aim high, swing hard, leave it out there, no regrets
The Ark’s smile returns at once, easy and assured, the answer coming without hesitation as Nova’s excitement spills forward. "I do quite like red," she says, the words warm with quiet approval.
Out on the deck, the wind moves differently, freer, and the Ark seems to move with it rather than against it, her attention settling fully now that they stand in open air. At Nova's question, she inclines her head slightly, considering only for a breath before answering with a nod. Her own sphere shifts gradually, the movement within it slowing, thickening as though resisting something deeper than simple temperature. The surface clouds faintly, then stills, a thin shell of ice forming with deliberate resistance before settling into solidity, the faint green tinge caught beneath it like something preserved rather than stilled. A crooked smile touches her mouth. "Salt water’s different," she says, tone easy, almost conversational. "It needs to be colder to freeze it."
The Ark lifts her hand a fraction higher, then gestures faintly for Nova to do the same, her eyes flicking toward the other sphere in silent instruction. When both were suspended, untouched, she steps back to make room. There’s a shift—not in the air, not exactly, but in the tension of it—before a bolt of electricity snaps outward, splitting once, then twice, catching both spheres in the same instant. If Nova watches, she'll see that in her water, it holds, threads of light lingering, dancing within the structure like something briefly contained, visible in its path before it begins to fade. In the Ark’s, it vanishes almost immediately. The energy disperses the moment it touches, spreading through the salt with no resistance, no lingering shape, but humming through the water just the same.
The Ark tilts her head, that same knowing smile settling back into place as she glances towards Nova. "Did you see?"
Out on the deck, the wind moves differently, freer, and the Ark seems to move with it rather than against it, her attention settling fully now that they stand in open air. At Nova's question, she inclines her head slightly, considering only for a breath before answering with a nod. Her own sphere shifts gradually, the movement within it slowing, thickening as though resisting something deeper than simple temperature. The surface clouds faintly, then stills, a thin shell of ice forming with deliberate resistance before settling into solidity, the faint green tinge caught beneath it like something preserved rather than stilled. A crooked smile touches her mouth. "Salt water’s different," she says, tone easy, almost conversational. "It needs to be colder to freeze it."
The Ark lifts her hand a fraction higher, then gestures faintly for Nova to do the same, her eyes flicking toward the other sphere in silent instruction. When both were suspended, untouched, she steps back to make room. There’s a shift—not in the air, not exactly, but in the tension of it—before a bolt of electricity snaps outward, splitting once, then twice, catching both spheres in the same instant. If Nova watches, she'll see that in her water, it holds, threads of light lingering, dancing within the structure like something briefly contained, visible in its path before it begins to fade. In the Ark’s, it vanishes almost immediately. The energy disperses the moment it touches, spreading through the salt with no resistance, no lingering shape, but humming through the water just the same.
The Ark tilts her head, that same knowing smile settling back into place as she glances towards Nova. "Did you see?"
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.
