Sweetness, adjective — deliberate, slow-burning. Flora moves like a secret and speaks like temptation wrapped in silk. Mornings smell like vanilla where she walks, but the nights? They belong to the perfume of sin: call her "Eva". You’ll find her somewhere between candlelight and smoke, eyes half-lidded, smile half-truth. She doesn’t promise safety. She doesn’t have to. Just smell the honey... and taste the flower.
(MIKEY MADISON, CIS FEMALE, SHE/HER) In a city where every face has a story, FLORA MIKHAILOV stands out. The TWENTY FIVE-year-old may not make front page headlines, but they’ve got a presence that lingers like smoke in the air. With a reputation for being FLIRTATIOUS, they draw people in, but it’s the JEALOUS you need to watch for. It’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it? A DIRTY civilian on paper, working as a BAKERY OWNER AND STRIPPER, but word is, they’re ALIGNED WITH NOCTURNE. In a city crawling with secrets, you never know who’s really holding the match.
tattoos: small floral design hidden behind left ear.
scars: none.
𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃.
NOT MUCH is known about flora's past before settling in brooklyn when she arrived in new york. lower-middle class — comfortable now, but with a history of instability. from an untrained eye, she’s a normal sugarcoated civilian. it's almost as if she were an aura that made itself present, a divine gift born from the desire to open a bakery and sheer willpower. initially, after a year of hard work doing small, short-term jobs, she managed to realize her dream, opening a shop a few corners from where she lived. from that point on, she was the foreigner with the beautiful smile responsible for delivering fresh pastries with a charming accent. soon,
SOON, the shop became a meeting place for students on the go and forgetful husbands—although it was uncomfortable for some to be served by someone with a velvety voice like that of the young woman who was always behind the counter. in the neighborhood, she was a well-regarded figure, not making enough noise to disturb her neighbors, and always bringing a pie to building meetings. this kindness hid a complex undercurrent.
THE REALITY, behind the smiles, was that the bakery's output didn't pay for itself. she lacked money, and prejudice against her nationality prevented her from finding easy work. and to top it all off, an abusive boyfriend followed her behind the scenes throughout, causing her stress that not even eight batches of cookies could alleviate. luckily for her, right at the end of the year when things got tough, this boyfriend became her ex and left mikhailov's life. it was in this situation that a light shone through, in the form of a repeat customer, an angel made real.
SHE became a mentor, an advisor, so to speak: her muse. this woman was responsible for introducing flora to strip clubs, protected by the nocturnes, who, according to her instructor, would not let evil spirits hurt her again. she trained her and turned her into "eva," the first sin, the dancer who lit up the rooms she walked in. those who knew eva might not associate her with flora's sweet figure, but eva's income seemed to triple that of the bakery. living a double life was complicated, but when no one knows who you are, it's easier to hide your two faces.
𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒.
always sets her oven timer five minutes early and looks her doors twice. it’s not about the pastries — it’s control over what she can control.
flora doesn’t look in the mirror after bad nights. not until her makeup and looks are back on — heels, lipstick, persona.
wears a tiny necklace she never removes. she says it was her mother’s, but no one’s sure if that’s true. it’s the only personal detail she never jokes about.
everytime she'll count her tip, she lights a candle before it.
no drinks after 01am, for a “self-control” reason, and it’s something she never gives up.
while baking, usually hums russian lullabies.
she writes fake postcards to a fake home, each card begins with “i’m okay today.”, but she never sends them. that’s not the point.
all of her perfumes contain vanilla, is her personal scent.
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lately it felt like kenjie has been isolating himself from most people but at least he is finally starting to feel somewhat normal again. like life is just moving around them. which is really the way it should be. kenjie leaves a skate shop needing to get a wheel replaced on his board and turns the corner and slams right into eva. he blinks a bit as he realizes it's the girl from the peach pit. also, she's nocturne, so he better be treating her like one of his members. he wants her to be fully in nocturne. he thinks she has the potential. "shit-- sorry, uh-- eve---?" was it really like adam and eve? that sounded too religious for him. "va---" he adds, correcting himself. "sorry where are my manners," he stands aside and strides next to her. "are you working today? or just running errands?"
the cigarette had just finished, replaced by a cherry candy, which, besides freshening her breath, made the young woman seem cloaked in a sweet, fruity aura. didn't even seem stressed about the argument she'd had on the phone, another stalker. flora cursed mentally with every step she took, adjusting the overcoat she'd been wearing since leaving the club, blocking the world from seeing the short pieces of fabric she'd call "clothes" at that moment, except for the heels that made a slight noise as she walked down the street. her expression was closed, until she felt the other presence as soon her body walkes around the corner. that pink hair was recognizable, and no other name came to mind. "kenjie, you almost got it right that time, sweetie. how are you?" her humorous tone was laden with a velvety quality; she really was eva at that moment, and needed to act like it. "it depends... many reasons. mainly the reason for your question. will you look for me among the other dancers?"
“no i’m levi.” levi says blinking a bit as he comes into the bakery. he hadn’t even ordered yet in all honesty but he does like trying out new bakeries in the nyc area whenever he could. this one seemed like one he hasn’t come across in a while and the line out of it was insane today. so he patiently waited, reading the newspaper in line (yes an actual newspaper). though the girl behind the counter looked oddly familiar to him as his blue eyes peered at her. “flora?” he asks realizing it was the girl he ran into the bar a while ago. It didn’t go anywhere mostly because levi wasn’t looking for anything. “is this your bakery?”
"okay, levi, sorry! this freddy guy has been messing with me since morning…" she laughed, her eyes focused on keeping the other orders out of her field of vision, trying to improve her service even more. it took her brain a while to associate the name, and after a few hours of work, all the names seemed the same, depending on the number of people entering the store. so, when she looked up, a slight confused expression took over as he seemed to recognize her: fortunately, as flora. but little by little she recognized him. it wasn't that difficult; levi's voice carried a presence, the same one that had made her talk to him at the bar in the first place. she gave him a slightly wider smile when she recognized him. "well, i didn't expect to see you again. yes, i'm the owner, waitress, cleaning lady…" she gestured with a pen between her fingers as she explained, as smoothly and playfully as she could, just to capture his attention. finally, she kept her gaze on the light-eyed boy, concluding. "and i'm the person who will be serving you today. what can i do for you?"
Giselle had a knack for skipping out of the office under the guise of going to get food or snacks for everyone else, and today was no different. The only downside was that she hadn't considered there being a rush right now, but she'd somehow forced herself to stay patient until she was finally reaching the front of the counter. But as the overworked brunette turned her attention to her and spoke, she instantly quirked a brow. "Uh, no, not Freddy." She pointed out, though she was sure it was obvious and the woman was just swamped and not thinking clearly. Sure enough, she sorted it out and asked what she wanted, and Gigi have her a small smile. "You seem like you could use a break, so I'll just take whatever pastry you have that doesn't have raisins or blueberries in it." She answered. "Oh, and a black coffee, if it's not too much trouble for you."
the nod seemed to bring flora's mind back into focus. it was obvious it wasn't freddy, but her busy mind let it slip, and she tried to soften it with a soft laugh at the customer. luckily, the woman in front of her seemed like a nice person, or at least patient. of all the possible reactions, she managed the best. "no raisins or blueberries… very good taste. i find raisins strange, but who am i to judge." as she typed, her lips whispering what she'd written in a thick accent, she pondered the items on display. there were many options, which Giselle might like, so she sought to glean more information from the conversation. she couldn't help but try to read people as they spoke, something her past had allowed her to do, even in the most relaxed situations. "it's no trouble, darling. sweets with coffee is a match made in heaven. with or without sugar and milk? and whose name should i put?"
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he always told himself he'd learn from his mistakes, but henry knew damn well that he wasn't going to be doing anything like that. he'd continue to indulge in bad habits and face the consequences for doing so. he was not willing to give up his vices just because he experienced temporary regret in the morning. henry didn't know why he hadn't been anticipating the question. it was a normal one to ask when getting coffee, but he found himself temporarily forgetting how he had it in the first place. “ with milk is fine, ” he answered after a moment. “ i think i'll stick with just the coffee for now and see how i handle that. eating is the last thing i want to do right about now. ” he didn't even want to be awake and trying to function, really. unfortunately, duty called and he couldn't ignore it.
"was it a rough night?" she used her gaze to create a sense of comfort for the young man, indicating that he could sit at the counter in front of her with a wave of her hand. it was better than him standing at the register all that time. flora began pouring the coffee, with milk, into a cup that looked hand-painted with blue paint. it looked homemade and welcomed the warmth of the coffee when held, a perfect product for reviving a hangover. "i think you'll need more than one of these if you're as bad as you look." her tone wasn't rude, but direct, indeed. it was her way of expressing herself with the language, not everyone's cup of tea, and even more difficult to understand for someone who didn't understand her russian accent. the brunette carried the cup to the table in front of him, setting it down carefully to ensure nothing spilled. "whose name should i write the order under?"
status: closed for @florainlace
location: flora's bakery
the bakery was nearly dark, lights dimmed to a soft glow, the hum of the refrigerator the only sound besides flora’s slow movements behind the counter. it was closing time. ritual time. and irina’s shoulders dropped half an inch the moment the door clicked shut behind her. everything about this was second nature now, from the stool at the end of the counter to the cooling pączki waiting there. it reminded her of home. but not the sharp-edged version. this was the version she had always secretly wanted. "привет," she greeted her friend with warmth, though a tirade was brewing at the edge of her tongue. "it's literally disgustingly hot out. and i think the subway is fucking flooded. greatest city on earth, am i right?" a pause. she inhaled, stepped in further. “как дел? did anything scandalous happen without me?”
they had just come out of the oven, the last batch, a special one. since irina arrived in her life, the moment of closing had become a relief, more than a burden. she was a reminder of home, without having to stress about the negative, a blond relief with a familiar expression. they had gotten along well, and that made her happy. irina's favorite hot drink was waiting with her, prepared in advance for them to share. flora wanted to feel helpful when they had these get-togethers. the smile that spread across her previously focused face was real when the arrival bell rang, turning around as she removed her apron, to appear less… hardworking. "do you dare take that subway? i think you need to lay off the vodka…" a laugh slipped from her lips, as the plate for her friend was finished being set out. a collection of perfectly baked russian pastries. "unless you count the two elderly people who fight every day at three in the afternoon for the tv remote, i have nothing useless. i was waiting for you to tell me something!"
he was hungover. he'd foolishly drank far too much the night before, and he was on the hunt for caffeine. bakeries sometimes provided it, right ? he needed something to aid him in waking up, even if he was sure water was probably the more responsible beverage. he blinked in confusion at her query, head shaking ever so slightly. he was already regretting his decision to step into an establishment he had yet to enter before. mint cakes ? that sounded horribly unappealing. like biting into toothpaste. what kind of taste did that guy have ? henry remembered he wasn't there to criticize other people's tastebuds, which prompted him to finally open his mouth to speak. “ uh, yeah … do you sell just coffee here ? ”
the way the young man in front of her was slumped with a hangover couldn't be translated into flora's limited vocabulary. it was as if, at the end of his night, the drink had poured him into a shot glass and chugged it. funny. at his question, a voice that confirmed her suspicions, she couldn't help but let out a tight smile, which she tried to hide with a shake of her head. "we have coffee, dear. do you want just coffee with sugar, just coffee without sugar, or just coffee with milk? from what i know, i think you'd do well to buy a slice of cake. it'll cure your hangover, i promise." she whispered to him the last part, as if it were a secret between them, as she glided her pen over the paper, writing his request in her native tongue, during henry response.
open starter, feel free! @rotsstarters
location: flora's bakery, brooklyn.
it was unusual to have so many people in the bakery on a normal day, but around a holiday like that, all the forgetful ones seemed to flock to the establishment. as a result, her pies never even cooled, going straight to the delivery box. between hurried deliveries and customers wanting coffee with their donuts, flora found herself on automatic. perhaps that's why, when she looked at the figure in front of her, she was uncertain, but still asked. "are you freddy, who wanted the mint cakes? they're not ready back there yet, it might take a while…" she pointed to the hidden oven, a futile demonstration, accompanied by a smile, an awkward charm. "no, right? what can i get you, darling?"
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Open Starter
Location: Outside a restaurant on the patio @rotsstarters
Eylin enjoyed the outdoors more than most realized. The sunlight, the open air—it gave her a moment to breathe without the constant hum of pressure behind her eyes. Reclined slightly in her chair, margarita in hand, she took in the ease of the day. Light bites, soft chatter, and no flashing lights or high-stakes demands for once. Despite nearly losing a team member, the mask still had to stay on. That was the game.
Her gaze shifted toward someone nearby, a subtle tilt of her head as she offered, cool and composed, “Beautiful day, wouldn’t you agree?”
flora liked to enjoy the moments when she could be herself, peaceful within her body and oblivious to worries. it was a shame that worries seemed to follow her even when she decided to rest. her secondary cell phone kept ringing that afternoon, a negative sign for her night work—but it was time for flora, eva, to wait for her lunch to arrive. that is, if she could even get in. her arms crossed, a little confused by the restaurant's dynamics. perhaps that's why she had to relax her frown when she heard the voice calling her; she didn't want to seem irritated to anyone.
"yes, it's a nice, beautiful place. but i'm lost. what type of restaurant is this, ma'am?" her tone was calm despite the russian's harshness, though her eyes seemed to be judging the building. as she turned her attention to someone else, she tried not to make it obvious that she was observing the woman in front of her, while her mind raced. had she seen her before?
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FOLLOWING THE FIRE, OXANA is even more on edge than normal -- which is saying something. and yet, this is certainly far from the right time to be, especially in the wake of their president's death. or as she would say, отбросы земли. the scumb of the earth. there had once been a time when she had respected him, but, as she had learned -- it was clear he hadn't respected her. for now, she'd pretend like she was grieving. that she hadn't been burned, blindsided when she had least expected it. she owned the place now, those files would be nothing more than kindling. none of them would see the light of day.
" hm? " she grunts as she hears a knock at the door, returning to the real world. " nobody better be breaking shit out there, i swear to f -- " she pauses after a moment, taking a deep breath as she watches the door open. this very well could just be like any other conversation. and yet, she's inclined to believe it's anything but. " my apologies, where are my social graces? " she questions, motioning for the individual to enter. " come in, come in. "
it wasn't like flora to be near a club so early. in fact, it was even a little strange, stepping foot in that place before nightfall—even so close to it. her instructor had suggested a job at that establishment, so arriving looking good was a certainty she'd made to meet who, the lady herself said, was "the big boss." the description made flora judge every choice she made, the color of her lipstick, the speed with which she crossed her leg: after all, no one wants to offend such a powerful figure with a threatening bearing, especially in her own territory. directed by the receptionist, she took her last step to the door, ending with three soft taps on the wood.
she couldn't hide her expression—confused? frightened? offended? anyone would have had a hard time telling when scanning mikhailov's dark eyes. she waited for the other to calm down, complying with her instructions punctually. "excuse me…", the russian accent was more present than the spoken english itself, she herself doing her best to sound "understandable." after crossing her legs, she continued her conversation, "i would like to see about the possibility of dancing at your club this weekend. my approach is unusual, but it is honest, ma'am."
