Flora
Flora gives a faint shake of her head, her voice quiet as she mumbles, "I wasn’t really hungry anyway." She doesn’t elaborate, not when Jack had already heard her thoughts and likely knows that she only came with him to the little cafe because he'd asked her to.
But his quip makes her snort softly, her grin brightening in the way that only his brand of sarcasm could still manage. "High praise," she murmurs, fond despite herself. Sliding out of the booth for the second time, this time she waits, pausing just long enough let him fall into step beside her. The air outside is heavy and already baking, the kind of heat that slicks the back of her neck and makes the knotted tank-top she's wearing feel like something much more befitting Halo.
The bench is just ahead, tucked beneath the fringes of a palm’s shade. "Sit," she instructs, all breezy authority. Once he does, she steps behind him and reaches for the messy knot of hair he’d twisted earlier. Her fingers are gentle as they work it loose, carefully teasing apart the tangles, her nails skimming lightly over his scalp as she uses them to comb through the sun-warmed strands.
There's a knife in his boot that she'll ask for in a moment, her own are coated in poison and will definitely give him split ends. But before she does, her fingers still against his scalp before sliding down to his shoulders. "I'm going to tell you something, and you probably aren't going to like it," she says in a low voice, one of her fingers twisting errantly around one long section of his hair. "But I need you to sit here and act like nothing's wrong so that anyone watching doesn't think anything of it."
But his quip makes her snort softly, her grin brightening in the way that only his brand of sarcasm could still manage. "High praise," she murmurs, fond despite herself. Sliding out of the booth for the second time, this time she waits, pausing just long enough let him fall into step beside her. The air outside is heavy and already baking, the kind of heat that slicks the back of her neck and makes the knotted tank-top she's wearing feel like something much more befitting Halo.
The bench is just ahead, tucked beneath the fringes of a palm’s shade. "Sit," she instructs, all breezy authority. Once he does, she steps behind him and reaches for the messy knot of hair he’d twisted earlier. Her fingers are gentle as they work it loose, carefully teasing apart the tangles, her nails skimming lightly over his scalp as she uses them to comb through the sun-warmed strands.
There's a knife in his boot that she'll ask for in a moment, her own are coated in poison and will definitely give him split ends. But before she does, her fingers still against his scalp before sliding down to his shoulders. "I'm going to tell you something, and you probably aren't going to like it," she says in a low voice, one of her fingers twisting errantly around one long section of his hair. "But I need you to sit here and act like nothing's wrong so that anyone watching doesn't think anything of it."
I trace the evidence, make it make some sense
why the wound is still bleedin'
why the wound is still bleedin'
Code stolen from Queen Sky
