I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings
Flora has to bite the inside of her cheek hard to keep her laughter from spilling out when Kai launches into his valiant defence of surviving illness, her eyes widening with exaggerated solemnity as if she is genuinely weighing the merits of his argument rather than mentally cataloguing every dramatic sniffle he has ever suffered. Her grip tightens around his leg in mock consideration, the corner of her mouth threatening to betray her as she nods along, and for half a heartbeat her hand very nearly betrays her entirely, sliding a traitorous inch higher up his thigh with the clear intent of testing just how committed he is to that railing and his dignity. The thought evaporates the instant the calves sweep closer, their immense shadows cutting through the auroras with a speed that drags her attention away like a snapped line, awe tipping sharply into alarm as scale and momentum finally click into place.
When Kaisel swears and drops down from the railing, relief and urgency collide in her chest, and she releases him only long enough to pivot and scramble back toward the wheel, boots skidding slightly on the deck as wind and adrenaline surge together. Instinct takes over despite the part of her that knows it is probably already too late to redirect anything this large and enthusiastic, her hands flying for the spokes as if muscle memory alone might somehow coax the Sugartide out of harm’s way.
"The bag!" she calls out, voice bright and unsteady with a nervous edge that refuses to dull, not even as excitement still crackles through it, because she is not entirely sure whether they need more wind to dart forward or less to stall and let the calves pass, and the uncertainty only sharpens the moment. The sails shiver overhead, stained-glass panels catching and fracturing the aurora light as the whales bear down on them in playful, oblivious arcs, and Flora braces herself at the helm, heart hammering as wonder and worry braid tightly together while she prepares to meet whatever comes next.
When Kaisel swears and drops down from the railing, relief and urgency collide in her chest, and she releases him only long enough to pivot and scramble back toward the wheel, boots skidding slightly on the deck as wind and adrenaline surge together. Instinct takes over despite the part of her that knows it is probably already too late to redirect anything this large and enthusiastic, her hands flying for the spokes as if muscle memory alone might somehow coax the Sugartide out of harm’s way.
"The bag!" she calls out, voice bright and unsteady with a nervous edge that refuses to dull, not even as excitement still crackles through it, because she is not entirely sure whether they need more wind to dart forward or less to stall and let the calves pass, and the uncertainty only sharpens the moment. The sails shiver overhead, stained-glass panels catching and fracturing the aurora light as the whales bear down on them in playful, oblivious arcs, and Flora braces herself at the helm, heart hammering as wonder and worry braid tightly together while she prepares to meet whatever comes next.
and I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this
