wish I could bottle the taste
There’s a flicker there at the mention of hair bandits, brief and unreadable, something that tightens and releases before it ever settles into anything visible, her gaze passing over him as though recalibrating something small and private, silently wondering how anyone could go from Jack Barclay to this. It dissolves quickly, her mouth curving again, easy and bright as she shakes her head. "No," she says lightly, "I found it a little too slow-paced for my liking, and there were far too many fires."
When he laughs—when he says Jack’s name like that—her expression doesn’t sharpen, doesn’t bristle, only softens into something faintly puzzled, as though she’s trying to follow a current that keeps shifting direction beneath her feet. She lets him speak, lets him offer his corrections, her shoulders lifting in a small, indifferent shrug when he finishes. "Well, obviously you know more about it than I do,' she murmurs, her tone yielding without resistance. "I just know the word on the street is that it reflected badly on your queen as a leader."
The Ark's gaze lingers on him a moment longer, thoughtful rather than challenging, before it drifts aside again, her attention brushing over the market as though measuring its edges against what he’s said. When he speaks of demigods and strength and cleverness, something in her expression shifts again—not disbelief, not outright—but a quiet, careful doubt, the kind that wants to believe but cannot quite anchor itself there. "Maybe," she allows, the word soft, uncommitted, before her head tilts just slightly. "But they haven’t seemed to address the undercity at all." Not in a way that was effective, at least. Not like Jack had.
The thought settles between them with a casualness that belies its weight, her shoulders lifting again in a loose, almost apologetic shrug. "I don’t know," she adds, her tone gentler now, as though smoothing the edges of what she’s just said, "I guess I just think it’s a shame that a breakup could impact such a nice place to live like that, you know?"
Kaisel's question pulls something brighter from her, the shift immediate and easy, her smile blooming in a way that feels entirely unguarded, like sunlight catching clear water. "Definitely the ocean." The word seems to sit more comfortably on her tongue than anything else she’s said, her expression lighting with a kind of effortless certainty.
At his challenge, she lets out a soft, breezy laugh, her head shaking as though the answer is obvious. "It isn’t insane at all," she says, her tone light but sure. "If the city really was that safe, then all there would be for heroes to do is help people up when they fall." Her grin lingers as she says it, easy and bright, her gaze following him as he steps away, the space he leaves behind shifting subtly in his absence, that faint trace of salt and distant water pressing lightly into the air around him, beckoning him back to her side.
When he laughs—when he says Jack’s name like that—her expression doesn’t sharpen, doesn’t bristle, only softens into something faintly puzzled, as though she’s trying to follow a current that keeps shifting direction beneath her feet. She lets him speak, lets him offer his corrections, her shoulders lifting in a small, indifferent shrug when he finishes. "Well, obviously you know more about it than I do,' she murmurs, her tone yielding without resistance. "I just know the word on the street is that it reflected badly on your queen as a leader."
The Ark's gaze lingers on him a moment longer, thoughtful rather than challenging, before it drifts aside again, her attention brushing over the market as though measuring its edges against what he’s said. When he speaks of demigods and strength and cleverness, something in her expression shifts again—not disbelief, not outright—but a quiet, careful doubt, the kind that wants to believe but cannot quite anchor itself there. "Maybe," she allows, the word soft, uncommitted, before her head tilts just slightly. "But they haven’t seemed to address the undercity at all." Not in a way that was effective, at least. Not like Jack had.
The thought settles between them with a casualness that belies its weight, her shoulders lifting again in a loose, almost apologetic shrug. "I don’t know," she adds, her tone gentler now, as though smoothing the edges of what she’s just said, "I guess I just think it’s a shame that a breakup could impact such a nice place to live like that, you know?"
Kaisel's question pulls something brighter from her, the shift immediate and easy, her smile blooming in a way that feels entirely unguarded, like sunlight catching clear water. "Definitely the ocean." The word seems to sit more comfortably on her tongue than anything else she’s said, her expression lighting with a kind of effortless certainty.
At his challenge, she lets out a soft, breezy laugh, her head shaking as though the answer is obvious. "It isn’t insane at all," she says, her tone light but sure. "If the city really was that safe, then all there would be for heroes to do is help people up when they fall." Her grin lingers as she says it, easy and bright, her gaze following him as he steps away, the space he leaves behind shifting subtly in his absence, that faint trace of salt and distant water pressing lightly into the air around him, beckoning him back to her side.
'cause i'd drink up the look on your face
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.
