I've been trying out the high road, and I hate it
The Ark snorts softly under her breath, the sound low enough to almost disappear beneath the shanty and Bassian’s increasingly doomed footwork, though the look she slants up at Jack carries clear as a knife beneath clean water. "I’m not," she says, arching a brow at him. Kindness has never been the right name for the thing that keeps her aware of every uneven step and drunken sway across her deck, any more than kindness is the right name for a hull that holds, or a keel that stays true, or a rope drawn tight before the sail can tear itself loose. Jack's crew moves over her and within her, and whatever else she might be now with whiskey on her tongue and black fur around her shoulders, that much of her hasn’t changed.
At the mention of the HoT MeSs, her eyes roll without apology, blue slipping briefly towards the dark lip of her emptied glass. Whatever tact might’ve been expected of her in polite company has never found good footing aboard The Ark, and Flora’s name, even poorly disguised with her new monicker, doesn’t inspire her to pretend otherwise. "I’m sure you could always find someone to rule Torchline under your name instead of Safrin’s," she says to Sunjata, her grin turning wolfish and pleased beneath the lazy shine of the dreamdust.
Only then does she glance to Jack, the shape of him catching her attention as easily as a harbour light catches the eye of a ship coming in through dark water. Her gaze falls over his features with something possessive and amused threaded tightly together, before she turns back to Sunjata with one shoulder shifting beneath the heavy black fur. "We were just back, actually."
At the mention of the HoT MeSs, her eyes roll without apology, blue slipping briefly towards the dark lip of her emptied glass. Whatever tact might’ve been expected of her in polite company has never found good footing aboard The Ark, and Flora’s name, even poorly disguised with her new monicker, doesn’t inspire her to pretend otherwise. "I’m sure you could always find someone to rule Torchline under your name instead of Safrin’s," she says to Sunjata, her grin turning wolfish and pleased beneath the lazy shine of the dreamdust.
Only then does she glance to Jack, the shape of him catching her attention as easily as a harbour light catches the eye of a ship coming in through dark water. Her gaze falls over his features with something possessive and amused threaded tightly together, before she turns back to Sunjata with one shoulder shifting beneath the heavy black fur. "We were just back, actually."
I've got a lot of sins, but you're my favourite
