The roses make the air sweet - as sweet as Florentine's always-smiling face. She is the sun which touches the shaded glen but all Only can think of when he sees her like this is whether or not those flowers in her hair will kill him. That, and how clever she has come to be. Her smile, as beautiful as a glorious golden sunset bathing the mountains in simpering sunlight, is mischievous. Mischievous where all the shadows fall into the craggy grabs of her dimples while her smile gleams bright blocky white teeth - the same teeth he remembers seeing flashed at him when she was small. Now here he is, wondering when the sickness of those lilacs he ate not long ago would strike.
Will you put it in my hair?
"At your service." He jests, lifting his head proudly before reaching over to tuck the first rose behind her ear. The man wants the flower to stay so bad he doesn't realize he wills her hair to twist tightly around the thorns with his mind, he doesn't notice the braid he weaves into her hair with just a bend of his consciousness. The power of Novus is far greater than many of them may ever know. No God or Goddess of Novus would ever look upon him with favor either - weaving posies into Flora's hair is the kindest gesture he'd ever be capable of.
Daisies, clovers, roses of every color, he patiently finds the prettiest ones to weave into the flaxen locks - she shimmers with many colors now, more than when they first found each other in the meadow. Bees and butterflies buzz around her as they curiously inspect the bouquet he has bestowed upon her - what she doesn't know is that he is like them as well as he too buzzes around her on light feet.
But he is no bee, he is no butterfly either, he is a wasp - one that Florentine smiles and laughs with. That Florentine has come to trust.
"The sun is beginning to set." He alerts then, they have been gone to their own world for so long that the time has been spinning away from them. Only takes his eyes off of her only once to regard the harsh lines of the Arma mountains far-far off in the distance. The Dawn Court won't miss its weary wanderer, this much he can bet, his luck in this gamble is better than brooding over a bad hand at poker.
"Can I come with you, wherever it is that you go when the night comes?"
OOC: This is crap, so sorry. I'll be better at this next round.
@
Florentine
.only
There shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth.
For many are called but few are chosen.
