flora
Flora only shrugs about Liam and Maea; she thought it had been strange too, but not enough to linger on. Sah, though, draws a wicked little curve across her mouth, and she lifts one shoulder from the water as if revenge during a wedding is merely another detail to consider alongside flowers, music, and whether the guests can survive the venue. "Honestly, I feel like a bit of revenge at a wedding might be good luck," she says, eyes gleaming over the steam. "So if he somehow manages to show up, you never have to worry about me being offended if you shoot your shot."
The mention of lightning changes her smile almost at once, the wickedness dimming into something quieter and more knowing as her fingers drift unconsciously beneath the water to the scars along her hips. The warmth of Safrin’s Mirror hides the motion from view, mostly, but it doesn’t hide the way her shoulders settle or how her expression loses some of its shine, as if the past has reached up through all that glittering water and tugged. "That’s good you have someone to work that out with," she says softly before she shakes her head a little, her gaze dropping briefly to the starlit ripples spreading away from her body. "I still find walking in the Greatwood kinda hard sometimes." It is not fear exactly, or not only fear; it is memory with teeth, the sense that a place can look the same after it has swallowed you and still expect you to move through it like nothing happened.
Letting mirth rise again before the quiet can press too firmly around them, Flora lifts her brows at the idea of comets, her grin returning in a brighter, easier flash. "Or I just steal his idea and let him be mad about it," she says, snickering under her breath. Melita’s reassurance softens her more genuinely, though, and Flora’s answering smile turns crooked and sincere as she shrugs, not quite ready to accept the kindness cleanly but unwilling to dodge it either. "Maybe," she allows, and for once there is no sharpness in the word, only the tentative brightness of wanting to believe it.
After a moment, she glances back toward the Honeybee, the steam curling between them as her fingers trail idly through the water. "Is it bad that sometimes I think about abilities that are just like... not necessarily useful in a fight, but more that just... hinder people I don’t like?" Her tone stays light, almost playful, but there is a particular glint behind her eyes that narrows the thought into something more specific, something shaped like a ship on the horizon and a man whose shadow has learned far too many ways to fall across her life.
The mention of lightning changes her smile almost at once, the wickedness dimming into something quieter and more knowing as her fingers drift unconsciously beneath the water to the scars along her hips. The warmth of Safrin’s Mirror hides the motion from view, mostly, but it doesn’t hide the way her shoulders settle or how her expression loses some of its shine, as if the past has reached up through all that glittering water and tugged. "That’s good you have someone to work that out with," she says softly before she shakes her head a little, her gaze dropping briefly to the starlit ripples spreading away from her body. "I still find walking in the Greatwood kinda hard sometimes." It is not fear exactly, or not only fear; it is memory with teeth, the sense that a place can look the same after it has swallowed you and still expect you to move through it like nothing happened.
Letting mirth rise again before the quiet can press too firmly around them, Flora lifts her brows at the idea of comets, her grin returning in a brighter, easier flash. "Or I just steal his idea and let him be mad about it," she says, snickering under her breath. Melita’s reassurance softens her more genuinely, though, and Flora’s answering smile turns crooked and sincere as she shrugs, not quite ready to accept the kindness cleanly but unwilling to dodge it either. "Maybe," she allows, and for once there is no sharpness in the word, only the tentative brightness of wanting to believe it.
After a moment, she glances back toward the Honeybee, the steam curling between them as her fingers trail idly through the water. "Is it bad that sometimes I think about abilities that are just like... not necessarily useful in a fight, but more that just... hinder people I don’t like?" Her tone stays light, almost playful, but there is a particular glint behind her eyes that narrows the thought into something more specific, something shaped like a ship on the horizon and a man whose shadow has learned far too many ways to fall across her life.
The rumors are terrible and cruel
But honey, most of them are true
But honey, most of them are true
