Brain Freeze

Though Flora's not an especially light sleeper, most nights and in most locations that she'd ever had the lot to try, she can carry off a successful rest without much to-do about it. She sleeps through what she should and wakes to whispers when she needs. Maybe she changes positions twice, thrice, and that'll be all through the night.

Tonight, however, she wriggles back and forth between her husbands, discontentedly searching for the cure to an ailment she's hardly familiar with.

"I just can't settle to sleep..." she sighs at last. Might as well face it. Her companions have been noticeably (if not uncharacteristically) unhelpful, or at least not offering to become so. It seems she has to do everything for herself around here. "Can I trouble one of you big, strong men to cuddle a lady in distress?"

Addam sighs the resignedness of a different song. "Not for me - your hands are too cold. Sorry, Flora."

With a giggle she'd usually have stifled, Flora snakes a hand beneath the duvet and top sheet to gain access to Addam's bare lower back, between flannel shorts and shirt. There are probably a handful of moles down there that she could pinpoint, but that's not the aim, right now. Instead, she just extends her fingers and cups his flank. Right on cue, Addam yelps, arching his back up and away from his wife. "Flora!!"

"Such a baby..." she murmurs, shaking her head but removing the offending appendage, because even if her intent is to tease, it's not to torture.

"Allow me," Minoth deadpans, himself embarrassed for the moment of any flamboyant chivalry he might otherwise have displayed. Someone's got to be the cool head (no pun intended). When he takes Flora's hand, however, he doesn't drop it, no, but his face jerks back instead, an expression of concern descending. "Are your hands...always this clammy?"

Flora, retracting her arm, frowns as she works her fingers in her palm. "I...suppose so? I never really think too much of it." Nope, same feeling as always, though slightly slipperier. "I run cool, how's that?"

"I don't know about cool, Flora," says Addam. He should know, shouldn't he? "Aren't your fingernails always a little purple, too?"

"They're pink," Flora sniffs. She clenches light fists, hiding away those nailbeds in question. "Like the rest of me." Say, cheeks, shoulders, nose. "If you ever had to wonder how I found so much success and undying adoration in life, there's your answer: I'm always flushed."

As if that's the only reason. It could be her bright personality, her calm disposition, her focused approach to interpersonal problems, her sense of what's right and what's wrong and what's plain sensible. It could be any of a number of traits that would cause Flora to win a job interview handily and never once face hushed judgements that it's only been because she's a cute little thing, and not much else to show for it.

But, regardless, agreeable if upon no other topics then at least irrevocably united in this, Addam and Minoth decide to ameliorate this issue firsthand, joining forces to wrap Flora up between them with securing hands and kisses on either side of her face. She shrieks, at first, but because that undying adoration runs both ways, she really can't complain for too long, if at all. It's what she had asked for, anyway - and twice it, too!