raftides

*  CEEBEE     (  using Lenny faces for the drops >:3  ) 

evolus

*    Smiles Wide
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toxsinners

      `   `   soo ...  is  this  /not/  the  right  paint?   I  swear you  said  chartreuse ..   

raftides

He turns slowly,   paintbrush still poised in his hand like a scepter,   gaze dropping to the paint in question with the solemnity of a king surveying battlefield ruins.   `Chartreuse?`   A pause.   Then,   deadpan:   `Darling…   this is lime crime.`   He lets the silence sit for a breath too long before his lips twitch into a smirk,    eyes glinting with mock betrayal.   `You’ve just offended every French impressionist in history.`   He steps closer,    voice dropping to a near-whisper,   as if confessing a scandal.   `But don’t worry.  We’ll repaint your sins.`   Then,   with a faint chuckle--   `Under strict supervision.`
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀,,⠀⠀⠀`⠀⠀⠀@rebiirths⠀⠀⠀,
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aenerqy

statistically,     you’re 73% more tolerable with wildflowers.

aenerqy

@raftides,    [oh,  how the use of him speaking in the charm of artistic language was an immediate trap she always fell for.     Xena blinks once,   then again,    and again once more,  her composure flickering like a shutter screen trying to reset.   her grip tightens subtly on the camera.   heterochromic eyes search up to meet his, the confident retort on her tongue catching for a breath.]        ,You─—(!)      [her voice falls quieter than she expected.   a faint warmth blooms across her cheeks—barely noticeable at first,     like a soft flush of pink  but it lingers,   for it spreads to the tips of her ears.]   you...really don’t know when to stop talking,   do you?     it's,    it's like—you're talking to a painting no one else can see.     [But even now,    her lips begin to curve just slightly,   giving her away,    falling right into his trap—and for once,     not entirely minding it.] 
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raftides

His eyes flick upward—not to the flower she’s tucked into his hair,   but to her smile.   That faint,   secretive thing she thinks she’s hiding behind numbers and mockery.   He hums,   low in his throat,   matching hers.   `Eighty-five percent?`   He clicks his tongue,   gaze narrowing playfully.   `How humble of you.`   Then he steps forward,    slowly—closing the space between them as she lifts the Polaroid,    until the camera is caught between them like a thread stretched too tight.   `Alright then,   Miss Photographer.`   His voice drops,   smooth as sea glass,   every syllable a quiet dare.   `You want a pose?`   A beat,   then a wicked,   lazy grin spreads across his lips—   `Smile for me first.   Or is the shutter too fragile for you to look that good on film?`   He doesn’t move—just holds the gaze,    like he’s the one behind the lens now,    and she’s the one who’s been caught.
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀,,⠀⠀⠀`⠀⠀⠀@aenerqy⠀⠀⠀,
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aenerqy

@raftides,    [soft and melodic,   the warmth of a gentle hum starts to play from her lips.     as fingers move with steady grace,     Xena parts the strands of his hair with care to be able to then nestle the floral in between,   tucking it into place.]     i adjusted accordingly to your ego inflation,     i'd say..       —you're an 85% on average.     [her own words kisses her lips into a faint smile,  holding her laughter back.]      as you wish,   Mister Rafayel.     [mimicking his mockery with almost perfect pitch—   then with an elegant flick of her wrist,   she grabs the vintage polaroid,   leveling the camera to him.]         pose for me.
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aenerqy

oh no——         my shift as miss bodyguard has ended..   five minutes ago?          i'm not working overtime,     (!)

aenerqy

@raftides,    [her brow lifts ever so slightly—as if to say,  seriously?     it was oddly..   flattering,   she'd admit,   but free coffee was on the line here!  and she had her eye on a drink she’d been meaning to try for weeks.   she wasn’t about to lose that over a footnote.]     you have a deal,     but i get editorial control!    in other words,    ——i will redact anything smug,    i would prefer if you don't write any of the secrets i've told you.  [unfortunately,   this  reminder allows an uninvited reel of embarrassment to flash before her eyes.]   .  especially,    the ones i didn't mean to..    [an awkward laugh tumbles out of her before she can stop it.    she clears her throat,]      now—coffee!     before i write you into my report as a repeat offender for emotional manipulation.
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raftides

He lifts a brow,   a slow grin forming like he’s already decided this entire exchange is going in his autobiography—verbatim.   `Bold and italic?   Please.   I was going to give you your own chapter.   Title: ‘The Bodyguard Who Almost Got Away.’ `   He steps forward,    his tone all silk and mischief as he leans in just a little,   head tilting in mirrored mockery.   `But haunting me?   Now that’s commitment.   Most people just ghost me.`   Then he glances down at her crossed arms,   the pout,   the look—   `Coffee,   is it?`   A pause,   a hum,   like he’s pretending to weigh the cost of caffeine against her soul.   `One condition,   then.`   He leans in,   lower now—just enough to stir the air between them.   `You let me write the footnote: ‘She asked first.’ `
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀,,⠀⠀⠀`⠀⠀⠀@aenerqy⠀⠀⠀,
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aenerqy

@raftides,   you at least better put my name in both bold and italic,    [Xena's eyes twinkled with mock offense,   pursing her lips together before the slightest pout crept in as she crossed her arms.]    or else,    i’m haunting your autobiography——     [she rolled her eyes,  a sigh falling short from her breath,    quickly cutting the act short.]     fine,      –perhaps  miss bodyguard can make an exception.     just this once,     under one condition.    [a pause.   then,    with a sweet tilt of her head,   feigned innocence settles on her feminine features.]      you buy me a coffee? 
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