Flora
Flora is halfway through something forgettable; some ledger, some conversation, some obligation that dissolves the second the spirit finds her, fluttering and insistent, quartz clinking softly against the folded scrap of paper like a nervous habit. The handwriting is Soh’s. That alone is enough to pull the air out of her lungs, excitement blooming sharp and bright before dread slips its fingers underneath.
"Two cocktails," she calls to the spirits as she runs, bare feet slapping against cool stone. "And don’t be gentle." Glass clinks somewhere behind her, a pleased, anticipatory sound.
The sun is blinding when she bursts out onto the deck, the sea throwing light back at the house in fractured shards, and Flora’s mouth curves into a grin even as her chest tightens, because there she is—Sohalia, half-submerged—hair darkened by water, exhaustion clinging to her like a second skin. "Soh!" Flora calls, already tugging her shirt up and over her head, the fabric discarded without ceremony as her shorts follow, kicked aside with a flick of her foot. Gold rings glint as she takes the steps two at a time, barely slowing before she slips into the pool, the healing water closing over her shoulders like a held breath finally released.
She swims straight for her, arms wrapping around Soh without hesitation, without restraint, pulling her close until there’s no room left for distance or decorum. Dust, salt, travel-worn exhaustion, it all registers and then immediately stops mattering. Flora presses her face into Soh’s hair and exhales, the sound long and wrecked and deeply familiar. "Fuuuck," she murmurs, the word dissolving into a sigh that carries weeks of tension with it.
She pulls back just enough to see the Luminary properly, hands sliding up to cradle Sohalia’s cheeks, thumbs warm against damp skin as her gaze searches, catalogues, worries. The grin softens but doesn’t disappear; it just reshapes itself into something steadier, something that knows how to hold weight without dropping it. "How are you?" she asks, even as her brows knit, even as she’s already shaking her head. "No, that’s—" A quiet huff of breath, affectionate and resigned all at once. "I know you’re obviously not okay." Her hands stay where they are, grounding, present, thumbs brushing lightly as she meets Soh’s eyes again, voice gentler now, steadier. "Tell me how it went."
"Two cocktails," she calls to the spirits as she runs, bare feet slapping against cool stone. "And don’t be gentle." Glass clinks somewhere behind her, a pleased, anticipatory sound.
The sun is blinding when she bursts out onto the deck, the sea throwing light back at the house in fractured shards, and Flora’s mouth curves into a grin even as her chest tightens, because there she is—Sohalia, half-submerged—hair darkened by water, exhaustion clinging to her like a second skin. "Soh!" Flora calls, already tugging her shirt up and over her head, the fabric discarded without ceremony as her shorts follow, kicked aside with a flick of her foot. Gold rings glint as she takes the steps two at a time, barely slowing before she slips into the pool, the healing water closing over her shoulders like a held breath finally released.
She swims straight for her, arms wrapping around Soh without hesitation, without restraint, pulling her close until there’s no room left for distance or decorum. Dust, salt, travel-worn exhaustion, it all registers and then immediately stops mattering. Flora presses her face into Soh’s hair and exhales, the sound long and wrecked and deeply familiar. "Fuuuck," she murmurs, the word dissolving into a sigh that carries weeks of tension with it.
She pulls back just enough to see the Luminary properly, hands sliding up to cradle Sohalia’s cheeks, thumbs warm against damp skin as her gaze searches, catalogues, worries. The grin softens but doesn’t disappear; it just reshapes itself into something steadier, something that knows how to hold weight without dropping it. "How are you?" she asks, even as her brows knit, even as she’s already shaking her head. "No, that’s—" A quiet huff of breath, affectionate and resigned all at once. "I know you’re obviously not okay." Her hands stay where they are, grounding, present, thumbs brushing lightly as she meets Soh’s eyes again, voice gentler now, steadier. "Tell me how it went."
I hope you're sweating the bigger stuff,
finding some peace in an honest love
Hope you stop when you've had enough & throw the towel in
finding some peace in an honest love
Hope you stop when you've had enough & throw the towel in
Code stolen from Queen Sky
