bottom line, we made it out the first time still in love and half alive
The Ark runs her tongue slowly across her teeth, as if testing the taste of it, deciding whether this is something to laugh at or something to bite down on. Jack’s amusement rolls easily beside her, bright and unbothered, but hers doesn’t follow quite so quickly; there are still things sitting beneath the surface, things left unsaid and untested, and the sight of it—that—written so boldly across the sky pulls at them in a way she doesn’t quite smooth over.
Flora. The name doesn’t need to be spoken to settle heavy and familiar, and for a moment the Ark’s gaze lingers there, sharp and measuring, before she lets the thought slip under rather than crest. Like the Banshee, like everything else tonight, there’s a time for that sort of thing. This isn’t it. Not yet, anyway.
She scoffs softly, though the sound melts into a grin as she looks back to Jack, the moon catching in her hair and along the edges of her eyes, brightening them into something almost luminous. Her head tilts, considering, her fingertips tapping idly against his side as they start back toward the port. "What are the chances of that?" she echoes, the words thoughtful, though there’s a thread of something sly working its way through.
The rhythm of her steps settles quickly, the earlier tension smoothing into something more fluid as she leans just slightly into him again, her attention drifting between the sky and the path ahead. "Do you think she heard we were here," she adds, her voice light but edged, curiosity sharpened just enough to cut, "and ran to have her nuptials shoved down everyone’s throats in response?"
Flora. The name doesn’t need to be spoken to settle heavy and familiar, and for a moment the Ark’s gaze lingers there, sharp and measuring, before she lets the thought slip under rather than crest. Like the Banshee, like everything else tonight, there’s a time for that sort of thing. This isn’t it. Not yet, anyway.
She scoffs softly, though the sound melts into a grin as she looks back to Jack, the moon catching in her hair and along the edges of her eyes, brightening them into something almost luminous. Her head tilts, considering, her fingertips tapping idly against his side as they start back toward the port. "What are the chances of that?" she echoes, the words thoughtful, though there’s a thread of something sly working its way through.
The rhythm of her steps settles quickly, the earlier tension smoothing into something more fluid as she leans just slightly into him again, her attention drifting between the sky and the path ahead. "Do you think she heard we were here," she adds, her voice light but edged, curiosity sharpened just enough to cut, "and ran to have her nuptials shoved down everyone’s throats in response?"
we didn't die, but no guarantees this time, but fuck it lets do it again
Siren's Wake | After she leaves a space, traces of her presence linger briefly: a faint scent of salt, the sound of distant water, a restless feeling in the chest. People rarely notice it consciously.
