flora
The rope hits her deck with a thud, but it’s the boots that follow—the lazy thrum of a body landing where it shouldn’t—that makes Flora freeze mid-sulk, half-curled in her deck chair and still sticky with sun-warmed frustration. She looks up slowly, and as the bag lands at her feet, and she barely resists the urge to kick it overboard.
"You don’t ask before boarding?" she snaps, standing so abruptly the cocktail glass nearly tips again. "I've seen you kill men for less for pulling that shit on the Ark." Her curls bounce as she steps deliberately in front of him, blocking his path toward the stained-glass sails with a fire in her aqua eyes that practically dares him to move her.
"No," she says flatly, arms crossing her chest; because he doesn’t get to come onto her ship and start rearranging her life like he has done since they'd met. "You can wait. I want to make sure you didn’t forget anything. No need to do this twice."
She crouches down, fingers brushing the coarse fabric of the bag, as if touching something he’d handled might explain why her heart’s pounding like it’s still seventeen and meeting the captain for the first time. She rifles through the contents—spare shirts, trinkets, the gold dagger she forgot she left under his pillow once. Nothing obvious is missing, except..."Where’s your half of the parchment?"
"You don’t ask before boarding?" she snaps, standing so abruptly the cocktail glass nearly tips again. "I've seen you kill men for less for pulling that shit on the Ark." Her curls bounce as she steps deliberately in front of him, blocking his path toward the stained-glass sails with a fire in her aqua eyes that practically dares him to move her.
"No," she says flatly, arms crossing her chest; because he doesn’t get to come onto her ship and start rearranging her life like he has done since they'd met. "You can wait. I want to make sure you didn’t forget anything. No need to do this twice."
She crouches down, fingers brushing the coarse fabric of the bag, as if touching something he’d handled might explain why her heart’s pounding like it’s still seventeen and meeting the captain for the first time. She rifles through the contents—spare shirts, trinkets, the gold dagger she forgot she left under his pillow once. Nothing obvious is missing, except..."Where’s your half of the parchment?"
The rumors are terrible and cruel
But honey, most of them are true
But honey, most of them are true
