#bledflorals

@bledflorals sent : “Could I make you a flower crown?” Unprompted

A FLOWER CROWN IS A CURIOUS THING - in wonderland , it would be dangerous. blooming scarlet petals , some poisoned , some safe. he'd never seen much cause for the risk. everything beautiful in that place , was deadly. HERE HOWEVER , things are vastly different.

“ Rarely do I find reason to. “ Armand answered her simply, not going into any detail. He didn’t have to. Behind those amber eyes held tragedies even other vampires couldn’t fathom. His life had been full of it. Marius, Lestat, Louis.. and now there was Daniel to be concerned about.

“ Little one, why do you linger? “

(@bledflorals)

Well, she's certainly surprised, there's no denying that.

Claudia spun around on her heel mid-stride, eyes a little bit too wide for someone who'd just been thrown a compliment. Turned out, at such a late hour she wasn't quite sure how to catch such a compliment when it was tossed in her direction. Particularly because of where she'd gotten the very dress in question in the first place.

It only took making eye contact with the young woman who'd complimented her to figure out the woman wasn't mortal. But she wasn't one of the Coven members. Claudia knew each of the Coven members by name and by face, and that young woman was not one of them.

But she wasn't mortal. And Maître hadn't said anything, or she'd have heard about it from Louis. Either because he liked to talk a lot when he was on the whiskey or because of her dropping eaves. One way or the other. But there'd been nothing...

"Thank you... Got it at Madame Éparvier's, two streets over. The owner does custom work for me," Claudia said in a somewhat faraway tone, her expression gradually shifting from surprise to curiosity, her eyes glittering with excitement under the lamplight. "Name's Claudia... What's yours?"

With a furrowed brow, the Poet flinched away and looked at her with a perplexed expression. "What are you doing?" he murmured, his voice half a breath of astonishment. "Don't-...don't do that. Not without asking me first."

Unprompted / Always Accepting

It takes her a moment to rise. With the wind knocked from her lungs and pain rattling her bones from the fall, she decides not to move and instead makes a silent assessment of her injuries. She was a Hellhound, making her sturdier, more durable. It didn't make her invincible, however, and her muzzle curls with a hiss of pain. If she hadn't broken a rib or two, they were most definitely, viciously bruised.

Aerwyn rises cautiously, taking her time. Her ears flick, gaze traveling towards the other with guarded curiosity. Her tongue sweeps the corner of her mouth, tasting dark blood.

don't worry about him, he's fine - accepting.

Snape blinked slowly, the way a serpent might before deciding whether to strike or slither away in disgust. He'd barely noticed the way he'd been grumbling under his breath as he marked essays. He did not look up immediately - he'd found, over the years, that pausing just long enough to inspire discomfort was often as effective as any spell in silencing further inquiry. His quill scratched out one last acidic note across a parchment before he finally deigned to respond, holding back a long, suffering sigh.

"Only as tired as a man can be after a day spent correcting the linguistic carnage of the barely literate." he drawled dryly.

Long, ink-stained fingers lifted the edge of a nearby essay as if it had personally offended him. Which, in fairness, it had.

As for the stumbling - he refused to dignify that with an answer. It wasn't that he was tired, but his mind, as always, was five labyrinthine turns ahead of his own mouth, and the tongue - being a traitorous, fleshy creature - occasionally tripped over the architecture of his thoughts. But naturally, voicing this would only invite more questions. And Severus Snape had already fulfilled his quota of emotional transparency for the decade when he hadn't hexed a sobbing third-year earlier that morning. Perhaps a break was overdue, but he was an adult and a teacher and damn it, he was not going to let anyone tell him that.

He resumed marking, but not before muttering just loudly enough to be heard:

@bledflorals asked : “I always carry a jar of lemon juice to keep that dark fairies away. They cannot stand the smell of lemon.” For Iris, unprompted