karma's a relaxing thought, aren't you envious that for you it's not?
Flora laughs, the sound bright and unbothered even through the pause between them. She can imagine well enough what his storybook ending might look like—and how spectacularly wrong-footed it would be to pigeon-hole a damsel into it—but she smiles up at him anyway, shoulders lifting in a loose shrug. "Some of the best things in life show up when you stop trying to write your own story so rigidly," she says, the words easy but not without meaning. "So who knows. Maybe keep your eyes peeled for damsels, just in case." The nudge she gives his arm lands lighter this time, more companionable than teasing.
At his remark about faking being survival, she only shrugs again, not offering outright agreement but not contradicting him either. The Doubletake had never been called that for nothing—her ability to fool others had been armour, not art. It was a truth she carried, whether she wanted to admit it aloud or not.
His distinction between selfishness and survival earns a hum of thought from her, her lips quirking wryly. "Oh, for sure," she agrees, tipping her glass in a half-toast, "but the world’s very good at making that distinction when it suits other people. Not so much when it’s about you." With a crooked smile, she jerks her chin back toward the beach where they’d first stepped off the sand, a silent cue that they ought to wander that way again.
"It’s a fine balance," she continues as they move, her bare feet sinking into warm sand where the tide hasn’t reached. "Not giving a shit what people think, but still knowing when to take good advice. Can’t say I’m the best at walking that particular tightrope—" her grin flashes crooked as she glances up at him, "—but I’m getting better."
The rum sparkles low in her blood, heat and light thrumming steady through her, and she feels the ease between them settle into something she can risk leaning into. She tilts her head, eyes glinting with challenge as much as curiosity. "Go on, then. What’s your biggest character flaw at the moment?"
At his remark about faking being survival, she only shrugs again, not offering outright agreement but not contradicting him either. The Doubletake had never been called that for nothing—her ability to fool others had been armour, not art. It was a truth she carried, whether she wanted to admit it aloud or not.
His distinction between selfishness and survival earns a hum of thought from her, her lips quirking wryly. "Oh, for sure," she agrees, tipping her glass in a half-toast, "but the world’s very good at making that distinction when it suits other people. Not so much when it’s about you." With a crooked smile, she jerks her chin back toward the beach where they’d first stepped off the sand, a silent cue that they ought to wander that way again.
"It’s a fine balance," she continues as they move, her bare feet sinking into warm sand where the tide hasn’t reached. "Not giving a shit what people think, but still knowing when to take good advice. Can’t say I’m the best at walking that particular tightrope—" her grin flashes crooked as she glances up at him, "—but I’m getting better."
The rum sparkles low in her blood, heat and light thrumming steady through her, and she feels the ease between them settle into something she can risk leaning into. She tilts her head, eyes glinting with challenge as much as curiosity. "Go on, then. What’s your biggest character flaw at the moment?"
