i want my life to look like sunflowers and leather

Flora

Flora grins, leaning an elbow against the table as she nods sagely. "Oh, absolutely a ghost rule," she confirms without missing a beat. "Say a smuggler’s name too many times and they’ll appear to steal your heart—metaphorically or literally, depending on their mood." She winks, clearly enjoying the ridiculousness of it all, while wondering if somewhere in Torchline, Jack's ears were burning.

"Uh-huh," she drawls, tilting her head as she inspects the loaf. "Or maybe," she counters, her grin widening, "—you just cut out the damning evidence of your violent midnight outbursts when you woke up."

Joining him at the table, Flora stirred her soup with her spoon before exhaling dramatically and taking a sip, bracing herself for whatever disaster her limited culinary skills had concocted. It’s... fine. Not bad, but definitely basic. Wrinkling her nose, she sets her spoon down. "Okay, I might owe you another apology," she concedes, flashing him a sheepish look. "I’m not a great cook. Like, ninety-nine percent of my meals are made for me, so... maybe just think of my healing you earlier as having been preemptive for any potential stomach aches."

Fatefully, I tried to pick my battles 'til the battle picked me
Misery, Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep

Code stolen from Queen Sky