i'd wipe the dirt off your name with the shirt off my back
Flora's brows knit and she shakes her head once, hard, curls bouncing with the sharpness of it. "No," she shouts across the space between them, voice bright with disbelief. "I didn’t know they were going in. I didn’t even know you were going with them."
Then, gods, the way he says ferry you with us; she flinches. Not outwardly—her shoulders stay square, her chin high—but something inside her pulls back, like the ocean before a riptide. It’s not Jack’s fault, not really. It’s practical, and her ship is smaller, but still—tethered, like some pretty little ornament too fragile to handle the sky alone? She swallows it. Burying the feeling somewhere under her breastbone where it can’t do any harm, where it can settle like an old scar. " 'k," she calls instead, more curtly than she means to. Besides, it wasn't as though there was any reason for her to stay close to Starfall if things really did go wrong; what could she possibly do on her own that Hadama, Noah, Sah (and Jack) couldn't acocmplish together?
Her gaze flicks from the stained-glass canvas of the Sugar Tide’s sails to the gleaming hull of the Ark. There’s a flicker of pride in her chest as she begins pulling the ropes to begin the slow, careful process of lowering the sails. The wings of coloured glass settle into place with a hush of wind and colour, catching the sun in their shimmer as the Sugar Tide stills beside the Ark like a bird perching mid-flight.
Slipping on a pair of sandals she’d kicked aside hours ago, Flora pads toward the bow, her bracelets chiming soft accompaniment with each step. The wind tousles her hair as she emerges into view again, steady on the polished deck, her gaze sharp as ever beneath the heat-haze of sun and altitude. "Sooooo?”" she calls, hands on her hips. "YDo I get a rope or a bridge, or do ya'll really want to see me go overboard?"
Then, gods, the way he says ferry you with us; she flinches. Not outwardly—her shoulders stay square, her chin high—but something inside her pulls back, like the ocean before a riptide. It’s not Jack’s fault, not really. It’s practical, and her ship is smaller, but still—tethered, like some pretty little ornament too fragile to handle the sky alone? She swallows it. Burying the feeling somewhere under her breastbone where it can’t do any harm, where it can settle like an old scar. " 'k," she calls instead, more curtly than she means to. Besides, it wasn't as though there was any reason for her to stay close to Starfall if things really did go wrong; what could she possibly do on her own that Hadama, Noah, Sah (and Jack) couldn't acocmplish together?
Her gaze flicks from the stained-glass canvas of the Sugar Tide’s sails to the gleaming hull of the Ark. There’s a flicker of pride in her chest as she begins pulling the ropes to begin the slow, careful process of lowering the sails. The wings of coloured glass settle into place with a hush of wind and colour, catching the sun in their shimmer as the Sugar Tide stills beside the Ark like a bird perching mid-flight.
Slipping on a pair of sandals she’d kicked aside hours ago, Flora pads toward the bow, her bracelets chiming soft accompaniment with each step. The wind tousles her hair as she emerges into view again, steady on the polished deck, her gaze sharp as ever beneath the heat-haze of sun and altitude. "Sooooo?”" she calls, hands on her hips. "YDo I get a rope or a bridge, or do ya'll really want to see me go overboard?"
