Spitfire Soul, Heart of Gold
Bluth, Spice, and Mild Kitchen Fires
Outfit: Leasure Clothing | Glove | Right Arm | Talisman | Purple Bracelet
Weapons: Lightsaber 1 [x] | Lightsaber 2 [x]
Rules: Posts can't exceed 200-300 words max (minus the post div count) with a wiggle room of about 50 words over, just in case.
The Bluth plant had been the first thing Azzie made sure to get. Days ago, even. It sat now in a curved ceramic pot on the kitchen counter with everything else, its pale white petals curling outward like soft laughter. The scent wasn't quite right. It looked perfect, a small glow at the thin petals in the light of the ship's overheads, but the sweetness was muted. Watered-down. Probably grown in a Coreward greenhouse instead of Iridonia's harsh soil. She inhaled anyway. It was close enough and should still do nicely.
Everything else was ready, or at least what she could get her hands on anyway. Her fingers tapped the edge of the mixing bowl absently, nerves threading into the movement. Out in the common room, the bottle waited—deep red glass catching the light like a ruby. Two glasses beside it, angled just so on the polished table. She'd debated getting something cheaper. Less presumptuous. But in the end, she picked the good stuff. She also made sure to have a couple good tea types as well. Nights like this deserved it. The cushions were fluffed, the holoprojector flickered with soft ambient light, and she'd even lit a few candles for the smell and atmosphere.
Cinnamon gave a trill from the couch, curled up like a tiny, smug queen in a pile of pillows. Azzie shot her a look. "Don't start with me, you butthead. I just got all of your fur out of the air vents." Sugar—chaotic, round, and full of boundless energy—bounced excitedly at her feet as if she had some wrappings or other garbage to hand over. "And you, hold your banthas. Stars, you two."
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