aim high, swing hard, leave it out there, no regrets
Nova’s delight rolls toward her without hesitation, bright and open in a way that doesn’t pause to consider where it lands, and this time the Ark lets her smile shift into something more genuine in response, the expression softening just enough to lose its edge without surrendering its shape. "She is," the Ark agrees, the words carrying a quiet certainty rather than exaggeration, her head inclining slightly as though in acknowledgment of something larger than the moment itself. "Safrin is the reason I can fly, as well."
There’s a flicker of something almost fond there before Nova’s next suggestion catches, and though the Ark doesn’t quite look at her the way she might have before, there’s a subtle narrowing of attention, a consideration that lingers just long enough to be noticed. "A dress," she repeats, the words slow, thoughtful, her head tilting as though she’s turning the idea over rather than dismissing it outright. The smile that follows is sharper, wolfish in a way that suggests amusement layered over something more particular. "Now that is something I would consider."
She lifts a finger then, a small, precise gesture, waggling it once in gentle warning, the movement light but unmistakable. "But nothing with sparkles that will fall onto my boards." The line holds, firm even in its ease, before she lets it dissolve back into something lighter, her attention shifting as Nova’s questions spill forward again.
At the mention of fire, her nose wrinkles faintly, a subtle recoil that carries more weight than any outright refusal. "Fire," she echoes, and there’s a quiet, almost disbelieving note in it as her head gives a small, decisive shake. "Doesn’t agree with me." There’s no elaboration needed; the implication rests easily in the wood around them, in the structure she inhabits.
The Ark inclines her head toward the deck above, the motion smooth and inviting. "We can always go above," she says, her tone shifting again, lighter now, threaded with a hint of something anticipatory. "I can show you mine, and you can show me yours." A beat—brief, but intentional—as she raises a finger once more, the warning returning with softened edges. "But still no glitter." This time, when she smiles, there’s something almost indulgent in it, the word that follows placed with deliberate care. "Please."
There’s a flicker of something almost fond there before Nova’s next suggestion catches, and though the Ark doesn’t quite look at her the way she might have before, there’s a subtle narrowing of attention, a consideration that lingers just long enough to be noticed. "A dress," she repeats, the words slow, thoughtful, her head tilting as though she’s turning the idea over rather than dismissing it outright. The smile that follows is sharper, wolfish in a way that suggests amusement layered over something more particular. "Now that is something I would consider."
She lifts a finger then, a small, precise gesture, waggling it once in gentle warning, the movement light but unmistakable. "But nothing with sparkles that will fall onto my boards." The line holds, firm even in its ease, before she lets it dissolve back into something lighter, her attention shifting as Nova’s questions spill forward again.
At the mention of fire, her nose wrinkles faintly, a subtle recoil that carries more weight than any outright refusal. "Fire," she echoes, and there’s a quiet, almost disbelieving note in it as her head gives a small, decisive shake. "Doesn’t agree with me." There’s no elaboration needed; the implication rests easily in the wood around them, in the structure she inhabits.
The Ark inclines her head toward the deck above, the motion smooth and inviting. "We can always go above," she says, her tone shifting again, lighter now, threaded with a hint of something anticipatory. "I can show you mine, and you can show me yours." A beat—brief, but intentional—as she raises a finger once more, the warning returning with softened edges. "But still no glitter." This time, when she smiles, there’s something almost indulgent in it, the word that follows placed with deliberate care. "Please."
my blood is in the water and the sharks are takin' bets
