Flora
The brush of Jack’s fingers around her wrist stills her completely. Not because it startles her, but because some part of her heart somersaults at the familiarity of it. For a breath, her pulse tugs toward the old rhythm; the quiet yearning to lean in, to twine her fingers into his without thinking, to slide into his lap. But she doesn’t. Instead, she lifts her gaze to meet his, letting her thumb drag lightly along his knuckle before she stills again.
"I’m not saying I’m nothing," she murmurs, searching the sea-blue of his eyes, "but...I’m at least comparatively dispensable." She shakes her head faintly, not wanting to argue.
Her thoughts flash sharp then, a different current stirring beneath her surface calm. Her smile tilts, crooked and dry, and the glint behind it is bitter at the edges. Sure I could hand out my daggers, she thinks, the words flickering into his mind with wry precision, and teach someone how to call them back, but..Dahlia has a fucking office in Stormbreak, Jack, but no one’s ever gone to see her. She pauses, just long enough for the weight of her meaning to settle. Oh no wait, that's right. I have. Another pause. Pierce is the same. Not exactly hard to find. But so far? No one’s tried.
Flora steps forward, close enough now that the hem of her shorts brushes his knees. Her gaze drops to the hair she’s trimmed, the strands gathered across his shoulders like sea foam after a tide. "Like it or not," she says, her tone quiet and resolute, "If anyone else wanted to, they would have."
Her thoughts don’t scream it, but Jack will feel it all the same—the ache behind her defiance, the fear and duty that’s always pulsing just under the sparkle of her smile. The certainty that someone has to act, and the resignation that maybe she’s the only one reckless enough to actually do it.
"I’m not saying I’m nothing," she murmurs, searching the sea-blue of his eyes, "but...I’m at least comparatively dispensable." She shakes her head faintly, not wanting to argue.
Her thoughts flash sharp then, a different current stirring beneath her surface calm. Her smile tilts, crooked and dry, and the glint behind it is bitter at the edges. Sure I could hand out my daggers, she thinks, the words flickering into his mind with wry precision, and teach someone how to call them back, but..Dahlia has a fucking office in Stormbreak, Jack, but no one’s ever gone to see her. She pauses, just long enough for the weight of her meaning to settle. Oh no wait, that's right. I have. Another pause. Pierce is the same. Not exactly hard to find. But so far? No one’s tried.
Flora steps forward, close enough now that the hem of her shorts brushes his knees. Her gaze drops to the hair she’s trimmed, the strands gathered across his shoulders like sea foam after a tide. "Like it or not," she says, her tone quiet and resolute, "If anyone else wanted to, they would have."
Her thoughts don’t scream it, but Jack will feel it all the same—the ache behind her defiance, the fear and duty that’s always pulsing just under the sparkle of her smile. The certainty that someone has to act, and the resignation that maybe she’s the only one reckless enough to actually do 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
