Flora
The words sink deeper than they ought to, curling like seaweed in Flora’s gut as she watches Melita shrug her way through them. That half-smile, the offhand oh, well, it chafes. Not because it’s sharp, but because it’s too familiar. She’s worn that same grin before, used the same shoulder roll like it could scrape the ache off her bones and toss it somewhere else.
Flora frowns. Jack hadn’t even told her? She thinks, unbidden, of how upset he’d been when Melita had once considered leaving Torchline, thinks of the Captain's sharp words and sharper silences. And then, in an unparalleled gesture, he'd extended a pirate-shaped olive branch and gotten her a godsdamn skyship. Not for coin, not for power, but just to get her to stay. And then he’d left her behind without a word.
"That sucks," Flora says simply, the words warm and rough as driftwood. There’s more perched just behind them, like birds on a rail; he probably thought it was better that way, or he’s an idiot, but he cares. But none of that’s hers to offer anymore, is it? Jack’s actions used to tangle so tightly with her own, but whatever knots had held them together, she’s cut through them now. It’s not her place to smooth things over on his behalf, so she doesn’t.
Instead, she rolls her lips inward for a second, teeth catching at the corner in thought, before Melita’s question hits, and Flora’s face heats like the sun’s just dropped onto her shoulders. She clears her throat, quiet and tight, and shrugs, the motion small and oddly careful despite the breeze still tousling her curls. "It was probably because of me." The admission slips out like sea-glass worn smooth by too many waves. She doesn’t dress it up or try to soften it. She just turns to look at Melita, lets the Honeybee see all of it; guilt and ache and the tired shine of someone who’s not even sure where the blame should go, but is holding it anyway.
"We’d talked about trying again," she says, the words brushing low along her throat. "Getting back together. But once I really thought about it..." She lifts a hand, then lets it fall to her hip, the wrench clinking softly against a loose ring on her belt. "I knew I couldn’t do it. That I couldn't go through it all again just for it to.." Trailing off, Flora just sighs. So she’d written him a letter. Said the words with ink instead of lips and sent it off like a coward or a queen, depending who you asked.
"Then I heard the Ark set sail for King’s End." She shakes her head, hair catching in the breeze like ribbons. "And that’s where she stayed."
Flora frowns. Jack hadn’t even told her? She thinks, unbidden, of how upset he’d been when Melita had once considered leaving Torchline, thinks of the Captain's sharp words and sharper silences. And then, in an unparalleled gesture, he'd extended a pirate-shaped olive branch and gotten her a godsdamn skyship. Not for coin, not for power, but just to get her to stay. And then he’d left her behind without a word.
"That sucks," Flora says simply, the words warm and rough as driftwood. There’s more perched just behind them, like birds on a rail; he probably thought it was better that way, or he’s an idiot, but he cares. But none of that’s hers to offer anymore, is it? Jack’s actions used to tangle so tightly with her own, but whatever knots had held them together, she’s cut through them now. It’s not her place to smooth things over on his behalf, so she doesn’t.
Instead, she rolls her lips inward for a second, teeth catching at the corner in thought, before Melita’s question hits, and Flora’s face heats like the sun’s just dropped onto her shoulders. She clears her throat, quiet and tight, and shrugs, the motion small and oddly careful despite the breeze still tousling her curls. "It was probably because of me." The admission slips out like sea-glass worn smooth by too many waves. She doesn’t dress it up or try to soften it. She just turns to look at Melita, lets the Honeybee see all of it; guilt and ache and the tired shine of someone who’s not even sure where the blame should go, but is holding it anyway.
"We’d talked about trying again," she says, the words brushing low along her throat. "Getting back together. But once I really thought about it..." She lifts a hand, then lets it fall to her hip, the wrench clinking softly against a loose ring on her belt. "I knew I couldn’t do it. That I couldn't go through it all again just for it to.." Trailing off, Flora just sighs. So she’d written him a letter. Said the words with ink instead of lips and sent it off like a coward or a queen, depending who you asked.
"Then I heard the Ark set sail for King’s End." She shakes her head, hair catching in the breeze like ribbons. "And that’s where she stayed."
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
