your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand
"Good point, you can't." She quips, grinning. Letting her gaze drift off into the middle distance, Flora nods lazily even as her thoughts remain sharp and focused. Some small spark of feminism flares in her mind for a moment before she shrugs it off. Both the man and the woman had known the risks of their actions, and in the company of a telepath or no, they were foolish to stand about gawking at Flora and Jack anyway.
Lifting a brow, both wanting to know how he intended to take care of things as much as she didn't—not because she wanted to keep her hands clean of it, but because she'd no doubt find something to be jealous of—the queen nods, tickling her fingers up Jack's back before disappearing to get them each something to drink.
Returning with a rather full glass of whiskey for Jack—it had seemed watered down to her, so she'd poured a second in—and a gin for herself, the queen leans against the railing with her elbows comfortably against the wood. "The Ark is much better than this." She says over the rim of her drink, hoping how large of an understatement it was would get under Jack's skin.
