Hagamos mil travesuras y, si nos pillan, pues suerte

My heart's a stereo, it beats for you so listen close

"Listen up," he says, tapping a ruler against a ridiculously large map he has unfurled on the deck of the Sugartide. He's got it weighted down with various odds and ends from inside, including a very pointless feather boa that he tried to wad up tight and hope it'd stay, but the wind just keeps teasing it out longer and longer, little by little, like a sleepy snake gradually waking and warming in the day's sunlight. "Our mission is recon," he instructs, ruler in hand slicing through the air with an audible whoosh as he directs it at Flora.

He's dressed the part, in the working outfit of a soldier, all black from mid-calf combat boots to tactical pants with hella pockets and a durable, work shirt with pockets and ventilated sides. He has also arranged a safari-style vest and hat, unfortunately khaki instead of black. "We go in, we assess, we get out. This way, cartographers will have an idea of major location points." He nods, decisive. 

Also laid out is a plethora of the photos he'd taken with the camera on some of Stormbreak's last days, using them like a real eye view of the charted map sections, he's stuck them all around with smaller, varied weights. One of which, is definitely a small sex toy that got left out at some point that he did not recognize (maybe it's Danta and Asta's?) but it had decent enough heft and a condensed size perfect for pinning down the photo. They could use the camera to take new pictures of the plotted points and compare what had sustained in the fall and what had broken apart.

This is, also, a completely made up mission that he's gone fully overboard with zeal for.

---

Kaisel

Make me your radio and turn me up when you feel low

it ain't no crime, it's just dreams we're stealin'

Flora stands at attention so sharply she could slice the wind with her posture alone, boots planted wide on the deck of the Sugartide as it rocks in slow, deliberate swells beneath them. Stormbreak’s broken silhouette rises in jagged fragments beyond, her gaze sweeping over it once, deliberately solemn, before snapping it back to Kaisel with theatrical precision.

She, too, has dressed for the part and then some. Combat shorts that fit like they were poured onto her hips, boots laced tight to mid-calf, a grey tank top clinging in ways that are absolutely impractical for reconnaissance but deeply important for morale, and beneath it a bra engineered less for support and more for warfare of an entirely different kind lifting her tits so high a small tray could probably be balanced on them. Her hair is braided back over one shoulder, blonde woven tight and purposeful, though several curls have already escaped to riot at her temples thanks to the sea wind. Gold glints at her fingers, subtle except for the one ring she would not wear anywhere public (yet)—a blossom of gemstones clustered like a blossom, petals catching light each time she shifts—it feels warm against her skin, like a secret sun.

She keeps her face stern while Kaisel gestures with his ruler, slicing the air like a general who has read exactly one book about battle strategy and taken it to heart. The feather boa writhes against the map, pink and ridiculous, slowly elongating under the wind’s teasing fingers. Flora’s mouth twitches, but she swallows it down, because this is serious business.

Her aqua eyes follow the ruler as it whooshes toward her and she nods once, grave and obedient, hands clasped behind her back like she has been drilled for years in the art of standing still while looking extremely capable. The small, unidentified weight pinning down one corner of the map does not go unnoticed. Her gaze skims it, lingers a fraction too long, and then very carefully returns to Kaisel’s face. Spice chooses that moment to descend with the solemnity of a knight answering a call to arms. The small white dragon lands squarely on the curling corner of the map, talons pressing it flat, wings mantling once before folding neatly to her sides. She nods at Kaisel, chin dipping with grave dedication.

Flora feels something bright and fizzy bloom in her chest at the sight of it, like laughter trying to climb her ribs, but she holds formation. When Kaisel finishes, decisive and overcommitted, she snaps her right hand up in a crisp salute, chin lifting, shoulders squaring. "Sir, yes sir!" she declares with ringing enthusiasm, voice cutting clean through the wind, entirely too loud for the fact that there is no one else for miles. The gemstones of her ring flare in the light as she lowers her hand, and her lips curve despite herself. Beneath the play-acting, beneath the boots and bravado and theatrical salutes, something steadier hums; the simple, stubborn joy of standing beside him at the edge of ruin and choosing adventure anyway.

anything to get more of this feeling

Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3

My heart's a stereo, it beats for you so listen close

There literally could not be a better task force than the one currently assembled on the deck of the Sugar Tide, of that he is certain. From the decisive settling of Ser Spice the Cold, each scale befit with cunning like none the realm has ever seen, to the pert attention of Lieutenant Doubletake, supremely hot and so infamously formidable that she has several flee on sight orders. This is Team Alpha Ultra.

Lt. Doubletake’s roar of understanding washes over him as cleanly as any Torchline wave has ever been felt. It gives him immediate goosebumps, and his composure cracks into a flicker of a smile for an instant before he clears his throat and schools it back into the rigid neutrality of one deeply in charge of serious fun. Because this would be fun, and that anticipation vibrates through his very marrow. Being able to still come home, in whatever shape of the word, of the place, that this is—it’s meaningful. He means to do right by the city ruins that’d once watched over him, and he can think of no better way than helping learn them anew.

”At ease,” he nods, the motion stiff as his ruler cuts back and taps thoughtfully against his palm. ”Now, we need code names,” and he does not elaborate, because the requirement is obvious. ”Spice, our eyes in the sky to help guide us towards these locales more easily, will be Weather.” It’s as much an assignment as a proposal, one brow sketching up as he glances between Spyro and Laura Croft. The weather is on the move, looks like weather is changing course, heads up weather has landed—all plausible ways to speak about the best girl without giving her away.

As for Flora? His cheeks ripple with an uncontainable smile this time. ”You’ll be Hot Honey, naturally.” And gods, does she ever fit that description on a day like today. The Longheat sun is putting in extra effort for the effect of the name. It’s not only colored her all season with a rich and even honey gold tan, but it’s brought a flush to the surface of her skin, a heated look that amplifies how irresistible she is. That is absolutely helped along by the way she wears marraige. Always aware of the shimmering band on her wrist, and his, Kaisel clocks the rareer glint of the engagement ring on her finger with a surge of butterflies in his gut. It’s rather fitting that he gets to love her out loud and in full here, of all places.

Although admittedly, her actual attire is also doing work. GI Jane has nothing on Flora. His gaze lingers far too long over the curves the tight fabric clings to, the trail of it wandering even as he tries to uphold some impression of command. Appreciation runs his tongue slow across his lips, attention flicking back in full to her eyes as he divvies up their work. ”Would you prefer navigator or paparazzi?”

Kaisel

Make me your radio and turn me up when you feel low

it ain't no crime, it's just dreams we're stealin'

Flora nods at the declaration of code names with the grave solemnity of someone who has absolutely been expecting this development. "Obviously," she agrees at once, as though he has merely confirmed a long-standing military doctrine rather than invented it thirty seconds ago, her braid sliding over her shoulder as she adjusts her stance into something that feels almost aggressively competent.

Spice swivels her bright blue eyes toward her captain the moment he speaks, small head tilting with sharp attention. At the assignment of Weather, the dragon exhales a proud plume of frost that skates over the map in delicate crystalline veins before she launches herself skyward in a clean, eager arc, wings catching the Longheat light. A draconic trill spirals down to them as she climbs, bright and pleased, the very embodiment of shifting atmospheric conditions.

Flora watches her go with an approving nod, then returns her focus to Kaisel just in time to hear her own designation. She bites gently at the inside of her cheek to stop the smile from overtaking her face entirely, though it pushes at the corners anyway, traitorous and warm. She inclines her head once, accepting the title with ceremonial dignity even as heat slides up her neck in a flush she pretends is purely the fault of the sun. "And would you prefer to be Colonial Ketchup or Sergeant Sprinkles?" The names land with perfect seriousness, though her eyes glitter.

Kaisel's gaze does not go unnoticed as it drags over her in a way that makes something effervescent and giddy bloom beneath her ribs, a fizzing warmth that has absolutely nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with the fact that she is still wildly, embarrassingly, gloriously twitterpated by the man she married. Married. The word hums in her like a struck chord. The ring on her finger catches the light again, a little constellation of gemstones flaring as she shifts, and the sight of it paired with the way he looks at her makes her stomach perform a distinctly undignified flip.

She clears her throat delicately, a small cough meant to disguise the blush that insists on colouring her honeyed skin, then cocks one hip as if considering the options with grave deliberation. "mmm, I think paparazzi." The word rolls off her tongue with deliberate indulgence and a trill reminiscent of the travelling tongue.

She steps forward as she says it, closing the distance between them without comment, boots thudding softly against the deck. Inappropriately close, given her rank in relation to his, surely. The sea wind brushes against her as she bends slightly over the map, braid slipping forward, tank top dipping just enough to offer a strategic glimpse of her cleavage that is entirely coincidental and completely intentional.

Her lashes lower as she glances up at him through them, sunlight catching in the blue of her eyes. "Paparazzi," she confirms softly, finger tracing a lazy and entirely suggestive shape near the outline of the Celestine. "I will document your every heroic angle."

anything to get more of this feeling

Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3

High above the city, a pale, serpentine shape drifts through the clouds. A Cloud Wyrm glides effortlessly on unseen currents, its long body looping slowly through the open sky.

It casts a faint, passing shadow across the streets below before climbing again, content to remain distant and untouchable.

The wyrm continues its lazy circuit, a serene presence against the endless blue.

---

Cloud Wyrm Areas Found: King's End, Torchline, Stormbreak, Hak Etme — Uncommon Cousins of the dragon, these small and serpentine creatures boast no wings or destructive breath. Rather, they breathe clouds. Their four-legged white bodies can be seen slithering through the air, puffy clouds streaming from their mouths to ease the intensity of the sun on the plains. They never get any bigger than a weasel, are known as docile, playful creatures, and they seem to enjoy collecting shiny things. Challenge Rating: Easy | Mythical HP: 84 | To Hit: +30 | Dmg: 16 Movement: Fly 40 ft. (hover); Walk 10 ft. SPECIAL SKILLS Friendly Bond: when befriended, will linger overhead to provide moving shade and soft breezes; Sky-Slip: glides through still air with ease, ignoring most gusts and turbulence; Downy Silence: featherlight motion makes them almost soundless even at speed

TRAITS Cloud Breather: exhales soft, cooling vapour rather than flame; Docile & Playful: avoids confrontation, preferring games and gentle curiosity; Shiny Collector: irresistibly drawn to glittering trinkets and coins; Sunshade Trail: drifting cloud-streams cast welcome shade over travellers ACTIONS Cloud Puff: releases a dense little cloud to obscure vision or cool overheated allies; Zip Dash: darts in a looping burst of speed to evade grasping hands or predators; Chiming Trill: a bright, musical chirr that soothes nerves and encourages calm

My heart's a stereo, it beats for you so listen close

From the heart of flavor to the soul of the sky, the pale dragon shifts her identity with a seamless expertise that is noteworthy, and yet completely expected among Team Alpha Ultra, which is comprised of only the best of the best. They perform extraordinary feats with all the same ease as calling cereal breakfast.

Kaisel’s gaze tracks the rising Weather, the brim of his hat shielding the glare of the sun, a smile helplessly threading itself on his expression in response to her eager calls. She’s effortless as she climbs up the sky, her grace as unmistakable as her ferocity, and he marvels after her for a moment before returning his full attention to Lt. Doubletake. His attempt at retaining solemn authority is a hopeless battle as the memory of her code name warms him completely, as she herself has done practically every day since. She accepts it as if he’s bestowed her with a grand medal, and this threatens to break him completely.

Tilting his chin up as if by mere physical height he could rise above the risk of a laugh, he discovers he can’t. The moment she lays out his options, a small, breathy sound escapes him. His eyes flare briefly with shame as he tries and fails to suck the crack of composure back in, teeth pressing together with enough force to straighten his spine. With a put on sternness, he tells her quickly, ”Colonial Ketchup will do just fine.” Although dipping his gaze over the length of her is inherently risky, looking her in the eye now would surely undo him entirely, attraction having less strength in this moment than the shared mischief he’d find in the gaze of his best friend.

Replacing humor with heat does enough to seal the seams again, so that when his look rises back to the serious set of her face, he can continue to treat this operation with the full effect of command it deserves. Like any crack being held together, it seems to fight to return despite any attempts at repair, or so it feels when his lips twitch in answer to the way she spins her directive around her tongue. Or maybe that’s the inevitability of too much heat, proving to him he never should have leaned into it for rescue, not when it threatens to melt it all down in its entirety. There’s more than one way to lose composure after all, and she’s certainly peeling away this other layer, her approach alone enough to cause his fingers to flex as he resists the urge to reach out and drag her across the rest of the distance. He’d be stripped of all his rank, surely, if he indulged. It’d be an abuse of power and a mismanagement of their elite resources.

He wisely steps back. He allows a glimpse of her new shape of curvature though as she crouches over the map, and he wonders now if he shouldn’t have named her Captain Cleavage. She catches him looking, because of course she does, he gaze lifting through her lashes to pin him in place. ”GREAT!” he calls out far too loudly as he breaks from her Medusa-style effect and spins around to grab up a smaller, rolled map, since he’ll then be the navigator. He picks up the camera too, and by the time he pivots back towards her, he’s buttoned up enough to afford to sternly pass it over to her. ”You’re bound to break the camera if you do that,” he warns, using humor like a shield now instead of just a blade to fall on. ”It’ll be working nonstop.” A tilt captures part of his mouth before he retreats from being close to her, certain he’ll begin to turn liquid again sooner than he’d like.

Adjusting his backpack so that it’s high and tight, he marches with purpose to disembark. ”Let’s go soldier!” he calls back to her, glancing over his shoulder with a wild and boyish look as the game promises to unfold further en route on this adventure. Overhead, he spies movement, and mistaking it briefly for their eye in the sky he glances up expectantly. It’s no Weather though, just a cloud, but he’s no less pleased to see the wyrms are still at home here. ”Quick!” he says with a point towards the lazy cloud wyrm. ”Document the local fauna Hot Honey!”

Kaisel

Make me your radio and turn me up when you feel low

it ain't no crime, it's just dreams we're stealin'

Kaisel’s near-collapse into laughter and heat does not escape her for even a second. Flora watches it happen in real time—the crack in his composure, the way he fights it, the effort it takes for him to haul himself back into something resembling command—and it sends a bright, wicked current skimming through her veins. If he is going to try to hold rank, she is absolutely going to test the structural integrity of that authority.

When he settles on Colonial Ketchup, she gives him a single solemn nod, as though this is a promotion of great historical weight. "An honour to serve beneath you, Colonel,?" she replies, voice smooth and respectful in a way that absolutely will not help any potential tightening in his pants.

As the camera is passed to her with stern ceremony, she blinks at it, lashes fluttering in exaggerated alarm. "Oh no," she murmurs sweetly, “we absolutely can't have that." Her grin breaks through a heartbeat later, slow and shameless, as she slips the strap over her head. She adjusts it with deliberate care so that the body of the camera settles snugly against her tits, resting squarely against the swell of her tank top. The wind presses fabric tighter for emphasis. She pats it once, innocently. "Secured," she assures him.

The way he retreats is deeply satisfying. Then—"Gasp!" The word bursts out of her as she spots the pale serpentine shape looping lazily through the sky. The cloud wyrm glides above the fractured skyline like something too serene to belong to ruin, long body curving through the blue as if gravity has agreed to suspend judgment. Flora lifts the camera at once, braid swinging as she pivots for a better angle. Click. Click-click.

She shifts her stance, one boot braced on the deck railing for height, leaning into the shot as though she has been born for dramatic wildlife documentation. "Weather has competition," she calls lightly, lowering the camera just long enough to flash Kaisel a conspiratorial look before raising it again to capture the wyrm’s faint shadow skimming across broken stone.

And then they're off; down from the Sugartide, boots finding purchase on the jagged rock of what remains of Stormbreak. The air smells different here, brine and old stone and something metallic beneath it all, like memory rubbed raw. The Celestine rises in fractured elegance, the Tower stubborn and defiant, the Archive quiet as a held breath. Waves crash through the spaces where streets once floated, water threading through what used to be avenues.

Flora moves like she has always belonged in danger, climbing broken steps, hopping across unstable slabs of marble, braid swinging behind her. She directs Kaisel with exaggerated whispers, positioning him atop a dramatic outcropping so she can capture him in profile against the sea spray. "Hold that," she instructs, crouching low for the perfect angle, snapping a shot as the wind whips at his vest and hat like he’s starring in a propaganda poster for Extremely Attractive Cartographers.

She takes one of him squinting into the horizon like he alone can see the future of the ruins. She takes one of him mid-gesture, still committed to his fictional authority. She laughs when the wind nearly steals his safari hat and documents that too, because authenticity is important in reconnaissance. At some point he insists she climb a narrow ledge so he can capture her in return, and she obliges, standing tall against the backdrop of the Arclight, hands on hips, chin lifted like a conqueror surveying her kingdom. She jumps down afterward with a grin that tastes like salt and sunlight, brushing dust from her thighs while pretending not to glow beneath his attention.

They dart through remnants of old plazas now half-submerged, Flora pausing to snap photos of coral beginning to claim marble arches, of sea foam threading through what used to be doorways. She frames the Tower against the horizon, the Archive in the distance reflected in restless water, the Celestine bathed in Longheat light that refuses to dim even here.

They bump shoulders more than once. They laugh too loudly in places that probably deserve reverence. They invent backstories for collapsed statues and dramatic narratives for cracked pillars. At one point she positions herself beside him beneath a surviving archway and insists on a heroic duo shot, angling the camera outward before leaning into him just enough that their shoulders press, her grin wide and unrepentant.

An hour—maybe two—slips by like water between fingers by the time they climb back aboard the Sugartide with boots dusty and hair wind-tangled, Flora is glowing in that way that has nothing to do with heat and everything to do with being on yet another ridiculous aventure with Kai.

She sinks onto a crate near the unfurled map, braid loosened slightly, camera set carefully down as she goes through the polaroids they'd taken. The gemstones of her engagement ring catch the light again as she fans through them, one by one, her smile widening with each swipe.

"I think Safrin will love these as an offering," she says, voice bright with certainty. "No one else in all of Caido will have anything like this."

anything to get more of this feeling

Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3

My heart's a stereo, it beats for you so listen close

Flora approaches the task of documenting the excursion like she does most things in her life—with theatrical devotion and detailed precision, as if mediocrity has personally offended her and she intends to conquer it on sight. It presses a near-constant smile onto his face, one he keeps trying to rein back to maintain proper rank and file, but he fails spectacularly into a burst of laughter on more than one occasion as they traverse the city that once was.

He watches her more than once when she won’t notice, or pretends to scan the skyline for Weather or aligning positions on his map, while really he’s just marveling at the way she throws herself into the bit, into everything. She crouches for the perfect shot, intimate with the drama of shadow, wind, and angles like they have always been her besties. She clambers over jagged stone outcroppings and the scattered remains of things that’d once been monumental as if she could defeat change by standing atop it.

All of it he encourages and performs right back, because this is how they reclaim something. He valiantly leads them across broken paths and leaps over crumbling ledges just to wrestle a better look. He mourns things lost with a smile and a salute, allowing the camera to memorialize what has shifted its skin and found new form. He hurls himself into the idea of bravery with every stance she orders him into, and before long it’s honest instead of pretend. As they wander, their stories and laughter breathe something new into the rubble, and it stops being a march of loss, becoming something fresh and treasured instead.

When she insists on the duo shot beneath the arch, he doesn’t hesitate. He steps in close, shoulder to shoulder, posture organized in just the right way for glory and legacy. When she leans in, his arm settles naturally at her back, their bodies pressing in with an instinctual fit. Rank’s abandoned for the sake of something steady, the picture sealing it in place.

By the time they return to the deck, clothes disheveled with effort and salt drying on their skin, he feels lighter than he has in weeks. ”Excellent job Hot Honey!” he commends before dropping his pack near the large map. The feather boa has completely escaped to the stairs leading below deck, but the other paper weights have remained at their stations. He watches her flip through the polaroids, the little square memories fanning between her fingers. He slouches into place beside her with a grin, brushing against her and leaning over to point out a shot she’s holding up with a delighted laugh. Images of himself mid-stride, others of him framed like a statue ready to be made, her on the narrow edge like some sun-blessed conqueror—though not nearly as nicely looking as the ones she’d taken of him, his skills clearly better at reading maps than composition.

”She will,” he agrees without hesitation, because he’s in love with them, and they’re a far better display of the city than the lone structures and obscure movements of strangers in the shots he’d taken before it fell. The ruins feel so much more alive in her images because she knew how to capture happiness. A grin curves slowly across his mouth as he nods toward the shot of them under the arch. ”She doesn’t get that one though. We’re hanging that one somewhere prominent.”

”Think we should get a shot of her when we call her?” he says with a tilt of his head, peering up from their tangible moments to the aqua of her eyes. Excitement gleams back from his, eager to harness the stars into the shape of their love.

Kaisel

Make me your radio and turn me up when you feel low

it ain't no crime, it's just dreams we're stealin'

When Kaisel drops down beside her and slouches close enough that their shoulders brush, Flora shoots him a look of pure scandal, eyes widening as though he has just committed the gravest breach of protocol. "Colonel," she hisses under her breath, straightening her spine dramatically, "this is highly inappropriate fraternization." The corner of her mouth betrays her immediately as she grins at him before flipping through the polaroids, fanning them wide between her fingers like a deck of very sentimental playing cards. When he nods toward the one beneath the arch, she doesn’t even try to hide her smile this time. It spreads slow and luminous, the kind that feels like it belongs to a secret only two people in the world understand.

"I like that one too," she admits, tapping its corner before sliding it carefully aside as if it already has a designated wall in her mind. Then she lifts another square and holds it up between them. "And this one," she adds with a delighted little giggle, because it’s Kaisel mid-slip, one boot skidding on loose stone while his arms windmill in valiant but futile resistance. He looks heroic anyway, somehow, even mid-flail. She leans into him as she laughs, rank forgotten entirely now, shoulder pressing into his arm as though gravity prefers them this way.

At the suggestion of photographing Safrin, her entire expression lights up. "Oooh, we absolutely should," she says at once, already rearranging the photos into a loose constellation on the deck. The ruins, the wyrm, him looking stoic, her pretending to conquer the world, she places them with care, like building a small altar of moments.

Spice returns just then with the feather boa clamped proudly in her jaws, dragging it up the steps with great ceremony. Flora gasps softly in approval and takes it from her, fluffing it out before draping it around the cluster of photos in a loose, ridiculous frame. She smooths the boa once, then rises to her feet, braid slipping forward over her shoulder as she takes a steadying breath.

"Safrin?" Flora calls out. "I know we’re far from Torchline," she continues, tone softening just a fraction, "but we wanted to see the city you helped save. To remember it properly." She glances back at Kaisel, and something bright and nervous flutters in her chest, that same wild little crush blooming all over again as if the mountain and the vows and the ring were not proof enough. Her thumb brushes unconsciously over the flower of gemstones at her finger.

Clearing her throat, she straightens. "I know you already married us," she says, a smile tugging at her mouth that she tries—and fails—to fully suppress. "And that was absolutely amazing." Her lower lip catches briefly between her teeth as she searches for the right shape of courage, then she exhales it in one rush. "But we were wondering," she says, gaze flicking to Kaisel again, then back out to the sky, 'if there’s a way for Kaisel to write his proposal in the stars." The words leave her in a breathless tumble, hopeful and bold all at once. "So that everyone could see it," she finishes, chin lifting just slightly.

---

Magic: Divine Acknowledgement | Can pray to a god from any location (does not have to be at a shrine) .

Regional Score bonus: +21 in all shrine visits, drops, PQ+s, KQs, etc. (You must post this at the bottom of any post where a +19 should be included). Residents cannot be cursed at shrines in this region.

Highest Overall Score bonus: +10 in all shrine visits, drops, PQ+s, KQs, etc. (You must post this at the bottom of any post where a +10 should be included).

Accepted receive +20 and roll with advantage at all shrines. Include this at the bottom of all shrine posts.

anything to get more of this feeling

Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3

Safrin

Starlight threads downward in silken ribbons, weaving themselves into the shape of a woman before her feet ever touch the deck. Safrin arrives as though the sky has sculpted her in real time; gown spun from constellations and fine lace, the fabric shimmering with nebulae that shift and pulse in quiet cosmic rhythm. Light pools at the hem where it brushes the boards of the Sugartide, leaving no scorch, no salt, only brilliance. Her hair spills around her shoulders like midnight undone, stars tangled through it as if they had begged to stay. The radiant smile upon her lips is not merely warm; it is knowing.

She glides forward, gaze drifting first to the photographs arranged in their feathered frame. Her fingers hover, then descend, grazing the edges of the polaroids with reverent curiosity. Where her touch passes, the images shimmer faintly, as though memory itself has been polished. "Well," she murmurs, voice like distant chimes woven with stardust before glancing at the two, pleased, and the wryness in her smile arrives like a comet’s tail; subtle, sharp, delighted.

"I applaud the theatrics," she says, one elegant brow arching as her eyes flick between Flora and Kaisel. Her smile deepens, not mocking but indulgent. "And if you wish to write your engagement in the stars," she continues, the word stars seeming to hum in resonance with her gown, "I would be more than happy to help." The air around her pulses faintly, constellations within the lace shifting as though already anticipating their rearrangement.

"Love," she adds, gaze lingering on the flowered ring catching light at Flora’s hand and the matching bands on their wrists, "deserves spectacle.

---

Flora and Kaisel have been given a quest! They must

1. Complete a thread deciding what will be written in the stars. 10 words maximum.
2. Complete a thread capturing starlight (interpretation up to you).

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

My heart's a stereo, it beats for you so listen close

The sharp exchange of his fake title makes him stiffen at first, as if he has, in fact, been caught completely red-handed doing something obscene. Efforts at maintaining the ruse and rank had wholly been defeated by the sound of her laughter and the trek through old memories washing over into new. Proof not of his inability to maintain something, but rather of his weakness to all her guile and charm.

Clearing his throat loudly to excuse himself, he begins to lean away from her with exaggeration, deciding that if she wants to punish herself and rebuild the barrier of station between them, then he’ll gladly hand over distance once more. He doesn’t want to, but the petty demands it. At least, until he catches the betrayal of her lips, an immediate scoff cleaving his as he then rapidly swings back into her, the momentum of his distance jostling their shoulders with enough force to put the pictures at risk of scattering.

”I can’t STAND hiding it from you or the world any longer!” He feigns as if to sit before popping back up, continuing. ”I’d take a court marshall for your love any day, Lieutenant Doubletake.” He leans into the drama as surely as he does her side, throwing up a dramatic palm to his forehead as he delivers a daytime soap display. That hand swiftly sweeps over to her chin, tugging her in for a kiss against his smile.

Leaving behind the game as the memories instead absorb him, he laughs at her other selection. ”Oh, in that case, we also need to keep this one.” He flicks the corner of one where she has gone cross-eyed, tongue out, fed up with waiting for him to find the perfect lighting (which, he did not, if the harsh shadow over half of her is anything to go by). It is not the epitome of beauty that she normally is, but it warms him immediately, because absurd face or not, she is always devastating for him to look upon, perhaps even more in the candid moment of their silliness.

Stepping over to reclaim the camera in preparation of Safrin, Kaisel grins down at Spice. ”That is mission critical, good eye Weather,” he praises. While Flora fusses with the arrangement, he cleans off the lenses with a huff of breath and a careful rub of his shirt, not wanting the photo of the goddess to be marred by the dust and debris of their travels. Lifting it up to his face, he squints into the little window, aiming it around in readiness as Flora summons.

The arrival of a deity is not dampened by a few inches of metal and glass. The bright shine of her manifestation before them collects in the edges of his screen, and he swings the camera towards her brilliance, snapping one shot after the other as she emerges. The composition proves stellar, a rich depth of darkness seeming to pulse behind her, framing her as the only object worthy of light and attention within the printed squares.

As she begins to pour her focus over their display, Kaisel peering over the side of the camera, slowly lowering the device. The fresh photos of the goddess fan out between his fingers, his smile stretching out as he watches shimmers form in her wake. ”Thank you, Safrin,” he breathes, the sudden catch of uncertainty in his chest smoothed away easily by the lilt of her voice. He feared she might deny the request, not because of it being them as much as it being her stars, but he should have expected that she’d recognize the vision and find her twilight text far better suited than half-trained birds.

The relief and the excitement gushes out, and he’s nearly moved to step forward and hug her, but that surely would be crossing a boundary of rank that would result in more than a paper dismissal. He settles on extending the gift of her image to her, should she be inclined to take any of them with her. ”We’ll make it a message worthy of your letterhead,” he confirms, and there’s far more meaning there than just the words that’ll be written in starlight. The love itself that she’s backing, it is cosmic in its own right.

Now, to get started, because he can't wait any longer.

[FIN]

Kaisel

Make me your radio and turn me up when you feel low