you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody
Flora huffs out a breath that’s somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, dry but coloured with unmistakable warmth as she rolls her eyes at him. "Careful," she mutters, "if we start evening the score, I might start expecting apologies next." But even as the words leave her lips, her gaze lingers on him, softening at the edges with something far less flippant. Because she hears the sincerity in what he says—what he offers—and even if she doesn’t fully understand it yet, she knows the weight of it when it comes from someone like Jack.
As he shifts into talk of Vesper, the mention of trust coils through her chest like seaweed stirred in a current. At first, she simply listens, her mind gilding with cautious optimism, unsure where this is leading. But then the conversation brushes close to them, to what she did and what he didn’t, and Flora’s thoughts curl defensively around the ache she hasn’t quite figured out how to name. Her blue eyes cut back to him, searching. "Oh?" There’s no heat in her tone, only uncertainty, the kind that curls quietly beneath her ribs and tries not to hope too hard.
And maybe it’s easier to pivot than to wait for the answer. Turning her gaze back to the ceiling, to the sunlit illusion still painting the world in gold, she lets her lips twitch into something just shy of wicked. "If I didn’t think she’d see through it—" Flora of course didn't know that it had been Dahlia's Vox-glasses at work that had let her find the queen, "—I’d say you could borrow my invisibility ring and go listen for yourself." She glances at Jack, her expression sobering. "Still...you really think there’s a version of her that talks? I just...I can’t picture her afraid enough of anything to crack." Then again, Flora had never been suddenly made weak and had all contact cut with those she cared about.
As he shifts into talk of Vesper, the mention of trust coils through her chest like seaweed stirred in a current. At first, she simply listens, her mind gilding with cautious optimism, unsure where this is leading. But then the conversation brushes close to them, to what she did and what he didn’t, and Flora’s thoughts curl defensively around the ache she hasn’t quite figured out how to name. Her blue eyes cut back to him, searching. "Oh?" There’s no heat in her tone, only uncertainty, the kind that curls quietly beneath her ribs and tries not to hope too hard.
And maybe it’s easier to pivot than to wait for the answer. Turning her gaze back to the ceiling, to the sunlit illusion still painting the world in gold, she lets her lips twitch into something just shy of wicked. "If I didn’t think she’d see through it—" Flora of course didn't know that it had been Dahlia's Vox-glasses at work that had let her find the queen, "—I’d say you could borrow my invisibility ring and go listen for yourself." She glances at Jack, her expression sobering. "Still...you really think there’s a version of her that talks? I just...I can’t picture her afraid enough of anything to crack." Then again, Flora had never been suddenly made weak and had all contact cut with those she cared about.
