "Well...I mean, if you aren't leaving right away, you could always bring it to my apartment and see if you think it goes with the colours we..." Not as much colour as you might expect, but some, drains from Flora's checks before she sniffs and carries on. "..that I have."
what doesn't kill me makes
me want you more
me want you more
