[SE] If I hit the bottom will I break?

ISKRA

Iskra might have worn the stubborn merchant down in time, but to say he's grateful for the way Mel sweeps in and commandeers the conversation with so few words and a look he's happy to not be on the receiving end of, well it'd be an understatement. Iskra flashes the vendor a rough smile as the man grumbles in agreement. Iskra slides over some coin in exchange for the keys, a number painted on the tag and muttered words about dropping them back in the box before morning. "A pleasure," Iskra says dryly before kicking away from the stand, hand clapping Mel's back with a laugh.

"I think he shit his pants when we saw you." Iskra could direct him to the pairs he didn't take back at the shop. "What the hell've you got in there anyway?" he glances pointedly at her bag, the threat of which seemed to be the tipping point for the agreement. "I'm guessing...ducks, bandages, and at least some knives?" She's harder than she once was, but no less sharp, just honed in a different manner. Life finds a way to wear a new shape into you, like wind among canyons.

The promise of tortillas drifts with the salt on the sea breeze, and the smell is like the world still has her in it, like he's a boy and this is home and nothing too terrible has happened yet.

I'm losin' my grip, caught up in the current
I can't swim, I'm startin' to slip
I'm runnin' out of breath, I'm scared to death
I gotta keep my head up, Up above the water