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+---- Thread: perennials (/showthread.php?tid=12551)
perennials - Flora - 02-22-2026
Jack’s voice follows them like a hook dragged through water, snagging on the softest parts as he strolls away, and when he recites the line from her letter it feels less like sound and more like a hand reaching into her chest and squeezing. The sky has gone almost fully violet now, the last smear of gold thinning into nothing, and for a moment she can’t quite tell if the sting behind her eyes is from wind or salt or something far more humiliating. She lifts her chin anyway, because that is what she has always done when cornered, when wounded, when exposed, and the tears that scrape at the backs of her eyes burn but do not fall. He throws the words carelessly, as if they are theatre, as if they are nothing but melodrama scrawled in ink, but she remembers the weight of that night, the way her hand shook over parchment, the way every sentence felt like sawing through bone.
[say]"I said I didn’t have it in me to be queen if there was another war,"[/say] she whispers, and her voice is thin at first, then steadier as she forces it through the tightness in her throat, [say]"but I’ve been fighting for you for far longer, and… I can’t do it anymore."[/say] The words hang there between hulls and rigging and darkening sky, not flung, not weaponized, simply laid bare. She glances at Kaisel then, a small, sad smile touching her mouth because while she's never told him the full contents of that letter, she doubts any of it surprises him. He knows what she is capable of giving until there is nothing left but smoke. [say]"That’s what came after,"[/say] she adds softly, shoulders rising in a faint shrug that carries more history than explanation.
The Ark is already moving, sails catching wind, Jack’s whistle cutting the air as he turns his back, and the tension that has been wound through her spine since they anchored over the Maw finally loosens all at once. It leaves her hollowed and shaking, adrenaline draining in a rush that makes her knees feel unreliable and her lungs too full and too empty all at once. She huffs out a breath that is almost a laugh, almost a sob, almost relief, and then she turns and presses herself squarely against Kaisel, forehead finding the solid warmth of his chest as though it has always known the exact place to land.
[say]"I hated that,"[/say] she mumbles against him, voice muffled in fabric and skin and the steady beat beneath, the tremor finally allowed to surface now that there is no audience for it, [say]"but we did it."[/say] Her hands clutch at him with something that is not just desperation but gratitude as well, and she rises onto her toes to press a kiss to his lips, soft and lingering and real in a way nothing else tonight has been.
RE: perennials - Kaisel - 02-22-2026
It'd be a lie to pretend that the last shots Jack fires off don't clip them. He knows that's the point, but expecting something to sting doesn't keep it from doing so. Still, he keeps his smile propped up as he faces Flora, turned to her in clear dismissal of the gunner across the way. His question isn't just for show, although he had dressed it up on purpose, and it doesn't waver even now. It remains held out like a hand she need only take, a chance for him to whisk her away from this and return back below deck to dancing in her kitchen, a little bit of blood of no consequence if they've already got the room spinning.
She means to bandage them up here though, and he doesn't fault her for wanting to keep her floors clean. [say]"I know,"[/say] he says, the edge of his smile softening from the rigidity of being pressed into place to something more genuine. His words surely won't make sense, not outright, because he did not know what her letter said until now. What he means is that he trusts in what she wrote, that he believes the things she has told him time and again, that he is not so easily removed from the glittering promise on their wrists. [say]"I'm not worried,"[/say] he offers as a clarifier, gaze sliding off her back to the retreating hulk of the Ark. [say]"He's doing what he's always done. Finding ways to turn your feelings against you, for his sake."[/say] There might not be anything crueler than hollowing something once heartfelt and filling it with spite.
It is true, that Flora would always love Jack. Some part of her would forever be held to some part of him. The difference is, now it's only past versions of them that exist that way. Jack and Flora will always remember each other, but Kaisel and Flora will continually build new memories. They are growing, and Flora has bloomed beyond the reach of Jack, who remains rooted in brine, mistaking the swell of salt in driftwood for something thriving.
He appreciates her telling him, though. That she'll always tell him, even when it hurts. His arms find her as she presses the line of her body to his, holding her through every sag and sigh that tries to knock them unsteady. An agreeing grunt is all the answer he can rouse to hating that, because yeah, ditto. Reluctantly, his grip gives her room to part enough for the kiss, and he leans into the steady pressure of her lips. His hands lift her up marginally, sweeping her into the certainty that seals between their touch, daring the rest of the world to even try and find a place between them.
[say]"You never fail to impress me,"[/say] he breathes as he tips his forehead to hers, wind teasing through their hair as they list on the currents of the sky. [say]"C'mon, let's find a nicer course to set ourselves on next,"[/say] he suggests, and the world is wide open with possibility, now more than ever.
RE: perennials - Flora - 02-22-2026
Being back in Kaisel's arms feels nothing like the scene she just stepped away from. With Jack everything had been tension drawn wire-thin, every word a blade balanced on its edge, every glance a calculation of angles and exits and what might detonate next. It had been standing barefoot on shattered glass and pretending not to bleed. But this, this is different in a way that doesn’t need to be measured to be understood. Kaisel’s arms close around her and there is no performance required, no strategy humming beneath the surface, only warmth and solidness and the steady rhythm of a heart that does not feel like it is waiting for her to fail. When his lips meet hers the kiss is not a duel or a negotiation or a memory being tested for weakness; it is simply contact, breath and heat and the quiet certainty of choosing and being chosen in return. His hands lift her just enough to make the world tilt in a pleasant way instead of a dangerous one, and when his forehead rests against hers she exhales as though she has finally been allowed to.
There isn’t supposed to be a comparison between husband and ex-boyfriend, and she resents that one exists at all, but gods it feels like sinking into a hot bath at the end of a day that has scraped her raw, like lowering herself into something that holds rather than cuts. The tumult she’s just walked through had been all sharp edges and smoke and old ghosts rattling chains; this is warmth seeping into her bones, kindness without agenda, steadiness without theatrics. The Sugartide sways gently beneath them and the air tastes cleaner somehow, as if the Maw itself has released its breath now that the other ship is turning away. Flora presses her face briefly against him again before drawing back, not because she needs distance but because she can move without fearing it will cost her something.
Her laugh is hollow when Kai says she never fails to impress him, not disbelieving but scraped thin by everything still echoing in her bones, and she shakes her head as if the motion might settle the ringing there. She loops an arm around his waist so they don’t have to separate entirely, not yet, guiding them together toward the wheel as though the act of steering somewhere—anywhere—will help untangle the knot still cinched tight beneath her ribs. The Sugartide shifts under their combined weight, warm air catching her braid and lifting the stray petals woven there, and she presses closer rather than stepping away, unwilling to surrender the steadiness of him even for the practicalities of navigation.
[say]"When we got into the chartroom,"[/say] she says, voice low but steady, [say]"one of the first things he said was that he could offer me a drink, but he didn’t want to."[/say] She glances up at him then, and whatever relief had begun to settle in her expression is chased off by something raw and bright, anger flaring cleanly through the exhaustion. [say]"I very seriously thought about channelling Remi right then and there to tear the Ark’s fucking mast off."[/say] The image had flashed through her so vividly she’d almost tasted splintered wood on her tongue, almost felt the satisfying crack of it in her hands, and she shakes her head now as if clearing away the phantom of that temptation. [say]"He added some stupid clause if we broke our word,'[/say] she continues, breath catching and then smoothing as the ship responds to her touch on the wheel, [say]"so I added one too."[/say] A small shrug follows, more tired than flippant, her arm tightening around Kaisel’s waist as the horizon widens ahead of them. [say]"Not that it matters since we aren't going to say anything, but.."[/say]
RE: perennials - Kaisel - 02-22-2026
Her laughter isn’t rich with warmth, but more like a thing still shaking free the last of her tension. His arm mirrors her, draping around her waist like her latest belt. [say]”I mean it,”[/say] he punctuates his words with a squeeze into her side, careless of her balance when they’ve got each other to lean on, even if it’s in drunkenesque spirals across the deck. [say]”What you did was brave.”[/say] She would not be able to convince him otherwise, especially once she explains she withheld going Kraken on his ass.
Her braid sails with a lightness that he envies as they settle at the wheel. The flower hangs on tight, petals shuddering in the breeze, and he leans in to press a fierce kiss to her temple as she shifts the Sugartide into a direction that isn’t here. No use lingering now.
He’s about to ask for all the deets when she rouses her voice. It’s low, wading through a memory that might be fresh but still manages to sting. [say]”What a little bitch,”[/say] Kaisel grumbles of Jack, meeting her gaze after a fluttering eyeroll. It’s no surprise that Jack would find a way to bury the bar of decency. [say]”Ugh, I really wish you would have,”[/say] he laments with a long and luxurious sigh, gaze distant as he clearly imagines the mayhem unfurling. [say]”Bet he could still catch him,”[/say] Kaisel suggests, absolutely shameless.
The little grin that mischief has curled out on his cheek thins immediately with what she says next. [say]”What stupid clauses?”[/say] She rolls it away like it’s nothing, and he’d like to believe it is, but the little dark star on his finger would suggest otherwise.
RE: perennials - Serendipity - 02-22-2026
The water around you suddenly churns with movement as a small group of Encantados breaks the surface, leaping and spinning in joyful arcs. They splash deliberately, clearly enjoying the attention as they dart just out of reach.
One skims past close enough to send a spray of cool water across your face before disappearing beneath the waves, only to reappear moments later farther out. Their chiming clicks echo playfully across the water.
The group remains nearby, treating the open sea like a playground, inviting laughter rather than fear.
EncantadosAreas Found: Torchline, Maria Mundi, Oerwoud, Greatwood — Common A bright pink species of dolphin, they are as mischievous as they are helpful. With water magic and the ability to both create and soothe storms, these blush-coloured creatures can help or hinder on a whim.
Challenge Rating: Easy HP: 254 | To Hit: +22 | Dmg: 14 Movement: Swim 60ft.; Leap 10ft. SPECIAL SKILLS Tempest’s Blessing: Can summon a localized rain shower or calming mist over a 30-ft. radius; Ocean’s Grace: Any ally swimming within 30 ft. is able to better resist exhaustion or rough currents |
TRAITS Magical Affinity: Innate control over water currents and minor storm effects; Stormsense: Can predict and navigate sudden weather changes with uncanny accuracy; Playful Cunning: Their trickery often distracts foes or conceals allies in swirling spray ACTIONS Song of Soothing: Emits a melodic series of clicks and whistles that quiets turbulent waters; Wave Surge: Strikes with a powerful tail-generated wave that pushes creatures up to 15 ft.; Lightning Spout: Channels storm energy into a crackling bolt of electricity aimed at one target within 30 ft., briefly stunning it |
 |
RE: perennials - Flora - 02-23-2026
Flora glances up at him when he calls it brave again, leaning her head against his shoulder with a softness that contradicts the scoff that almost follows, because she still isn’t willing to wear that word like a medal, not when all she can think about is how close she’d been to splintering something just to feel the crack of it. [say]"At least we know our friends and family are safe,"[/say] she says instead, the admission quieter and truer than anything about courage, because that's the part that really mattered. That their friends, their family, Torchline, the quiet domestic corners of her life, no longer feel like open targets. She hums into the fierce kiss he presses to her temple, a low vibration of contentment as she turns the wheel and the Sugartide begins to angle away from the Maw, from the place where everything had felt suspended and combustible.
The pod of Encantados below earns a small smile from her as they break the surface in gleaming arcs, playful and unbothered by vows or vendettas, their chiming clicks scattering like silver bells across the water before she glances up at Kai. With her fingers in front of his face, holding them barely apart, she murmurs that she was [say]"thiiiiis close,"[/say], stretching the word until it almost loses meaning, because she truly had been, because the image of the Ark’s mast snapping had felt intoxicatingly easy.
At the mention of clauses, her smile flattens into something more exasperated. [say]"If we tell,"[/say] she says with a sigh that carries the weight of Jack's bitterness toward her, [say]"everyone forgets about me."[/say] She gives her head a small shake, then looks at Kaisel with widened eyes for dramatic emphasis. [say]"Everyone except Jack."[/say] The absurdity of it hovers there, but she says it casually, because she doesn’t believe for a second that reality will ever bend that way; she has no intention of breaking her word, and neither does he, so the nightmare remains theoretical, a ghost story told for leverage. She shrugs, brushing it off as though it were no more significant than a poorly written addendum. [say]"I added that if he breaks his side, he loses his revivify feather,"[/say] she continues, turning the wheel a fraction as the Sugartide catches a cleaner current. [say]"Which basically means he’s as good as dead."[/say]
RE: perennials - Kaisel - 02-23-2026
The sound of the Encantados draws Kaisel’s attention over the edge for a moment, peeking after the smooth bodies rippling through the sea as surely as ships cleave wind. Their grace is only half as noteworthy as their play, because there’s surely no other purpose to the way they dare higher and higher out of the waves, clicking and squealing with the same pitch all delight seems to come in. Grateful it’s them seeing them off rather than something more formidable, Kaisel rounds back on Flora with a lingering smile, which soon vanishes into the proper seriousness that the inspection of the space between her fingers deserves.
As she holds them up, he leans forward, squinting. He makes a show of buffing an imaginary magnifying glass, curling his pointer finger and thumb into a circle and holding it up to her hand like he could now properly identify the true measurement of her masterful restraint. [say]”Op, there it is!”[/say] he exclaims with all the same potency of a shouted eureka! It comes just before the end of her drawn-out word and the flick of her hand back to the wheel. [say]”Impressive,”[/say] he grins, and there’s no need to put on a show for that praise.
How quickly the moment turns into something truly serious. Breath that’d just been freely given to laughter and tease shortens abruptly, cradled inside like something his body knows is about to be scarce. Flora continues on as if her next words are nothing more than a mild inconvenience, no different from your coffee date running a smidge late, or your favorite shirt already having been worn and dirtied earlier in the week. It could be that devil may care response slaps the truth that much harder against him, or it could just fucking be the fact she agreed to risking everything to make a deal. Hard to say, really, what ends up setting Kaisel off. But off he does indeed go. Whatever she says after everyone forgets about me, everyone except Jack, he doesn’t hear it past the hollow ring in his own head—nothing else could really matter to him though, to be honest.
[say]”WHAT!?”[/say] he demands, all his contained breath shoving free at once, as if someone found a giant red button labeled PANIC and decided that’d be a great thing to watch detonate. He reels on the spot, a hand flashing out to grab the wheel as he fights to steady what feels like a rapidly shifting ground despite the even keel Flora set them on. [say]”Wha—uh—what? I’m sorry, did I catch that right?”[/say] he manages after scooping in a fresh lungful, the drag of it a long enough pause for the words to repeat in his mind, and his brain does what any sensible thought center would do, and promptly rejects that reality. [say]”Because,”[/say] a crack of laughter has begun, as if he’s sharing some insane joke with himself now, aware he’s done nothing more than invent something completely wrong in the wake of mishearing her. [say]”I could have sworn, it sounded like you just said, we both just vowed for the entire world to forget you, if we mess up.”[/say]
RE: perennials - Flora - 02-23-2026
His shout hits her like a thrown stone, and Flora flinches instinctively, not because she’s afraid of him but because her body is still strung tight with leftover adrenaline and Kaisel, for all his volume and bravado, rarely yells. The sound of it cracks through her like lightning, and she recognizes the rising swell beneath it instantly, knows hysteria when she feels it gathering; she’s hosted enough of it herself to spot the tide before it crests.
One moment she’s at the wheel, the next she’s in front of him, palms lifting to cradle his cheeks, fingers warm against the tension there. Her thumbs press lightly at the hinge of his jaw as if she can physically anchor him back into himself, and her aqua eyes lock onto his copper ones, bright and steady and intent on holding. [say]"Hey,"[/say] she says softly, voice low but firm, the way you’d speak to someone standing too close to a ledge. [say]"That’s never gonna happen, okay?"[/say] Her brows lift emphatically, a silent underline to the promise, and she draws in a breath that trembles despite her efforts to smooth it. The shiver passes through her shoulders like a ripple through shallow water before she steels against it, refusing to let it carry her away.
[say]"I know Jack well enough,"[/say] she continues, quieter now, coaxing rather than arguing, [say]"to know he needed to tack on some nonsense to make himself feel better."[/say] Her mouth softens at one corner, not mocking, just certain. [say]"I went onto his ship married, with the upper hand. Of course he was going to demand something dramatic so he didn’t feel small."[/say] She leans closer as she says it, rising onto her toes so her forehead almost brushes his again, their breaths mingling in the warm night air. [say]"And you know what?"[/say] Her eyes search his, not challenging but resolute. [say]"It doesn’t matter."[/say]
Her hands slide slightly, thumbs stroking lightly along his cheekbones. [say]"Because I trust you. More than anything. Whatever he needed to add to feel like he wasn’t losing, it’s worth it. because it's never going to happen. And it keeps our friends and family safe."[/say] She brushes her nose gently against his, a small affectionate nudge, before lowering back onto her heels. [say]"And if you’re worried,"[/say] she adds, softer now, almost teasing to ease the sharp edge of his panic, [say]"we can always go to Frey and have some magical gag put in your mouth that stops you from telling."[/say] A faint sigh escapes her, fond and adoring all at once. [say]"But I don’t think we need to."[/say]
RE: perennials - Kaisel - 02-24-2026
She has always known how to find him when he starts to slip. Whether it’s her familiarity with that ledge or the tether between them snapping taut like a ripcord, pulling her to him, it’s hard to say. All he knows is that when he blinks, she is there, reaching not to stop the drop, but to make it something they can survive together. His hands slide up from the wheel to her waist, holding her like she’s the only anchor worth having.
His mouth seals into the shape of fear, that cold fighting the warmth of her hands. He quiets because he wants so badly to hear what she says, wants it to be exactly what he needs, coaxing certainty out of hiding like a spooked animal. Except she doesn’t tell him he heard her wrong, and gods, he knows that even before she speaks. Why else would she be holding him like the world is ending, if not for the world ending?
His eyes pinch shut when she says that’s never gonna happen. So certain. Always so certain that she can escape death. He shakes his head, the motion small between the cradle of her hands. [say]”You don’t know,”[/say] he insists, voice thin against everything it’s pushing back against. His eyes open and find hers instantly—vibrant as surf in sunlight, brighter than the band on his wrist, sparkling more intently than stardust laid by a god. It arrests him for a breath, because in them is everything he has the potential to lose.
[say]”You think you know, Flora, but you don’t. No one does, not for sure.”[/say] It’s the surrender to the volatile nature of the world, to the variables of the future and the people and the pathways in it. How many things has she once known, only to be wrong now? She had once known love with Jack, and yet. His grip tightens upon her. [say]”You knew Jack,”[/say] he corrects, and there is no attempt at unkindness there. It's the reality that the longer the bridge between them burns, the less familiar the shape on the other side becomes. [say]”People change, especially when they’re hurt.”[/say] Maybe she’d been too busy covering her own wounds in this last exchange to notice, but Kaisel saw evidence of a man still recovering from damage.
Her trust doesn’t pull him out any better than her hands. Maybe he’s not free falling now, but he’s still struggling. [say]”It’s not us I don’t trust,”[/say] he sighs, the sound straining past the tightening in his chest. [say]”What if he does something to force us to break our vow?”[/say] Kaisel absolutely thinks the conniving telepath will find a way to manipulate it to his advantage. It all hinges on whether he wants to put in the work, and they’re back to gambling on whether Jack decides to act.
Pulling his head back from hers to find her face, he continues. [say]”And it’s not worth it,”[/say] he counters. [say]”Your life means something Flora, but you keep gambling it!”[/say] His volume creeps up, tone sharpening with the same worry that creases his expression. [say]”Fuck,”[/say] he curses, the sound low, shaking on an uneven breath that carries into his hands. The possibilities of losing her may be slim, but they're still present, and that’s more than was ever possible until now. [say]”Gods, Flora, this was so reckless. You realize that this time—”[/say] he struggles to finish and a hand sweeps up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he takes a steadying inhale. [say]”This time he’s found a way to keep you dead.”[/say] She’s handed Jack an impressive gun and asked him to pinky promise not to use it.
[say]”If he breaks his side, does ours dissolve? Because otherwise, he can fuck about and burn a feather, but he still lives. For you…you’d be ‘killed’ instantly. And without you..."[/say] He doesn't know what's left without her.
RE: perennials - Flora - 02-25-2026
Flora doesn't interrupt, doesn't rush to plaster certainty over the fractures in Kai's voice, even as her brows knit instinctively and her thumbs brush the edges of his mouth like she might smooth the fear from it by touch alone. [say]"I don’t know,"[/say] she says quietly, and it costs her something to admit it, to let the word sit between them without armour. She bites the inside of her cheek, copper and salt blooming faintly on her tongue, and she is grateful that he shifts the ground beneath the argument, that it isn’t them he doubts but Jack, because that at least is something she can understand, something she can meet without feeling accused of carelessness in loving him.
Her arms slide up and around his neck, drawing them closer until their bodies align in a shape that from a distance might pass for slow dancing, their ship swaying gently beneath them as though providing the rhythm. It would almost be beautiful if not for the tightness around his eyes and the tremor threaded through her own breath. [say]"I might not know him the way I used to,"[/say] she says softly, shaking her head just enough that her braid brushes his shoulder, [say]"but I don’t think he’d do that."[/say] Even as she says it, she hears the echo of Kaisel's inevitable answer—that thinking is not knowing, that chance is enough—and she sighs because he won’t be wrong, because there is always a chance in a world that has already proven how fragile and volatile it can be. When his curse slips out, low and raw, and she feels the tension surge again through him, something in her shifts from persuasion to grounding.
She unwinds her arms from his neck and takes his hands instead, tugging him gently down with her as she sinks to her knees on the deck. The wood is warm from the day’s sun and rough against her skin, and the act feels less like surrender and more like bracing, like choosing to meet the tremor at its source rather than pretending balance will hold. This is not a conversation to be had standing tall and swaying; it's the kind that might send them to their knees anyway, so why not get ahead of it. His words echo in her ears—reckless, gambling, keeping her dead—and they aren't new accusations. She has heard them before from different mouths in different crises, and each time something inside her has tightened rather than yielded, still not believing she was in the wrong.
[say]"I don’t think that’s true,"[/say] she says gently when he insists it isn’t worth it, her fingers tightening around his as if she can thread conviction directly into his bones. [say]"And it wasn’t reckless."[/say] She inhales slowly, steadying herself before continuing. [say]"If we’re accounting for every far-fetched thing he might do, then we also have to account for what he might do if we hadn’t made this deal."[/say] Her brows lift as she begins to list them, the names coming without hesitation. [say]"Enzo, Mateo, my parent's new baby, Sohalia, Melita, Koa, Noe. Your family."[/say] The words hang heavy, not as threats but as realities she refuses to ignore. She leans forward, tangling herself against him again, pressing her forehead briefly to his chest before looking up. [say]"My life isn’t worth all of theirs."[/say] She sees the protest forming and shakes her head quickly. [say]"I know you hate hearing that. But it’s true."[/say]
Her voice softens, but her resolve does not. [say]"This is all my fault for telling you in the first place when I promised Jack that I wouldn't, so it's on me to fix."[/say] She swallows, feeling the steel return to her spine as she answers his practical fear. [say]"Yeah, the deal’s off if he breaks his side. And no, he doesn’t just lose his feather. If he breaks it, I’ll make sure he loses his life."[/say] Her aqua eyes sharpen, not reckless but calculated. [say]"Even if that means dying three times so Ronin burns through every last resurrection on me so there’s nothing left for him."[/say]
There is no shaky adrenaline in her now, only a quiet, burning determination that feels almost frightening in its clarity. [say]"Jack doesn’t get to win this,"[/say] she says, gaze locking onto his with a steadiness that does not waver. [say]"We do."[/say] Her thumb brushes over the dark star on his finger as if to remind him what it signifies. [say]"And if you want extra assurance, we can go to Frey. We can bind our mouths shut magically if that’s what it takes. But this? This keeps everyone safe. And I would make that choice again."[/say]
RE: perennials - Kaisel - 02-25-2026
A breath comes easier when she admits it, proof that she hears, that he’s not spiraling over nothing. He does not want her small or defeated or wrong, only awake to the risk, however much it hurts to see it. When she pulls herself flush to him, comfort and closeness all at once, it keeps everything contained between them so that when she lets the vulnerability show, it belongs only to him—not even the wind’s allowed to touch it. His arms shift around her waist, locking over each other behind her, snug with the one certainty he’ll never lose—that holding each other is what always rights the world.
Wreathed in each other’s arms, she begins to offer up all the truths, shaping them so easily it’s clear she’s traced the outline more than once. There’s no avoidance, no fantasy, just the raw reality of edges she'd tried to smooth over to keep them both from being snagged by them. An explanation she likely didn't think he needed, or just one she preferred not to put voice to, because things said aloud are always made more real, and it's better not to give hurt that kind of power if you don't have to.
He's grateful then that she sinks, pulling him with her, the weight of all this a struggle to keep upright and balanced. He shifts into a sit, quiet as he turns it all over and over again, trying to remember breath amongst breaking. He scooches to remain close to her, an arm looping through hers and both hands folding and locking against her fingers. Now it's his turn to admit to things he'd rather keep quiet. [Say]”I know,"[/say] he sighs through his nose, the discomfort of recognizing that there's no easy way to know Jack, for better or worse, and that he’s not the only threat in the world. Keeping everyone they care about safe would be much easier if they were orphan hermits. [say]”If not this, I’m sure he could find some other way to do damage if he wanted,”[/say] he admits with a low grumble, reminded of what Flora had told him back in her house, that Jack’s telepathy is not the only thing that makes him deadly. It’s just, this is the only way Jack can really erase Flora, and she’d agreed to it. Fuck, so had he.
Blinking up at her after the gentle press of their foreheads, a warmth and a reassurance that reaches past the slow creep of terror at long last, he frowns at what she extends now. His grip pulses against her, insistent, like a heartbeat fighting to remain in a body that’s failing. [say]”Your life is worth everything to me.”[/say] It’s not a numbers game for him, and if push came to shove, if he was Spiderman faced with losing MJ or a train full of innocent citizens, he would absolutely make the same mistake of trying to save everyone. [say]”This is so much worse too…because if I lost you, I wouldn’t even know it with this.”[/say] It’s what he means by keeping her dead. She’d be alive, but not really, not gone from everyone who mattered, and no one would know to save her. If she actually died, her fathers, him, they could do something. If they all forgot, no one would care, and that possibility crushes him with the weight.
[say]”I wish you had told me, before we called Safrin. I could have bargained for something that would have kept a part of you alive in some way.”[/say] Her gift, the one where everyone has poured their love for her into it, revealing the impact of her on their lives, it could have been a loophole he begged for. It would not have kept their memories of her, but the orb could have served as a reminder of what they once knew, and maybe they could have found their ways back to her in time.
Glancing away as he mulls that over, wondering if he could ask Ludo or Safrin for some manner of safekeeping now. His attention flicks back instantly as she lays more blame on herself. [say]”No,”[/say] he says quickly and almost harshly, the meaning so intentional it comes out forceful. [say]”None of this is your fault, and I’d rather share this burden with you than have you suffer alone. That will always be true, no matter the problem.”[/say] He nods, content at least that they aren’t bound still when the other side falters. [say]”We’ll make sure,”[/say] he slips in, because she would not fight this alone. [say]”And I could take a death or two.”[/say] A small way to keep her from the full brunt of the torment, but he knows what she means, the conviction there echoed through him, but gods does it mostly belong to her.
That steel, more than any warmth, is what presses certainty back into place. [say]”No matter what,”[/say] he agrees, [say]”we’ll win this.”[/say]
RE: perennials - Flora - 02-25-2026
If he wanted.
The words circle and circle in her mind like a hel refusing to land, because that is the hinge of it, isn’t it, the single variable everything keeps turning on. If he wanted. If Jack wanted to do damage, he could. If he wanted to leave her alone, he did. If he wanted to stay away for a year, he managed it. And part of her—annoyingly, stubbornly—believes him when he says he’d been doing his best not to be dealt with, because he had vanished, because he had not appeared at her door with sharpened teeth and telepathic claws. But then why the drink at the rodeo, spilling across her like some petty territorial mark? Why the deliberate cruelty in the chartroom, the refusal of a drink like it cost him something to even pretend at civility? Why the clause designed not just as leverage but as something meant to sting? Was he simply an asshole, indiscriminate and salt-burned, treating her no differently than he would anyone else? Or was it worse than that? Did he still care in some warped and furious way, anger braided so tightly with love that he could not separate one from the other?
She exhales, the sound low and threaded with exhaustion, and lets herself sink fully into Kaisel’s side, pressing into the solidity of him as though testing whether it will give. It doesn’t; his arm is there, firm and unyielding in the best way, his warmth uncomplicated, his presence not a negotiation. The realization strikes her harder than she expects, that this is what it feels like to have someone be on her side even when they think her side is reckless, even when they’re frightened by her choices. To not be abandoned mid-fall. To not be made to prove her worth in the middle of a storm. The love that swells in her chest at that realization is so fierce it almost hurts, a tidal surge that makes her throat tighten and her fingers curl reflexively around his.
She squeezes his hand. [say]"It’ll never happen,"[/say] she says quietly, meaning him forgetting her, meaning that particular nightmare won’t come to pass. The urge to soften it with humour almost slips free, to murmur that if he did somehow forget she’s fairly certain she could make him fall in love with her all over again, but his fear is still too raw, too sharp-edged for a joke to land without cracking, so she swallows it down and lets the sincerity stand unadorned.
When he wishes she had told him before they called Safrin that he might have negotiated, she fixes him with a look that is both tender and entirely unconvinced, her head giving a small, stubborn shake. [say]"There’s no way Jack would’ve bargained,"[/say] she says, voice steady but certain in a way that comes from knowing a man’s pressure points too well. [say]"Not with you, and not if the whole point of his caveat was to make us suffer equally, then giving us a loophole would’ve defeated it."[/say] She brings their joined hands up against her chest, pressing them over the steady thrum beneath her ribs, squeezing his fingers there as if to let him feel the proof of her reasoning. [say]"It was either this deal or nothing at all."[/say]
When he says he could take a death or two, the absurd bravery of it, the ridiculous willingness, shakes something loose inside her and a laugh spills out despite everything, light and startled and threaded through with affection. She disentangles their hands only so she can slip beneath one of his arms, curling herself into him properly now, arms wrapping tight around his middle as she presses her cheek to his chest like she’s claiming territory that is already hers. The deck creaks softly beneath them, the Encantados’ distant clicks fading into the rhythm of open sea, and she sighs into him, the sound warmer this time. [say]"Sooooo,"[/say] she murmurs against him, tilting her face up just enough to see him from beneath her lashes, [say]"do you want to go see Frey then…?"[/say]
RE: perennials - Kaisel - 02-28-2026
It'll never happen. Kaisel feels the words settle into him, placed sure and steady, and something in his grip loosens. Not because the risk disappears, not because they're completely safe, but because she says it with the kind of certainty that has carried them through wreckage before. She's more stubborn than the world is hard, and he'll trust in that over anything else. Even if the worst did come to pass, if some cruel twist of this deal stripped her from him, it would not be the end of them. That much he knows. He would feel her absence like a missing limb, and follow that ache until they were made whole again. He would find his way back, forever and then some.
His mouth presses into her hair, a quiet kiss at her crown. [say]“We won’t let it,”[/say] he agrees, tone matching hers with the quiet decision of defiance. With it, the sharp edges and salt-burn of Jack finally loosens their hold on Kaisel. It fades with the acceptance and the understanding that she's right, of course. That there'd have been no mercy dressed as compromise, the wound was the point, and all they have to do is not open it up, or survive it if they do. What Jack chooses to do will always be outside their hands, but what's in their hands is this—the way she curls into him, the way he folds around her without hesitation, never letting the other fall alone.
His arm lifts around her as she slips beneath it, settling back across her with a snug hold that keeps her pressed close. He angles his head so his temple rests against hers, his other palm hooking against the knot of her legs, securing her there, anchoring them together against the slow sway of deck and current. Wind threads through the loose strands of her braid, teasing pale gold into the light until it flickers like something spun from sun itself. It tugs at their clothes, urgent at times, but he ignores the demand of the breeze in favor of remaining exactly here, with her. They’re two figures braced at the helm of something that cuts across the world and dives into the horizon without hesitation.
At her question, he leans back just enough to look at her properly. His gaze is calm with thought, the panic peeled away. An improved safeguard, another layer between them and the worst, and there’s something deeply tempting about that. Yet, he thinks of rings not yet forged, of a future they have not even begun properly. His attention drops to the place at her wrist where stardust glints faintly. [say]“No,”[/say] he says soft and firm, blinking back up to hold her eyes.
[say]“It'll never happen, remember?”[/say] A faint curve touches his mouth. [say]“Besides, we've got other things to do already. Engagement announcements, wedding rings, making sure no one can crawl into our heads ever again.”[/say] He sways a bit, bobbing with her. [say]“We build forward, not backward.”[/say] There’s no tension left in him, only a warm intent and stubborn faith that whatever they come up against, for better or worse, they will meet it side by side. [say]"What I wanna see,"[/say] he drawls out, [say]"is how many gummy worms you can fit in your mouth. I think—twenty."[/say]
RE: perennials - Flora - 02-28-2026
It is almost unbearable, the way he stays. After years of love that had felt like walking a tightrope strung over open sea, after apologies that turned into accusations and loyalty that curdled into distance, after being doubted or dismissed or left to hold the wreckage alone when things became inconvenient or frightening, the simple fact that Kaisel’s arms remain wrapped around her feels like something holy. They had just stood at the edge of a cliff and instead of shoving each other toward it, they had pulled tighter. They had taken the sharpest parts of fear and hammered them into something that might protect them both. No fissure, no hairline crack widening between ribs, no quiet step backward. Just this: his mouth in her hair, his voice steady against the night, his faith offered not blindly but with eyes open.
Her heart swells so fiercely she almost laughs at herself for how desperately she tries to tuck closer into him, as though making herself smaller might let her fit entirely beneath his arm, might let her exist in the exact space where his warmth meets the cool wind off the sea. The Sugartide glides forward with quiet purpose, and she feels like she is gliding too, buoyed by something far less fragile than pride or history.
When she looks up at him, her smile comes slowly, blooming across her mouth in stages, and her aqua eyes shine with something that is not fragile at all but bright and certain and unafraid to be seen. “We build forward,” she repeats softly, tasting the words like they are another vow to add to the constellation already inked into their skin. Not backward. Not circling the same wounds. Forward. The delight of it catches her unexpectedly—married or not, ring or no ring, they are still finding promises to hand each other like small wrapped gifts, still choosing each other in ways that feel new and deliberate.
His shift to gummy worms makes her grin crookedly, the seriousness dissolving into something effervescent, and she leans in to kiss him, this one light and bright and full of relief rather than hunger, a press of lips that says we survived that, together. When she pulls back, laughter already bubbling at the edges, she lifts a brow. [say]"Good thing I just stocked up,"[/say] she says, mischief threading through her voice as her grin widens. [say]"I could easily do thirty."[/say]
Flora rises then in one fluid motion, tugging Kaisel up with her, the deck tilting gently beneath them as though applauding the shift from crisis to absurdity, and for the first time since the Ark cut across the horizon she feels not like she is bracing for impact but like she is stepping into something expansive and full of freedom.
~FIN