i can't help it if i want to kiss you in the rain, so
Flora preens, sunlight catching on the sweep of her cheek as she lifts her chin with smug satisfaction. "Of course I didn’t waste time," she calls over the wind, curls fluttering wildly around her face like banners in a breeze. "You think I was gonna let her sit there tied up like some boring pleasure yacht? Please." Also, newly single and banned from half of Torchline, what else was she meant to do with her time?
She adjusts her grip on the champagne bottle, fingers tightening around the neck as Ronin’s wings unfurl in a shimmer of pale light. When he steps toward her, she doesn’t hesitate—just steps easily into his arms with the kind of trust she doesn’t offer lightly, looping her arms around his neck as though she’s done this a hundred times. Her grin softens, just slightly, as the Sugar Tide drifts beneath them, suspended like a dream in the sea-salted sky.
As Ronin carries her overboard, Flora’s eyes fix on the elegant curve of the bow. The light here is golden, cut through with salt and cloud, the kind of moment that feels like it should be important—and she means to make it so. "Alright!" she announces to the open sky, loud and theatrical, voice ringing with mock-seriousness as they hover into place. "I hereby christen this ship The Sugar Tide! May she sail smooth, fly fast, and be utterly unbothered by gods or heralds, or anyone else who'd try to fuck with her!"
She splashes the champagne smartly against the side of the ship, bubbles cascading down its gleaming hull like a toast to freedom. "Please and thanks," she adds sweetly.
She adjusts her grip on the champagne bottle, fingers tightening around the neck as Ronin’s wings unfurl in a shimmer of pale light. When he steps toward her, she doesn’t hesitate—just steps easily into his arms with the kind of trust she doesn’t offer lightly, looping her arms around his neck as though she’s done this a hundred times. Her grin softens, just slightly, as the Sugar Tide drifts beneath them, suspended like a dream in the sea-salted sky.
As Ronin carries her overboard, Flora’s eyes fix on the elegant curve of the bow. The light here is golden, cut through with salt and cloud, the kind of moment that feels like it should be important—and she means to make it so. "Alright!" she announces to the open sky, loud and theatrical, voice ringing with mock-seriousness as they hover into place. "I hereby christen this ship The Sugar Tide! May she sail smooth, fly fast, and be utterly unbothered by gods or heralds, or anyone else who'd try to fuck with her!"
She splashes the champagne smartly against the side of the ship, bubbles cascading down its gleaming hull like a toast to freedom. "Please and thanks," she adds sweetly.
