flora
"That," Flora says with a low chuckle, catching his arm more securely once he’s upright, "we can probably blame on being in a new space." Her grin flashes, bold and certain even in the dark, and she releases his hand only once she’s sure he’s steady. "Give it another few weeks and you'll be sleepwalking yourself right back to bed like a pro."
She turns then, pale hair swaying with the movement, unaware of where his eyes land or how long they stay. All she can do is offer a quiet, "Me too," her voice threadbare but sincere. Not just to what he said, but everything it meant. She doesn’t add at least I didn’t die; she’s done that already, and frankly, she’d preferred it.
But when Niki's voice dips and he tugs the collar of his shirt aside, Flora's teasing evaporates like sea spray off sun-warmed skin. The twin scars are brutal in a way hers aren’t, vicious things that cut across his chest like someone tried to open him like a book and didn’t care what it did to the pages. Her breath catches, her fists curl tight by her sides, and the barked "What?" cracks out of her like thunder. It’s too loud, too sudden, but gods, she can’t help it. That someone had done this on purpose...
Swallowing hard, she flashes an apologetic wince and murmurs, "Sorry. I just—fuck's sake, Niki. That's awful." Her voice softens at the end, but there’s fire in her stare, the queen unable to take such brutality in stride however uncomfortable the outburst might make the necromancer. But, she doesn’t press further, doesn’t ask who or where or why, even though the questions claw at her tongue. All she can do is stay close, like her presence might shield him from ghosts long gone.
They walk slowly, arm-in-arm, and she lets their silence stretch long enough to let his breath even. "Maybe now that you're here," she muses eventually, voice low and dry, "the spirits’ll give you some insight. Or, like, rate your book stacking." Her attempt at levity is gentle, a breeze instead of a gust. "You might get a whole ghostly report card." Sure enough, by the time they reach the kitchen, the kettle is already hissing, steam curling like a spirit made visible.
She turns then, pale hair swaying with the movement, unaware of where his eyes land or how long they stay. All she can do is offer a quiet, "Me too," her voice threadbare but sincere. Not just to what he said, but everything it meant. She doesn’t add at least I didn’t die; she’s done that already, and frankly, she’d preferred it.
But when Niki's voice dips and he tugs the collar of his shirt aside, Flora's teasing evaporates like sea spray off sun-warmed skin. The twin scars are brutal in a way hers aren’t, vicious things that cut across his chest like someone tried to open him like a book and didn’t care what it did to the pages. Her breath catches, her fists curl tight by her sides, and the barked "What?" cracks out of her like thunder. It’s too loud, too sudden, but gods, she can’t help it. That someone had done this on purpose...
Swallowing hard, she flashes an apologetic wince and murmurs, "Sorry. I just—fuck's sake, Niki. That's awful." Her voice softens at the end, but there’s fire in her stare, the queen unable to take such brutality in stride however uncomfortable the outburst might make the necromancer. But, she doesn’t press further, doesn’t ask who or where or why, even though the questions claw at her tongue. All she can do is stay close, like her presence might shield him from ghosts long gone.
They walk slowly, arm-in-arm, and she lets their silence stretch long enough to let his breath even. "Maybe now that you're here," she muses eventually, voice low and dry, "the spirits’ll give you some insight. Or, like, rate your book stacking." Her attempt at levity is gentle, a breeze instead of a gust. "You might get a whole ghostly report card." Sure enough, by the time they reach the kitchen, the kettle is already hissing, steam curling like a spirit made visible.
you're under the feeling like teenagers in cars
it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
