Flora
She rolls her eyes, though there’s affection threaded through the gesture. "We’d need to make the jail a hell of a lot bigger if I was going to start locking up every single person who was an impudent fuck to me," she says, brows lifting in silent suggestion that if that were the law, he might have spent a few nights behind bars himself. The grin that follows is easy, one-shouldered in its shrug, as if the idea of arresting him is more amusement than threat.
When he calls her love—just a casual stitch in the fabric of his sentence—familiar threads of gold drift lazily through the garden of her thoughts. She doesn’t tug on them, doesn’t linger, but they’re there all the same, catching the light for a moment before floating away.
"Channeling," she confirms, nodding, "and my compass. Though I’m not using that unless I’ve got absolutely no other choice." Her gaze flicks toward the SugarTide bobbing in her berth, a little furrow tugging at her brow. "Last thing I want is to leave her stranded up there."
When he calls her love—just a casual stitch in the fabric of his sentence—familiar threads of gold drift lazily through the garden of her thoughts. She doesn’t tug on them, doesn’t linger, but they’re there all the same, catching the light for a moment before floating away.
"Channeling," she confirms, nodding, "and my compass. Though I’m not using that unless I’ve got absolutely no other choice." Her gaze flicks toward the SugarTide bobbing in her berth, a little furrow tugging at her brow. "Last thing I want is to leave her stranded up there."
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
