bottom line, we made it out the first time still in love and half alive
The Ark snickers under her breath. "Shut up" she murmurs affectionately, the words lacking any real bite, her mouth curving easily even as she says it. Safe and boring might not belong to her, but neither did sinking, nor capsizing, despite her knowing their meanings, and as with those, she has no intention of ever letting them apply to her.
When he draws her in she melts against him, one arm sliding beneath his jacket, fitting against him with an ease that feels instinctive, like settling into something already shaped to hold her. The warmth of him replaces the sea without quite erasing it, and she leans into it, the shape of him just as right against her as was slipping back into timber.
"And what a benefit to Torchline," she says, her tone bright with playful sarcasm as her eyes flick up to his, "to have someone cleaning up her seabeds, mm?" There’s no doubt in her mind he’ll sell it that way if he needs to, dress it up neatly enough such that no oneflora could even begin to question how he might benefit from it.
Her attention shifts briefly as a hel flutters too close, pecking at the cone Jack abandoned in the sand, and with a flick of her wrist she sends her own after it, the motion quick and careless, more interested in driving the bird off than anything else. As Jack's fingers tug lightly through her hair, something in her gaze shifts for it, the blue of her eyes catching the moonlight like sunlight moving across open water. She doesn’t shy from his cautionary tone, but instead lets her shoulder press a little more firmly against him in a small, shameless answer. "There must be something in the water," she says casually, though there’s something quieter beneath the words, something that settles rather than sparks. The something in the water, of course, being the waters themselves; this portion of the Arclight has always suited her best, and if the ideas come easier here—if staying becomes simpler to justify—then she sees no reason to question it, or even hide her intentions.
When he draws her in she melts against him, one arm sliding beneath his jacket, fitting against him with an ease that feels instinctive, like settling into something already shaped to hold her. The warmth of him replaces the sea without quite erasing it, and she leans into it, the shape of him just as right against her as was slipping back into timber.
"And what a benefit to Torchline," she says, her tone bright with playful sarcasm as her eyes flick up to his, "to have someone cleaning up her seabeds, mm?" There’s no doubt in her mind he’ll sell it that way if he needs to, dress it up neatly enough such that no one
Her attention shifts briefly as a hel flutters too close, pecking at the cone Jack abandoned in the sand, and with a flick of her wrist she sends her own after it, the motion quick and careless, more interested in driving the bird off than anything else. As Jack's fingers tug lightly through her hair, something in her gaze shifts for it, the blue of her eyes catching the moonlight like sunlight moving across open water. She doesn’t shy from his cautionary tone, but instead lets her shoulder press a little more firmly against him in a small, shameless answer. "There must be something in the water," she says casually, though there’s something quieter beneath the words, something that settles rather than sparks. The something in the water, of course, being the waters themselves; this portion of the Arclight has always suited her best, and if the ideas come easier here—if staying becomes simpler to justify—then she sees no reason to question it, or even hide her intentions.
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.
