[SE] rebel heart

there exists a tipping point between gods and monsters

"Is that so? I should develop resting brooding face, just for you," Jack decides. He, of course, pays little mind as to how he looks or how it might seem to other people (well, to most other people, given how Flora has slowly but surely managed to change that). Shifting to make room for her on the furs and raising his eyebrows for her verdict on the gin, the heat is enough that Jack instinctively cringes himself at the flare of it along his magic; it's a rare thing for him to be tentative about trying alcohol, but Flora's reaction had been visceral.

Lifting the bottle to his lips and taking a healthy swig of it himself (no half measures here), it's a testament to the Doubletake's working in a bar and her maturing palette, because she's spot on. Hissing in a breath through clenched teeth that does very little to cool the burn on his tongue and in his throat and chest, Jack sets the bottle down and gives his head a quick shake, as if that might dispel the sensation.

"Fuck," he says roughly. "Well. Here's to a memorable birthday." His laughter is a touch hoarse, and no, he does not try and cheers the bottle for another sip.