flora
Flora rolls her eyes with genuine irritation. "Oh my gods, fucking pick an argument and stick with it." In her mind, I want to never have to speak to you again collides bright and garish with your government isn’t free of me, the contradiction splintering into enough sharp-edged colour to reaffirm what she’d suspected from the start: Jack is being fucking difficult simply because he can, and gods for all the times he deserved to be slapped and she'd held back, she wishes she could cash that restraint in now.
She runs her tongue over her teeth, hating the way some small part of her still leaps at the invitation to impress him. Not earn his approval, exactly, but perhaps manage something clever enough to warrant one of those almost imperceptible nods that used to feel like prizes. Exhaling, she leans forward slightly. "Well, for starters, I’d think any deal I offer where you only stand to gain, and the only possible loss is a hit to your ego—or—" Flora raises a hand immediately, forestalling whatever objection is already forming behind his cigarette. "Whatever you want to call the thing that gets so ruffled by having to deal with me—I’d call refusing that hobbling yourself."
Her fingers begin to mark off the advantages against the tabletop. "My resources mean your crew doesn’t have to put themselves at risk, or it frees them up for other things. My krakens and leviathans mean certain difficulties can be cleared out without you having to handle them yourself, and my coin means yours doesn’t have to be spent." One brow rises as she sits back again. "So yes, I think whatever you’re trying to accomplish with this little stunt just hobbles you." If Jack doesn’t hate her and truly doesn’t care for her anymore, then there’s nothing left for her presence to offend except his pride, no matter what name he’d rather give it, and that strikes her as bad business.
His correction about The Ark has both of Flora’s brows lifting. "Oh, my mistake. Sounds like a super healthy arrangement." The comparison between water and fire earns only a shrug; she’s hardly going to concern herself with the feelings of a woman who has apparently decided to hate her on principle and not for any of the (many) interesting reasons open to her.
Instead, Flora turns slightly towards the empty stretch of bar beside them. Magic gathers at the edges of her concentration, drawing light and memory together until the vacant space fills with the image of her meeting with the Blackfox. Mirabelle’s likeness resolves first, the guildmistress speaking of a ghost ship whose captain, as far as she can determine, isn’t among the Greyroad members. The memory shifts through her suspicions: the emptied caches, the vessel capable of disappearing entirely, and a crew rumoured to become incorporeal along with it. Flora lets the replay unfold without commentary, leaving Jack to decide for himself whether remaining in his chair had finally become worthwhile.
"Remi hasn't been able to track her down," Flora says after a moment once the illusion has vanished. "But with certain talents to guide him, he probably could."
She runs her tongue over her teeth, hating the way some small part of her still leaps at the invitation to impress him. Not earn his approval, exactly, but perhaps manage something clever enough to warrant one of those almost imperceptible nods that used to feel like prizes. Exhaling, she leans forward slightly. "Well, for starters, I’d think any deal I offer where you only stand to gain, and the only possible loss is a hit to your ego—or—" Flora raises a hand immediately, forestalling whatever objection is already forming behind his cigarette. "Whatever you want to call the thing that gets so ruffled by having to deal with me—I’d call refusing that hobbling yourself."
Her fingers begin to mark off the advantages against the tabletop. "My resources mean your crew doesn’t have to put themselves at risk, or it frees them up for other things. My krakens and leviathans mean certain difficulties can be cleared out without you having to handle them yourself, and my coin means yours doesn’t have to be spent." One brow rises as she sits back again. "So yes, I think whatever you’re trying to accomplish with this little stunt just hobbles you." If Jack doesn’t hate her and truly doesn’t care for her anymore, then there’s nothing left for her presence to offend except his pride, no matter what name he’d rather give it, and that strikes her as bad business.
His correction about The Ark has both of Flora’s brows lifting. "Oh, my mistake. Sounds like a super healthy arrangement." The comparison between water and fire earns only a shrug; she’s hardly going to concern herself with the feelings of a woman who has apparently decided to hate her on principle and not for any of the (many) interesting reasons open to her.
Instead, Flora turns slightly towards the empty stretch of bar beside them. Magic gathers at the edges of her concentration, drawing light and memory together until the vacant space fills with the image of her meeting with the Blackfox. Mirabelle’s likeness resolves first, the guildmistress speaking of a ghost ship whose captain, as far as she can determine, isn’t among the Greyroad members. The memory shifts through her suspicions: the emptied caches, the vessel capable of disappearing entirely, and a crew rumoured to become incorporeal along with it. Flora lets the replay unfold without commentary, leaving Jack to decide for himself whether remaining in his chair had finally become worthwhile.
"Remi hasn't been able to track her down," Flora says after a moment once the illusion has vanished. "But with certain talents to guide him, he probably could."
How can a person know everything at 18 but nothing at 22?
Will you still want me when I'm nothing new?
Will you still want me when I'm nothing new?
