Flora
"Oh, I am having fun," Flora assures him, tone positively dripping with innuendo before she just cuts right to it. "Nothing quite like trying to gaslight yourself into thinking everything is fine in order to go to sleep like trying to erase thoughts of your ex with a particularly quick orgasm."
When Mateo snatches the instructions back, she mock-pouts, stretching out dramatically across the nearest bench like a woman resigned to fate. "Fiiiiine. Abandon me mid-training montage." But then La Verbena begins to move—slowly, smoothly—and Flora props herself up on one elbow, watching the deck slip free of its berth with an approving hum. s[ay]"See? She likes it rough and improvisational. She’s definitely a Torchliner."
Her smile falters, though, as his voice does, and when Mateo speaks next, her expression softens—not into pity, but into something more aching and familiar. "Mateo," she murmurs, sitting up properly now. "You were better. You are better. That’s not the problem." She leans forward, resting her arms on her knees as the wind picks up around them, tugging playfully at her curls. "You could’ve been perfect and they still would’ve missed things because as much as everyone else sees them as these perfect demigod heroes, they're actually pretty shit." Her voice is quiet but steady, like a truth she’s had to repeat often enough that it’s stopped hurting as much.
She gives him a sidelong glance, lips quirking. "Also, I bet you'd look stunning as a blonde. You can't tell me you haven't tried on a blonde wig at least once and loved it."
When Mateo snatches the instructions back, she mock-pouts, stretching out dramatically across the nearest bench like a woman resigned to fate. "Fiiiiine. Abandon me mid-training montage." But then La Verbena begins to move—slowly, smoothly—and Flora props herself up on one elbow, watching the deck slip free of its berth with an approving hum. s[ay]"See? She likes it rough and improvisational. She’s definitely a Torchliner."
Her smile falters, though, as his voice does, and when Mateo speaks next, her expression softens—not into pity, but into something more aching and familiar. "Mateo," she murmurs, sitting up properly now. "You were better. You are better. That’s not the problem." She leans forward, resting her arms on her knees as the wind picks up around them, tugging playfully at her curls. "You could’ve been perfect and they still would’ve missed things because as much as everyone else sees them as these perfect demigod heroes, they're actually pretty shit." Her voice is quiet but steady, like a truth she’s had to repeat often enough that it’s stopped hurting as much.
She gives him a sidelong glance, lips quirking. "Also, I bet you'd look stunning as a blonde. You can't tell me you haven't tried on a blonde wig at least once and loved it."
'Cause I'm a real tough kid, I can handle my shit
They said, "Babe, you gotta fake it 'til you make it" and I did
They said, "Babe, you gotta fake it 'til you make it" and I did
Code stolen from Queen Sky
