never be so kind you forget to be clever
The voice catches her midway through brushing sand from one knee, and Flora turns toward it with a hand lifted against the sun. For a moment Finch is little more than a dark shape against the glare off the water, though as her eyes adjust she makes out a man standing just beyond the scattered bones of the course, looking rather like he’s wandered into the wrong afternoon and hasn’t yet decided whether to admit it.
"Oh, thanks." Her laugh comes easily, warmed by the lingering satisfaction of the last throw, and she combs her fingers back through the flyaways plastered damply around her face. Several immediately escape again, which feels rude after all the effort she’s just made, but Flora leaves them to it as she raises her other hand.
At once, the feather daggers tear themselves free of the targets. They skim back across the course in pale flashes, curving neatly around ropes and wooden barriers before settling smoothly into her waiting palm. Flora turns them once through her fingers before securing them again, the movement practiced enough to conceal how much attention she’s been giving precisely that sort of ease lately.
"I’ve been feeling a little out of practice lately, so..." She lifts one shoulder, then the other, letting the explanation taper away beneath another small shrug. Most people know about her ascension to demigodhood by now, or at least enough of it that she doesn’t need to explain why becoming more powerful has somehow left her newly aware of every place she might still be lacking. Nearby, Spice offers a questioning trill, and Flora glances toward her with a faint narrowing of her eyes. "She thinks I’m being dramatic," she adds, turning her attention back to Finch. "But she also thinks flying over the course counts as completing it, so..."
"Oh, thanks." Her laugh comes easily, warmed by the lingering satisfaction of the last throw, and she combs her fingers back through the flyaways plastered damply around her face. Several immediately escape again, which feels rude after all the effort she’s just made, but Flora leaves them to it as she raises her other hand.
At once, the feather daggers tear themselves free of the targets. They skim back across the course in pale flashes, curving neatly around ropes and wooden barriers before settling smoothly into her waiting palm. Flora turns them once through her fingers before securing them again, the movement practiced enough to conceal how much attention she’s been giving precisely that sort of ease lately.
"I’ve been feeling a little out of practice lately, so..." She lifts one shoulder, then the other, letting the explanation taper away beneath another small shrug. Most people know about her ascension to demigodhood by now, or at least enough of it that she doesn’t need to explain why becoming more powerful has somehow left her newly aware of every place she might still be lacking. Nearby, Spice offers a questioning trill, and Flora glances toward her with a faint narrowing of her eyes. "She thinks I’m being dramatic," she adds, turning her attention back to Finch. "But she also thinks flying over the course counts as completing it, so..."
