you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody
Flora slips through the pathways of the Castaway Exchange like a quiet sigh, her gaze sharp as she navigates the maze of makeshift stalls and shadowed hulls. Lanterns bob unevenly on ropes, their flickering glow reflected back in fragments on the dark water, but tonight their wavering warmth feels more eerie than comforting. Each creak of timber, each muffled splash from distant boats rings louder than it should in her ears.
The queen's usually buoyant thoughts are subdued, drifting uncertainly, caught like kelp tangled around her heart. Her mind is an uneasy ocean tonight—wave after wave rising, dark and restless. Anxiety sits like a coral reef just below the surface, scraping her consciousness raw whenever thoughts of Jack float too close. She anticipated his frustration with her, but never imagined this suffocating silence that stretched between them like miles of cold ocean floor.
Tonight the queen has dressed intentionally—not the usual bold colours and loud accessories of Torchline royalty, but something quieter, subtler, though no less striking. A sleek, dark blouse skims her figure, cut just low enough at the neckline to suggest careful intention, while fitted black pants hug her curves perfectly, practical enough to move freely but flattering enough to remind Jack exactly what he's been ignoring. A delicate ocean garden of vibrant coral and blooms emerges slowly in her mind, fragile but determined, inviting but carefully guarded—a mental landscape Jack would recognize, layered in the familiar perfume of wildflowers and sea spray.
Flora tilts her head up slightly as Spice dips closer, her wings slicing silently through the humid night air. Their connection thrums briefly as Spice confirms the intel that the queen had been given: the Ark is here, nestled quietly among the ships, hidden in plain sight.
Well, wherever Jack was, he'd have to come home eventually. So, despite knowing that he'd sense her regardless, the queen twists her invisibility ring before spinning a dagger lazily in one hand.
The queen's usually buoyant thoughts are subdued, drifting uncertainly, caught like kelp tangled around her heart. Her mind is an uneasy ocean tonight—wave after wave rising, dark and restless. Anxiety sits like a coral reef just below the surface, scraping her consciousness raw whenever thoughts of Jack float too close. She anticipated his frustration with her, but never imagined this suffocating silence that stretched between them like miles of cold ocean floor.
Tonight the queen has dressed intentionally—not the usual bold colours and loud accessories of Torchline royalty, but something quieter, subtler, though no less striking. A sleek, dark blouse skims her figure, cut just low enough at the neckline to suggest careful intention, while fitted black pants hug her curves perfectly, practical enough to move freely but flattering enough to remind Jack exactly what he's been ignoring. A delicate ocean garden of vibrant coral and blooms emerges slowly in her mind, fragile but determined, inviting but carefully guarded—a mental landscape Jack would recognize, layered in the familiar perfume of wildflowers and sea spray.
Flora tilts her head up slightly as Spice dips closer, her wings slicing silently through the humid night air. Their connection thrums briefly as Spice confirms the intel that the queen had been given: the Ark is here, nestled quietly among the ships, hidden in plain sight.
Well, wherever Jack was, he'd have to come home eventually. So, despite knowing that he'd sense her regardless, the queen twists her invisibility ring before spinning a dagger lazily in one hand.
