i'd wipe the dirt off your name with the shirt off my back
It doesn’t take a telepath to read the expression on Jack's face—, not when Flora’s spent seasons at his side, tangled in sheets and secrets, drunk on his storms and always two steps from drowning in them. So when those dark brows lift and his gaze cuts her way, sharp as a broken compass needle, she doesn’t flinch. She just arches hers right back, ocean eyes widening in mock innocence that barely masks the flicker of smugness underneath because yeah, it absolutely was him being the unfair one.
"Hadama can teleport," she says lightly, folding her arms across her chest as she leans one hip against the railing, watching the sky bend a little too softly around the Ark’s maroon sails. "He can take someone else with him, too—he’s done it with me before. Noah, though...I’m not sure." Her mouth quirks, something bitter curling at the edges.
Her sigh is long and theatrical, enough to make her curls bounce as she tips her head back. "Greeeeat," she groans, already picturing the delightful task of telling her fathers that their demigod club might be needed on-call for a possible island rescue. "Remi’s gonna love that."
And then—well, then she lets her eyes drag down the length of Jack properly. Thoroughly. It’s absolutely under the guise of checking for injury like a dutiful queen should, but she doesn’t exactly rush the inspection. The dirt, the tears in his coat, the scratches she can just make out through the grime; he looks like a man who got spit back out by something ancient and hungry. Which is probably exactly what happened.
Waggling the fingers of her right hand, the one with the slim ring of gold wound with trickles of ivy, she raises a brow. "You actually okay?" she asks, tilting her head. Given that the Ark had left Torchline, any fountain water she was carrying would be rendered useless by the distance, and surely it was her obligation as queen to offer healing if he needed it. And not, you know, an excuse to be able to reach out and touch him again.
"Hadama can teleport," she says lightly, folding her arms across her chest as she leans one hip against the railing, watching the sky bend a little too softly around the Ark’s maroon sails. "He can take someone else with him, too—he’s done it with me before. Noah, though...I’m not sure." Her mouth quirks, something bitter curling at the edges.
Her sigh is long and theatrical, enough to make her curls bounce as she tips her head back. "Greeeeat," she groans, already picturing the delightful task of telling her fathers that their demigod club might be needed on-call for a possible island rescue. "Remi’s gonna love that."
And then—well, then she lets her eyes drag down the length of Jack properly. Thoroughly. It’s absolutely under the guise of checking for injury like a dutiful queen should, but she doesn’t exactly rush the inspection. The dirt, the tears in his coat, the scratches she can just make out through the grime; he looks like a man who got spit back out by something ancient and hungry. Which is probably exactly what happened.
Waggling the fingers of her right hand, the one with the slim ring of gold wound with trickles of ivy, she raises a brow. "You actually okay?" she asks, tilting her head. Given that the Ark had left Torchline, any fountain water she was carrying would be rendered useless by the distance, and surely it was her obligation as queen to offer healing if he needed it. And not, you know, an excuse to be able to reach out and touch him again.
