funny how true colours shine in darkness and secrecy

Koa

Don't you just wanna wake up dark as a lake
Smelling like a bonfire, lost in a haze?

"Shit-talking is not justification for attempted murder." Koa's fists clench along with his jaw, and if it weren't for the compulsive way he keeps his nails short he might have dug red crescent moons into the skin of his palms. He doesn't address her as a person comment, because what is that even supposed to mean? Does she want him to yell, to cry, to lay his vulnerabilities out and let her pick them all apart? Because he'd offered her that, more than once, and she'd turned him down each time. Rejected him in favor of Jack Barclay, and oh if the irony of that full circle doesn't cut far deeper than any knife.

His expression, already steely, hardens a fraction more as she carries on, the addition of a Dragoon like salt into the wound. "I am aware it's not my jurisdiction. Which is why I am asking if action will be taken, not demanding that it is." Likely none, as Torchline didn't seem particularly bothered by murderous actions. He'd learned that lesson the hard way, from Harper and Hadama, back when he'd tried to report Edmund's crimes to them.

It's impossible not to hate where they are, or the way his anger tastes on his tongue. How different would their lives be now, if they'd been able to figure out what they wanted before the insurmountable obstacles began to form between them, jagged and isolating as a mountain range? It's so exhausting, and Koa can feel the seams of self-control straining in his chest. It isn't in his nature to be hard, to wear hurt and fury like a cloak. But it is his nature to be stubborn, and if Flora wants to keep distance between them, so be it.

Except... maybe she doesn't? Because all at once she's rising up, slow and even, her aqua gaze locked onto his, and the expression within is changed so drastically it catches Koa's breath. Confusion cracks his careful composure, followed swiftly by fear as all at once he registers a number of things.

One, there's an unsettling stillness in the forest, the kind that spells a brewing danger no matter where it's found.

Two, there is something else in the space with them, perceptible only by the faint sound of rustling and the unsettling, hair-raising sensation of movement at his back.

Three, Flora is afraid.

"Flora?" Every instinct screams for Koa to turn around and draw a weapon, but Flora's instructions are clear and measured, and despite it all he trusts her. He reaches out to take her hand, mirroring the slowness of her actions despite the sudden thundering of his own heart. It takes every ounce of self control he has not freak the fuck out, especially as something distinctly branch-like brushes across his shoulder blade, causing Koa to shudder visibly as sweat clams on his skin. Eyes never leaving her face, he nods his understanding. "Right. Okay." His face, though pale, is calm as he can keep it, but the tightness of his grip upon her fingers betrays a well of terror underneath.

If you're drunk on life, babe, I think it's great
But while in this world I think I'll take my whiskey neat