aim high, swing hard, leave it out there, no regrets
The Ark can feel Nova's movements before she catches her in her eyeline; the rhythm of her steps bright and erratic against the steady pull of tide and timber, the scatter of glitter catching light where it shouldn’t, settling into seams and edges with a stubborn little shimmer that lingers just a beat too long in the Ark’s awareness. It moves through her like a ripple that refuses to smooth out, a disturbance that hums instead of settles, and she follows it easily, curious in the way a current might lean toward something warm.
By the time Nova bursts into the galley, the Ark is close behind, gathered into shape. Leather curves cleanly over her hips, high-waisted and deliberate, the white linen of her shirt untouched by the damp that clings elsewhere. Her hair spills down her back in a slow, red cascade, catching what little light filters through the space.
She leans into the doorframe with easy ownership, one shoulder braced, her presence narrowing the room in a way that has nothing to do with space and everything to do with attention. "Nova." Her voice slips into the room low and warm, drawn out just enough to feel like it’s tasting the name rather than simply speaking it, amusement threading through it in a way that doesn’t quite settle into kindness but doesn’t sharpen into anything harsher either. Her gaze lingers, unhurried, taking in the bright chaos of her entrance, the shimmer still drifting down between them.
"We haven’t been properly introduced."
By the time Nova bursts into the galley, the Ark is close behind, gathered into shape. Leather curves cleanly over her hips, high-waisted and deliberate, the white linen of her shirt untouched by the damp that clings elsewhere. Her hair spills down her back in a slow, red cascade, catching what little light filters through the space.
She leans into the doorframe with easy ownership, one shoulder braced, her presence narrowing the room in a way that has nothing to do with space and everything to do with attention. "Nova." Her voice slips into the room low and warm, drawn out just enough to feel like it’s tasting the name rather than simply speaking it, amusement threading through it in a way that doesn’t quite settle into kindness but doesn’t sharpen into anything harsher either. Her gaze lingers, unhurried, taking in the bright chaos of her entrance, the shimmer still drifting down between them.
"We haven’t been properly introduced."
my blood is in the water and the sharks are takin' bets
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.
