i'd wipe the dirt off your name with the shirt off my back
Flora’s lips twitch—just slightly, just enough—for the smugness to slip through like sunlight through the clouds. "Mmhm, but I can teleport from that far underground," she hums, eyes glittering beneath the sweep of her lashes, even as the gloating rings a little hollow. It doesn’t matter if she’s winning in power. That was never what she wanted to be keeping score on.
Still, her gaze flicks down to the compass rose as Jack pushes back his sleeve, and though her expression doesn’t change much, something in her thoughts goes glassy. Cold. A frost that blooms without warning across her mind like thin ice cracking over a still pond. Of course it had to be another Safrin favour. Of course it had to shimmer with starlight. Her mind traitorously fills in the blanks she didn’t ask for: the low murmur of prayers, the glint of divine fingers against skin, the godly approval writ permanent across him like another claim she’ll never get to challenge.
She crosses her arms to keep from fidgeting and blows out a breath, aiming for casual. "I have risked my life, thank you very much," she points out, voice tight but light, like a cork bobbing above a sinking ship. "Plenty. But yeah. I mean...if it’s between me and a demigod, it makes sense not to ask me." Her fingers twitch, restless now, like her nerves are looking for something to throw. "I did spend a whole afternoon training with one of the Dragoons though. Practiced how to throw a punch at Pierce without him suspecting anything at his pool party." She tilts her head toward Jack, lips curling faintly. "That count for anything?"
She expects another quip. Another smirk, maybe, or a sardonic little jab to smooth over the tension. But instead he almost souded concerned and gods if it doesn’t knock the wind out of her more than she’ll ever admit.
Her smile stays in place, but it freezes at the edges, too sharp around the mouth to be soft. Okay. Sure, she’s okay in the sense that no one had died lately. That Torchline hasn’t burned and her bar is in capable hands now. She’s okay in that she can fly her ship now with two people and in that Dahlia hasn’t shown up to kill her. But she’s not okay in all the ways that matter. She’s not okay because of all the stupid drama that went on at her party, because Jack was here and not hers and because her home wasn’t really hers anymore either and for as cute as the Sugar Tide was, it was basically a glorified raft compared to living on the Ark.
But those are thoughts she swallows with the salt in the air, tucks deep beneath the surface where even he might not want to look. So she just shrugs, lashes dipping low as she turns her face slightly from him. "Why wouldn’t I be?"
Still, her gaze flicks down to the compass rose as Jack pushes back his sleeve, and though her expression doesn’t change much, something in her thoughts goes glassy. Cold. A frost that blooms without warning across her mind like thin ice cracking over a still pond. Of course it had to be another Safrin favour. Of course it had to shimmer with starlight. Her mind traitorously fills in the blanks she didn’t ask for: the low murmur of prayers, the glint of divine fingers against skin, the godly approval writ permanent across him like another claim she’ll never get to challenge.
She crosses her arms to keep from fidgeting and blows out a breath, aiming for casual. "I have risked my life, thank you very much," she points out, voice tight but light, like a cork bobbing above a sinking ship. "Plenty. But yeah. I mean...if it’s between me and a demigod, it makes sense not to ask me." Her fingers twitch, restless now, like her nerves are looking for something to throw. "I did spend a whole afternoon training with one of the Dragoons though. Practiced how to throw a punch at Pierce without him suspecting anything at his pool party." She tilts her head toward Jack, lips curling faintly. "That count for anything?"
She expects another quip. Another smirk, maybe, or a sardonic little jab to smooth over the tension. But instead he almost souded concerned and gods if it doesn’t knock the wind out of her more than she’ll ever admit.
Her smile stays in place, but it freezes at the edges, too sharp around the mouth to be soft. Okay. Sure, she’s okay in the sense that no one had died lately. That Torchline hasn’t burned and her bar is in capable hands now. She’s okay in that she can fly her ship now with two people and in that Dahlia hasn’t shown up to kill her. But she’s not okay in all the ways that matter. She’s not okay because of all the stupid drama that went on at her party, because Jack was here and not hers and because her home wasn’t really hers anymore either and for as cute as the Sugar Tide was, it was basically a glorified raft compared to living on the Ark.
But those are thoughts she swallows with the salt in the air, tucks deep beneath the surface where even he might not want to look. So she just shrugs, lashes dipping low as she turns her face slightly from him. "Why wouldn’t I be?"
