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Character of the Season
Frail in body but dangerously quick of mind, Nikandr is the sort of character who proves that curiosity can be just as perilous as any weapon. A necromancer, inventor, and problem-solver with more ambition than self-preservation, Niki approaches the world like a puzzle box begging to be opened, even when what’s inside has teeth. Blunt, dry-witted, fiercely independent, and carrying a history best left partially buried, he has a knack for making even failure feel fascinating. Whether he’s raising the dead, moving across Caido to King's End, or experiencing a hangover for the first time, Nikandr brings a wonderfully strange spark to Caido, and we can’t wait to see what trouble his brilliant mind wanders into next.
Congratulations, Niki!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
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“So, this is fucking amazing,” Melita announced from the top of the diving board, an effective declaration for something wholly factual. Flora’s house encompassed a whole gods damned estate, and though she was pretending she hadn’t seen any glimpses of it (to be fair, it’d only been a section of the clothesline, and then scampering off), it was still an inspiring thing to behold. Spirits and rooms and a menagerie of potential the Honeybee probably had no idea of, she’d give credit where credit was due, wiggling her toes on the edge of the plank while facing down the pool, massive grin on her features.
She took a few half-hearted leaps into the air; testing the boundaries and limitations, feeling the fringes bounce back up at her, like a promise of either imminent dominion or failure. Thereafter, she finally took the necessary launch, pushing off with exhilaration and ease, before tucking her knees into her chest and brandishing the cannonball expertise deliberately into the middle of the pool. The result was a brandished wave and the warm expanse of the water drifting over her, coming back up soaked and smiling towards Flora; unabashed and unashamed. “How’s shit been with you? I had no gods damned idea you were with Kai,” a little behind on the power curve of gossip and relationships.
02-14-2026, 05:00 PM (This post was last modified: 02-14-2026, 05:00 PM by Flora.)
flora
The sun is bright overhead as Flora floats, slow and languid, atop a ridiculous tumsea floaty with glossy drawn on eyes and a permanently surprised expression. She lies draped across it like she has been poured there; black two-piece sharp against honeyed skin, curls pinned up in a messy twist that is already threatening rebellion, oversized sunglasses shielding her aqua gaze from the violent brightness of LongHeat. One hand idly trails in the water, fingers cutting lazy spirals; the other cradles a sweating glass crowned with citrus and a curl of straw looping theatrically toward her mouth.
At the declaration from the diving board, she tilts her chin just enough to peer over the rim of her sunglasses, mouth curving slow and satisfied. "Thanks!" she calls back, voice bright and easy, lifting her glass in salute. The ice clinks obligingly as she draws a long, indulgent sip through the curly straw before yelling out, "jump!" and of course Melita does.
Flora barely has time to brace before the cannonball detonates the surface of her serenity. A tidal slap of warm water rolls toward her, tumsea rocking violently beneath her hips, and she lets out a sharp laugh as she flings one leg down to paddle, bare toes sculling with frantic elegance to keep from capsizing entirely. As the Honeybee swims closer, Flora pushes herself upright a little, tumsea bobbing indignantly beneath her. She hooks an elbow over the creature’s inflated fin and bounces her eyebrows in exaggerated approval.
As Mel's question, Flora shrugs, shoulders lifting in a loose, apologetic roll, before tipping her glass back for another slow sip. "At first we definitely kept it on the down-low," she admits, lowering the drink and nudging her sunglasses down her nose just enough to look at Melita properly. "After everything with Jack, I did not want it to look like I had just...picked Kaisel over him." Her mouth tilts in a small frown. "Because that is not what happened." Even if it's exactly what it looked like happened.
A small shrug follows, softer this time. "But then Koa was kinda being a tit about it, and then after a while I just kind of forgot I was allowed to tell people." The confession comes easy, almost amused at herself. As if she’d been hoarding something bright and precious and only just remembered she could hold it up to the sun. Her grin widens, unabashed and incandescent. "But things are good. Like, I'm so nauseatingly and ridiculously happy with Kai. It is actually embarrassing." Then she angles her sunglasses back into place and squints at Melita over the top edge, lips curving wickedly. "How are things with you? Blow up anything fun recently?" Y'know, like pirate ships or underwear with her face on them.
I want to be when you fall on me like night I wanna kill the lights
Melita didn’t have the grace nor the wardrobe of Flora; but she had always taken to the water, streamlined beneath the surface until she emerged again, close to a manta ray floatie. Her own bikini had been found in the market stalls in a great outcry of excitement – after all, it was patterned in rubber ducks – and bursting through the warm surface tension came with a beaming smile, sunlit and radiant in her own savage way. Launching upon the vessel, it bounded and bounced against the wall as she leaned back and let the air immediately start its wake over her; she’d be diving back in soon enough. Shielding her eyes, she opened one towards the Doubletake as she began to describe something hitting very close to home; understanding the protective nuances of something new and fledgling and wholly uncertain, but unaware just how much it had grown underneath the shielding proclivities, so that eventually it couldn’t be hidden any longer.
“That’s fair,” she assessed at first, her nose wrinkling at the thought of Jack all over again. For Melita, it was a bizarre fence to stand upon – eternally on Flora’s side when it came to the younger woman’s unfortunate entanglements with the Captain, and then, well, she often helped her former employer with his bullshit just the same. Loyalties were sometimes a slippery slope, but she’d never proclaimed to be an honest, morally superior being. In the end though, Flora had deserved more than Jack – and perhaps she’d found it. “For what it’s worth, I’m just glad you found someone that isn’t a pile of shit,” she winked, because despite her own stupefying moments with Kaisel, he was at least good to the Torchline Queen.
Rolling over onto her stomach, she dropped one hand into the water, letting her fingers play and dip below the veneer while she listened. She didn’t envy the sentiments of all the brutal intertwinings and woven relationship dynamics; imagining Flora striving and clawing to find that happiness and all the mystifying paths along the way. Even if it had seemed simple, it clearly hadn’t been; Melita had to consider herself fortunate that she and Iskra just had their own idiotic selves to navigate around. “And that you’re happy,” she grinned, wrinkling her nose and then winking. She likely didn’t know half of what the Doubletake had been through; but it was high time she’d had something to relish and sink into.
When the subject turned to her, she laughed, striving to pretend she hadn’t been here recently and making underwear fireworks. “Actually, Sunjata, Jack, and I went banshee hunting. He missed a lot,” and while she could imagine one day Flora might enjoy the thought of the Captain being choked out by a monstrous heathen, she was careful not to mention it. “He didn’t say what it was for though,” and Melita, being prone to violence for any reason, hadn’t thought to ask. “I’m working on some cannon things. Ronin inspired me.”
Flora’s grin turns crooked at that—sharp at one corner, softer at the other—and for once there is no clever rejoinder waiting behind it, no glittering deflection ready to be unsheathed. Melita is not the sort to hand out praise like party favours. She doesn't say things because she ought to, she says them because she means them, and that makes the words land with a weight that sinks warm and steady into Flora’s ribs. The Doubletake lets out a small huff of laughter at that, but it’s quieter than before, threaded with something gentler. She dips her head, curls shifting slightly in their precarious twist, and for a heartbeat she just watches the light scatter across the water between them.
"Thanks," she says, simpler than she usually allows herself to be. One shoulder lifts in an almost-shrug that fails to disguise how deliberately she chooses the moment, not wanting to ruin it by being overly gushy with affection. "That means a lot"
She'd never minded defending Jack or standing stubborn and bright against the chorus of disapproval, gold rings flashing as she carved out space for him. The world could think what it liked; she hadn't needed permission. But this—this uncomplicated approval, this quiet collective nod toward something that is hers and good and steady—feels like warm sand beneath bare feet. It feels right. It feels easy.
Her smile threatens to spill over into something embarrassingly luminous, and she reins it in with a long sip from her drink, the curl of the straw bobbing absurdly against her mouth. She will not become intolerable about it. Not yet anyway.
"Banshee hunting?" she repeats, sunglasses sliding down her nose again as she stares at Melita over the rim. She inhales sharply, theatrically, a wince on her lips. "He must have hated that." The queen has no desire to dissect the reason for the hunt, and she doesn't ask. Melita’s loyalties have always been a little tangled between she and Jack, knotted like fishing lines caught in the same tide, and while Flora has never bought the honeybee a ship to keep her around, she's more than happy to be able to think of Melita as a friend.
Flora's brows lift immediately, curiosity flashing bright behind the tinted lenses at the mention of cannon things. "Oh?" she prompts, leaning forward just enough to make the float wobble again. "Do tell." Then she laughs, the sound quick and delighted. "I was literally just talking to Ronin about you, about how it's absolutely time we get the cannon RQ going."
I want to be when you fall on me like night I wanna kill the lights
Melita arched her brow, had been prepared to say more. For all the Gregorian knot platitudes between herself and Jack, she’d never wanted Flora to be stuck and caught in his waves, in his orbit. The Doubletake seemingly hadn’t minded, hadn’t relented, hadn’t given away until something else shook and rattled; reality striking hard and fast when all their words had not. What it said about Jack, for him to leave a place he’d carved, sculpted, and whittled by his own malicious hand wasn’t for the Honeybee to add; but she didn’t mind him being a victim of his own devastations and making. That Flora had freed herself from all the coils. “Proud of you,” she winked in response, and then let it flicker away, splashing some of the water at her fingertips.
But they could revel in the man’s mishaps for a moment or two – the demigod’s laugh catching on a mischievous curl, floating outward instead of sticking to her ribs; light, airy. “Oh, he did. Haven’t seen him that grumpy in a while.” Her grin caught on the edges into less malice, more amusement, sharing seemingly inane pastimes with a friend. But her head lifted at the discussion of cannons once more, shielding her eyes to watch Flora’s face, wishing she’d thought to grab her sunglasses on the rim of the pool, beginning to scoot her float in that direction as they talked. “So I already have some for my ship, obviously,” as if this was simply a given. “But I liked the way Ronin could just blast away, y’know? So I asked Ludo for something similar,” with the trickery twist. As for Torchline getting their own, she practically sobbed in delight, but made it a fist pump instead as she swam herself over to grab the shades. “Gods, yes please. Just let me know what we need."
Flora wrinkles her nose at Mel, a small, fond scrunch that she does not even try to disguise, and for a heartbeat she looks younger—lighter—than the weight of crowns and breakups and reputations would suggest. Proud of you settles somewhere deep, and she lets it. Lets it sit, lets it warm, even as that warmth fractures a moment later.
What Mel says about Jack is casual. Harmless, almost affectionate in their way, and yet something inside Flora stills so abruptly it is like stepping into shade after standing in the sun too long. The tumsea float drifts beneath her, the water slapping softly against its inflated sides, but her hand—half-submerged—goes cold. Flora had assumed—no, not assumed, she had felt—that he had been unravelled. That the sharpness in the lighthouse, the frost in his voice, had been something cracked open and bleeding. Hurt, badly and clumsily disguised. She had told herself that, anyway, and it had made the cruelty survivable.
But what if he had not been hollowed out at all? What if he had just been angry. What if the quiet distance, the glacial civility, had not been grief but resentment. Disgust. What if he had not left Torchline because it ached too much to stay, but because he could not bear the sight of her because he hated her? She swallows, slow, and tilts her head in a way that feels almost rehearsed. Her smile returns, but it is narrower now, trimmed carefully to fit the shape of the moment. "Yeah," she says lightly, lifting her glass as though punctuating a harmless anecdote. "I can imagine."
The water glints bright and indifferent between them.
Flora inhales once, deliberately, then exhales through her nose as Melita launches into cannons and chaos and Ludo’s trickster favour, and the shift is almost physical, like stepping back into sunlight on purpose. She straightens a little on the float, letting the grin return in earnest this time. "Yeah, Ronin’s starbolts pack a hella punch," she agrees, laughter threading back through her voice as she adjusts her sunglasses. "But I bet whatever Ludo comes up with will be epic."
At the mention of cannons for Torchline, her grin widens properly now, wicked and delighted, and she kicks one heel lightly against the water to pivot her float so she is angled more toward the estate and the distant stretch of Haulani beyond. "Okay," she says, Queen sliding comfortably over her shoulders without dimming the sparkle in her tone. "Where should they go?" She gestures vaguely with her glass toward the coastline, rings flashing. "We could put them in the port, since that's where the ships come in. Make it very clear that if approach Torchline with nonsense, you're going to leave with holes. Orrrrrrrrr," she drawls, stretching the word, "we put one along the floating portion of Haulani so they can shoot farther out?" She taps the rim of her glass thoughtfully against her lower lip. "Or we get obnoxious about it and build a floating cannon platform further out in the water. I dunno how we'd get to it then, but my dads could move it around if we needed to I guess."
The rumors are terrible and cruel But honey, most of them are true
For all her disregard for the world sometimes, Melita could still be observant. It was how she’d survived for so many years; barefoot and bruised and barbaric. But her impulsive decision to laugh, to be spiteful, to cast Jack aloft as a caricature hadn’t landed as well as she’d hoped – not by the way Flora went motionless, rooted into the float, finding ways to form the mask back into place. There was an apology on her lips, but without knowing what for, she could only narrow her eyes, then glance elsewhere while the Doubletake rearranged the response; afford her that clarity and time. Perhaps she’d hoped Jack hadn’t left such a deep mark that every trace, every sound, every call of his name would trigger something raw and painful, or that Kaisel’s existence had softened, eclipsed those wounds. She didn’t know enough of their disastrous sojourn – surface levels at best, once staring at it with open disdain, hoping better for Flora and condemning the Captain for his part in it – to peer any further. So the matter dropped, sunken down into the depths of the pool, and she offered naught more than one of those quiet, pressed smiles that didn’t reach her eyes. Fuck Jack and all his fuckin’ nonsense.
Cannons, violence, vehemence, was easier. As simple as breathing for the Honeybee, who would much rather blow pieces of the world to smithereens when they annoyed her. Leaning further into the fold of the ray’s outspread shape, she tucked her sunglasses onto her face, yielding the brighter grins, the corner of her lips promising destruction. “I think so. It’ll take time but I’m ready.” The discussion further unfurling and unfolding though gave her pause, and she inched closer on her float, deliberately pushing off the pool wall with her feet, skimming along the veneer of the water as Flora deliberated. “Listen, I’m all about obnoxious,” waving her hand about in the air as if this was a surprise. “But I’d worry if your dads couldn’t get to it in time.” Remi and Ronin had their own matters to attend to, she figured, as most demigods did.
Humming lightly, and rolling onto her back to stretch in the sun like a cat, she persisted. “I like the idea of the port. The warning’s there for the fuck around and find out. We have enough people to be able to reach it if someone’s deciding to persist.” Pausing, her head tilted, eyes squinting behind the glasses. “We could always upgrade it later so it can shoot further out?”
"If you need help with anything," Flora says, adjusting her sunglasses as she lets the tumsea drift wherever the Honeybee’s wake decides to push it, deliberately kicking herself farther into the middle so she can be jostled around like cargo in a tide. "Just let me know."
She watches Melita skim the water, sun striking the ridiculous ducks on her bikini, and something about the image makes Flora huff under her breath in fond disbelief before shaking her head slightly. "For a long time, having my parents in my back pocket had felt so good." It had been wings if she'd needed them, safety and certainty and the biggest get out of jail free card in what felt like the whole world. "But lately," she continues, shifting her weight as the float tilts and correcting it without thinking, "I kind of want to hold my own more, y'know?" The admission is not sharp; it’s thoughtful, a little restless.
She glances toward Melita then, not accusing, not heavy, just curious, as if she suspects the Honeybee understands what it is to stand in someone else’s long shadow and decide she would rather cast her own.
When they circle back to the cannons, Flora nods, settling into the logistics with a smirk. "Yeah for sure, the port sounds smart. Clear warning, clear line of sight so anyone sailing in knows what they're getting into." Her grin returns, slow and wicked. "And it means we don't have to rely on underwater monsters dragging a floating platform into place every time someone gets ambitious." She rolls her eyes behind her lenses, immediately chastising herself for suggesting something for the entire region that relied on her parents to move around.
I want to be when you fall on me like night I wanna kill the lights
“Oh, you already are,” Melita indulged with a grand wink from behind her shades and a smirk, and then she was flicking back down from the float again, submerged into the water. It cast down on her like always; bright and serene, gave her a moment to collect herself from below its depths, before she billowed upwards once more, taking a breath and heading for the side to glide outwards and back to the diving board.
But she listened, a wave of understanding passing through the pair. After her mother’s sacrifice, the Honeybee had only ever relied on herself; through bludgeoning and claws and tipping points where she dragged herself across barbarity and sand. Her uncle had been there, but she’d never allowed him to be a stopping point on her ventures – he had enough of his own angst and melancholy going on, that asking him for aid had never crossed her mind. Nor would she be consumed by another’s looming shadow, couldn’t recall a time she had been, unless it was in those brief and sharp synapses of grief – stepping out into the sun, powerful, potent, and mighty all on her own. Sometimes all she wanted was to become was a threat. “I get that,” she managed instead, thinking of Remi and Ronin’s power, potency, and abilities; the way their competency was bright, but potentially overbearing for a young woman who wanted to be more than just their daughter. What would it have been like though – to have that safety, that support, that comfort, all along? “I’d say you’ve done quite a bit for yourself though.” Yes, they’d been there – anchors and spotters, keepers and guards, but plans, concoctions, calculations had been the Doubletake’s own, for better or for worse. “Don’t sell your own shit short.”
Preparing for another launch, she brought her toes to the edge, smiling at the concoction of so many cannons in such a short amount of time; the impending boom music to her ears and horror to their enemies. “Brilliant,” cast a lengthy, slightly menacing grin, the notions of it all taking shape. “Though don’t get me wrong, the underwater monsters are a bonus. They're doin' all right and everything?"
Flora lets out a breath she hadn’t quite realized she was holding, the sound soft and almost lost beneath the slap of water as Melita resurfaces and makes her way back toward the board. There had been a flicker of worry there—brief and sharp—that she might sound spoiled, petulant, ungrateful for the kind of protection most people only dream of. That wanting to stand without the shadow of wings overhead might be mistaken for not appreciating them. But the Honeybee’s easy I get that settles against her ribs like a steadying hand, and she allows herself to relax into it.
She doesn’t argue when Melita tells her she’s done quite a bit for herself. She could. She could point out the invisible scaffolding that has always been there, the safety net strung tight beneath every leap. But she only wrinkles her nose instead, affectionate and faintly sheepish, and lifts her glass in a small salute. "Noted," she says, the word light but deliberate. "Most expensive shit in all of Torchline, then." The laugh that follows is bright and self-aware.
She watches Melita climb the board again, sunlight turning her into something molten and wild against the sky, and Flora’s grin widens as cannons and destruction and looming warnings settle into something almost festive between them. "Perfect," she declares, pleased with the shape of it all. At the question about underwater monsters, she snickers, the sound quick and delighted. "Oh my gods," she says, lowering her sunglasses just enough to peer up toward the board, eyes sparkling. "They are not just doing all right." She leans forward on the tumsea, conspiratorial, as though the ghosts themselves might eavesdrop if she’s not careful. "They’re expecting a baby."
The word seems to shimmer in the air between them, ridiculous and wonderful, before she tilts her head, curls threatening to slip loose as she lowers her voice further, even though they are very much alone in her private pool. "Actually," she adds, grin sharpening with mischief, "it’s twins. They haven’t figured that out yet, so don't ruin the shock surprise."
I want to be when you fall on me like night I wanna kill the lights
Melita hand-waved the notions away; Flora had grown from those potentially petulant hours, and she’d like to think that the Doubletake had much firmer ground underneath her, with or without Remi and Ronin’s aid. Instead of warring and middling deeper into it, she contorted herself into another jumping parameter, happy to glide up and down amidst the wind and the promise of soaring, not even remotely ready for what was to come.
So much so that as Flora made her announcement, and the Honeybee launched at the same time, she tucked her feet back into her chest and screeched “What??” simultaneously, shock and awe on her features as she pummeled into the pool’s depths. By the time she resurfaced, the bewilderment was still on her face, easily seen now that her sunglasses had scattered somewhere from the impact. “Hold up,” and she dove down to retrieve them, shaking her head upon her return.
“A baby. No, two babies,” finally came into fruition, and she tread water for several instances, snorting, trying to sort out her own reactions and sentiments. “How – did they ask the gods?” Presuming that Frey or someone would settle that matter wholeheartedly, ignorant of the existence of the baby garden right out there in King’s End. “Also…how are you with all of that?” The demigods had certainly enough tragedy marring the wake of their children…bold and brave enough to try it again, when the rest had settled into adulthood.
Flora smirks as Melita launches again, angling her face away just in time to avoid the worst of the splash, though the tumsea still bucks violently beneath her as the cannonball detonates the water. She braces with one hand, laughing under her breath while she waits for the Honeybee to resurface, already knowing that whatever expression comes next will be worth it. When Melita bursts back up, bewildered and dripping and missing her sunglasses, Flora widens her eyes theatrically and nods with solemn exaggeration. "Two," she confirms, lifting two fingers in the air as if presenting evidence.
She watches Mel dive again to retrieve her shades, grin lingering, before shrugging loosely when the questions begin. "Apparently there’s this baby patch in Meadowreach," she explains, gesturing vaguely with her glass. "You can just...make a baby." Her brows lift beneath the sunglasses. "I don't really get it." Another shrug follows, careless and amused. "But I wouldn't be surprised if Remi and Ronin went at it more than once, though," she adds, lowering her voice conspiratorially and snickering. "Which would explain the twins."
The joke comes easy, bright and irreverent, but when Melita asks how she is with it, something in Flora’s expression shifts before she can quite stop it. The smile falters—not gone, just thinner—and her gaze drifts down to the surface of the pool where sunlight fractures into wavering shards. "At first it was weird," she admits, exhaling slowly. "I mean...of all the kids. Aoife, Seren, me and Enzo, Mateo," she lets out a soft huff of breath. "Literally none of us were planned." Her nose wrinkles faintly, a small shrug rolling through her shoulders as she lifts one hand in surrender. "So it does kinda feel like.." She searches for the shape of it, then makes a face. "Sorry, accidents. Don't worry though, we finally got it right this time." The humour returns deliberately, smoothing the edges before they can cut too deep. She flicks water lightly toward Melita with her fingers, reclaiming the levity.
"That said," she adds, grin sharpening again, mischief flickering back to life. "Mateo and I have already given them a very hard time about it. We're being extremely supportive in the most annoying way possible."
I want to be when you fall on me like night I wanna kill the lights
Treading water as she took in the explanations, her features, ever incapable of hiding her emotions, warped from bewilderment to confusion and then to furrowed brows as she sifted and siphoned through each conclusion. There was a baby patch in Meadowreach (of which she was now envisioning tiny baby heads popping up like daisies), where one could simply…make a child. She blinked rapidly, taking one hand to get some of the water out of her eyes, placing her sunglasses back over in rampant disbelief. Trying to ignore the ‘went at it more than once’ line, her nose wrinkled, before extending a brief “Huh. Well.”
Melita had only ever had the one – her twin, Clementine, beloved and sweet and still cherished despite the distance between her life and death. But she could see how it would be strange, given Flora’s already massive family (and what was that like…to have so many that loved and cherished one another, despite the differences, the grief), and the planning aspect of it all. Neither she nor her sister had been intended either, and in fact, her father had simply refused and pretended they didn’t even exist.
Accidents. The word stuck there against her ribs. Perhaps that’s what she and Clementine had been too. Mistakes and problems. Melita had always been so damned bitter and rancorous that she’d never thought of it; aiming headlong for grandeur and bedlam, rather than extending her neck out and waiting for someone to drop the ax. She shrugged, perhaps much like Flora, and attempted to make it sound as though none of those portions of life were a big deal. “Eh, my sister and I weren’t planned either.” Their mom just seeking out a way to feel whole and forgetting crucial portions; offering levity too, as she splashed back in return. “Do they…like miss having little ones around or-?”
Tilting her head, she studied Flora’s expression from her hidden exploits behind the shades, huffing a little in a light laugh, a tiny grin reforming out of the perplexities. “As is your right. Do they have everything they need and stuff?”
Flora blinks at her, genuinely caught off guard, the tumsea drifting a half-turn beneath her as she studies Melita over the rim of her sunglasses. "I didn't know you had a sister," she says, the surprise unpolished and immediate, before something clicks belatedly into place and she tilts her head slightly. "Did she not..?" The question trails off as she realises what she is asking, the easy brightness dimming just a fraction as she remembers that Melita was an Outlander, and that not all of them came through together. Some didn't come through at all. She lets the unfinished sentence dissolve rather than force it somewhere painful, lifting one shoulder in a quiet, understanding shrug that says she wouldn't pry if Mel didn't want to explain.
At the question about little ones, Flora tips her head back against the inflated crown of the tumsea and considers it, sunlight warming her throat. "Honestly?" she says, exhaling through a small, crooked smile. "I think they're only doing it because Isla got pregnant." Her mouth curves further at that, amused and faintly incredulous. "They brought it up to Mateo and I almost immediately after finding out about her." The timing had been suspicious at best, competitive at worst, and Flora can't help the soft snort that escapes her.
As for whether they have what they need, she beams properly then, the earlier unease smoothing into something conspiratorial and warm. "Oh, probably not," she says breezily. "But Mateo and I are absolutely going on a shopping spree." Her grin sharpens, delighted at the prospect.
I want to be when you fall on me like night I wanna kill the lights
