is this the end of all the endings?
Flora's brows climb higher and higher as he talks, until they’re threatening to disappear into her hairline entirely, the look she fixes on him somewhere between disbelief and reluctant acceptance as she lets out a long, slow breath through her nose. "Well.." she starts, the word dragging slightly as she works through it, one shoulder lifting in a small, conceding shrug. "I guess that does sound like something that’s possible with ancients, but—" Her mouth twitches, not quite a smile, not quite anything settled, as her eyes narrow just a fraction and she angles her head at him, studying him like she’s about to poke a very obvious hole in this entire situation.
"You’re really telling me that if Charlie was going to have a divine, Dygra-blessed baby with you, she wouldn’t demand to do it the fun way?" Knowing admittedly little about Charlie, Flora feels like she knows enough to be quite sure that were it the case, the priestess would have demanded to seal the baby in with sex, even if it was strictly necessary.
The tension still lingering in her shoulders breaks under her own logic, spilling out of her in a soft laugh as she leans back just slightly, the sound warm and a little incredulous, like she can’t quite believe this was the version of events he’d been bracing himself for, and then his next words catch her more cleanly, her lips pulling into a crooked grin as she glances up at him. "A father, huh? Not a dad?" Her nose wrinkles faintly. "I feel like you'd be more of a dad."
The grin lingers for a second longer, but it doesn’t quite hold, something quieter slipping in beneath it as her hand stays laced with his, her thumb brushing once along his knuckle before going still. It’s not the word itself that catches her, it’s everything wrapped up around it; the way they’ve somehow circled into this without meaning to, right on the heels of her bracing herself to bet old her husband had cheated on her, and instead finding herself here, in a conversation they’ve never actually had. The last time anything like this had brushed against her, it hadn't been a conversation so much as Jack telling her I'm having a kid with Safrin but don't worry it's just a business arrangement.
"I’ve never really thought about it either," she says, softer now, the words a little more careful as they leave her, like she’s testing how they sound out loud before deciding what to do with them. "Have you not imagined it because you don't want it, or..?"
"You’re really telling me that if Charlie was going to have a divine, Dygra-blessed baby with you, she wouldn’t demand to do it the fun way?" Knowing admittedly little about Charlie, Flora feels like she knows enough to be quite sure that were it the case, the priestess would have demanded to seal the baby in with sex, even if it was strictly necessary.
The tension still lingering in her shoulders breaks under her own logic, spilling out of her in a soft laugh as she leans back just slightly, the sound warm and a little incredulous, like she can’t quite believe this was the version of events he’d been bracing himself for, and then his next words catch her more cleanly, her lips pulling into a crooked grin as she glances up at him. "A father, huh? Not a dad?" Her nose wrinkles faintly. "I feel like you'd be more of a dad."
The grin lingers for a second longer, but it doesn’t quite hold, something quieter slipping in beneath it as her hand stays laced with his, her thumb brushing once along his knuckle before going still. It’s not the word itself that catches her, it’s everything wrapped up around it; the way they’ve somehow circled into this without meaning to, right on the heels of her bracing herself to bet old her husband had cheated on her, and instead finding herself here, in a conversation they’ve never actually had. The last time anything like this had brushed against her, it hadn't been a conversation so much as Jack telling her I'm having a kid with Safrin but don't worry it's just a business arrangement.
"I’ve never really thought about it either," she says, softer now, the words a little more careful as they leave her, like she’s testing how they sound out loud before deciding what to do with them. "Have you not imagined it because you don't want it, or..?"
my broken bones are mending
