your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand
"Mmmmm." Closing her eyes once she's sure that Jack isn't going to let the water just drench her—it's only a glass, and if it goes everywhere, she supposes that's his problem anyway—the queen massages it into her knotted curls where her scalp feels like its been rubbed with sandpaper.
"First timer over here." Flora says on the heels of a sigh, forcing herself not to rub at the blood stains on her clothes. It wasn't the sort of experience she was keen to repeat, even if she was no longer naive enough to think she could keep skating through life unharmed.
You're staying? When she was younger it was all she could do to try and contrive a situation for Jack to ask her that question in this particular room. For all the times she'd barged onto the Ark, all the times she'd found his door locked, or hadn't found or said the right words in order to have their evening end this way, and in the end, all it took was nearly dying together. Much to the disappointment of her younger self, rather than making Jack ask her properly or otherwise playing hard to get about it, the queen instead just smiled gently and nodded. "Passing out sounds good."
Standing with a groan, Flora glances down at the state of herself: her dark leggings were splattered with red and purple, her running bra frayed from having been thrown around in the sand. Swallowing, it takes only a moment's consideration before the queen wordlessly shimmies out of her clothes, too tired to think about what a mess she looked and thinking only of wanting to keep Jack's sheets clean so they could both sleep comfortably.
Well, mostly thinking of just that.
"First timer over here." Flora says on the heels of a sigh, forcing herself not to rub at the blood stains on her clothes. It wasn't the sort of experience she was keen to repeat, even if she was no longer naive enough to think she could keep skating through life unharmed.
You're staying? When she was younger it was all she could do to try and contrive a situation for Jack to ask her that question in this particular room. For all the times she'd barged onto the Ark, all the times she'd found his door locked, or hadn't found or said the right words in order to have their evening end this way, and in the end, all it took was nearly dying together. Much to the disappointment of her younger self, rather than making Jack ask her properly or otherwise playing hard to get about it, the queen instead just smiled gently and nodded. "Passing out sounds good."
Standing with a groan, Flora glances down at the state of herself: her dark leggings were splattered with red and purple, her running bra frayed from having been thrown around in the sand. Swallowing, it takes only a moment's consideration before the queen wordlessly shimmies out of her clothes, too tired to think about what a mess she looked and thinking only of wanting to keep Jack's sheets clean so they could both sleep comfortably.
Well, mostly thinking of just that.
