wish I could bottle the taste
Her brow knits faintly at his guess, the expression small but unmistakably corrective as she shakes her head. "The Greatwood is north of here," she says gently, but not sharp enough to embarrass him. "No...most recently, King’s End."
He asks about what rumours she meant, just as she knew he would, and there is a soft shift in her expression, something that dims slightly, like light slipping beneath a cloud, her shoulders easing in a way that reads as resignation rather than calculation. "Well," she begins, her voice lowering, threaded with a quiet disappointment that feels lived-in rather than performed, "I heard that the leader of this region is the reason the man who had been keeping the undercity in check is gone."
Her gaze slips briefly past Kaisel, skimming the market not as a participant but as someone measuring its fractures, her sigh faint but deliberate. The Fingers had not quieted in Jack's absence; if anything, they had split open wider, the old order dissolving without anything strong enough to take its place, leaving scraps of control fought over in shadows that spilled further into the streets with each passing day. "It seems like things haven’t gotten any better," she adds, almost to herself, before her nose wrinkles just slightly, an expression of mild, almost innocent distaste. "If anything, it doesn’t feel as safe as it used to."
When her eyes return to him, they are wide, clear, and searching, holding the shape of a question he cannot quite answer, the kind that presses at the edges of pride and responsibility alike. "It’s hard to enjoy all of that," she continues softly as he lists some of Torchline's accolades, her tone lightening just enough to keep from sinking the moment entirely, "when you get mugged just trying to go for a walk."
The shift that follows is subtle but intentional, her attention catching again on him as he speaks of being engaged, her brows lifting in quiet surprise. "Oh?" The word is soft, curious, but the look that follows it is anything but, her gaze settling on him with a warmth that deepens rather than retreats, something slow and deliberate threading through it as her lips curve. "What a shame." A quiet laugh slips from her, low and easy, her head tilting just slightly as though amused by the shape of things rather than deterred by them. "I suppose that makes you all the more of a hero, then," she adds, her tone feather-light and full of flattery, "helping me without wanting anything in return."
When he asks about the smoothie, she doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she lets the pause stretch just long enough to feel considered, her teeth catching lightly at her lower lip as though she’s weighing the choice more carefully than it deserves, the motion slow, almost absent, though nothing about it is unintentional. "Maybe.." she murmurs, her gaze lifting back to his, "just molten pineapple for mine."
He asks about what rumours she meant, just as she knew he would, and there is a soft shift in her expression, something that dims slightly, like light slipping beneath a cloud, her shoulders easing in a way that reads as resignation rather than calculation. "Well," she begins, her voice lowering, threaded with a quiet disappointment that feels lived-in rather than performed, "I heard that the leader of this region is the reason the man who had been keeping the undercity in check is gone."
Her gaze slips briefly past Kaisel, skimming the market not as a participant but as someone measuring its fractures, her sigh faint but deliberate. The Fingers had not quieted in Jack's absence; if anything, they had split open wider, the old order dissolving without anything strong enough to take its place, leaving scraps of control fought over in shadows that spilled further into the streets with each passing day. "It seems like things haven’t gotten any better," she adds, almost to herself, before her nose wrinkles just slightly, an expression of mild, almost innocent distaste. "If anything, it doesn’t feel as safe as it used to."
When her eyes return to him, they are wide, clear, and searching, holding the shape of a question he cannot quite answer, the kind that presses at the edges of pride and responsibility alike. "It’s hard to enjoy all of that," she continues softly as he lists some of Torchline's accolades, her tone lightening just enough to keep from sinking the moment entirely, "when you get mugged just trying to go for a walk."
The shift that follows is subtle but intentional, her attention catching again on him as he speaks of being engaged, her brows lifting in quiet surprise. "Oh?" The word is soft, curious, but the look that follows it is anything but, her gaze settling on him with a warmth that deepens rather than retreats, something slow and deliberate threading through it as her lips curve. "What a shame." A quiet laugh slips from her, low and easy, her head tilting just slightly as though amused by the shape of things rather than deterred by them. "I suppose that makes you all the more of a hero, then," she adds, her tone feather-light and full of flattery, "helping me without wanting anything in return."
When he asks about the smoothie, she doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she lets the pause stretch just long enough to feel considered, her teeth catching lightly at her lower lip as though she’s weighing the choice more carefully than it deserves, the motion slow, almost absent, though nothing about it is unintentional. "Maybe.." she murmurs, her gaze lifting back to his, "just molten pineapple for mine."
'cause i'd drink up the look on your face
