[Training] sparfall

your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand

The Sugartide cuts a bold streak through the sky, trailing salt-wet wind and sunlight along her stained-glass sails. She shimmers despite the cloud cover, a jewel-headed arrow shot straight toward the belly of something strange and not entirely welcome. Beneath her bare feet, Flora can feel the way the ship trembles — not from weather, not from turbulence, but from the unnatural way the air thickens as they approach. Even Spice, usually gleeful in the wind, clings to a masthead like a pale little gargoyle, wings half-furled.

Flora leans over the rail, jeans cuffed above her ankles and her sweater just barely tucked at the waist, a golden thread glinting along one sleeve. Her curls are damp from sea spray and sweat from navigating through the storm wall, but she exhales like the chaos hasn’t touched her. "Y’know.." she begins, glancing toward Koa with a look that’s almost playful, "...it's so weird this place is still here with the Family gone." Her fingers tap against the helm, gold rings clicking. "Not gonna lie, I kinda thought it was like..their spaceship or whatever."

The Sugartide dips low enough now that the caves yawn like mouths across the landscape, and Flora scrunches her nose, unconsciously inching closer to Koa’s side as she scans for a safe place to anchor. "Anyway, what better place for a totally normal friendship outing?"

You won't stay with me, I know

"Same," Koa agrees, leaning out alongside Flora as he investigates the alien topography that stretches below them the glitched image of a crazy quilt. "Kinda thought it'd... I dunno, zoop back into the sky or something." He gestures upward. "Not just... sit here, all menacing and shit." He frowns as he says is, glowering down as though the island might feel his disapproval and take the hint and leave. But Starfall simply remains where it is, like a baby cuckoo in a nest of parakeets, cheerfully oblivious to the fact that it absolutely does not fucking belong.

With a final glare Koa looks away from Starfall, though his hands remain on the railing as he cranes his neck to spot where Pipsqueak perches at the stern, a tail-lashing sentinel pushed low against the wood. Koa's jean jacket is barely enough to keep out the windchill; he's grateful for his waterproof work pants and black knit beanie, without which he would have been quite a bit damper and grumpier. 

The sound of Flora's teasing voice draws a smile to his lips, easing some of the tension out of his hands. "Totally normal," he echoes, raising an eyebrow down at the queen. He still doesn't know what actually transpired in that lost hour in the woods, but he'd come out of it feeling strangely lighter, ready to try and actually put his feelings for the Doubletake in the rear view. That the first step is a spar in Starfall of all places is certainly unorthodox, but somehow apt. Still, he offers with a playful nudge, "Don't worry, still plenty of time for us to make things awkward. You know how much my foot likes to find its way into my mouth."

Koa

But you can have your way with me Till you go

your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand

"I thought so too," Flora says, her voice coloured with something half-thoughtful, half-mocking. Her gaze traces the jagged edge of the meteor island as if expecting it to shift when she blinks. "Like it’d slurp back into the clouds with a dramatic noise and leave behind a puff of evil-smoke."

Spice, apparently moved by the same tentative threads of friendship stretching between queen and dragoon, lets out a thrilled chirrup and launches from the masthead. She dives straight toward Pipsqueak with an obnoxiously well-aimed puff of cold, icy breath. The moment it hits, she screeches joyfully and banks left at speed, tail spiralling behind her as she tries to lure him into a game of chase.

Flora grins, not bothering to scold. "It’s true," she admits with a shrug, casting Koa a glance. "Plenty of time for me to turn invisible and emotionally bail when things get dicey." Her eyes glitter with mischief, but there’s honesty tucked behind the sass. The humour is a warm blanket around the fragile truth they’re both dancing around, but honestly, this is easier than things have been in years, so she's inclined to just go with it.

The Sugartide eases downward, sails drawing in like folded wings. Flora adjusts the tiller with a light touch and angles the ship low over the shoreline, just above where purple rock meets frothing sea. A rope ladder unfurls with a heavy clunk, and the queen doesn’t hesitate. She swings over the side and descends, boots landing with a faint crunch on Starfall’s cratered stone.

As soon as her feet hit the ground, she stills.

The air smells clean. No flicker, no hum of pressure, no pulsing void heartbeat. Just wind, sea salt, and the faint sound of waves arguing with the rock. Flora frowns and glances up at Koa. "Okay, so like, I kind of expected...dread? Maybe a migraine. Some dramatic hallucinations. But this?" She spreads her arms, sweater bunching at the wrists. "It's all just...normal." And as they’ve already agreed — that’s the weirdest thing of all.

You won't stay with me, I know

Pipsqueak's screech of indignation and surprise is ear-piercing; it's a good thing she isn't particularly close to any of the Sugartide's windows. The puff of frost causes the condensation still clinging to her thick coat to quickly crystalize; Pipsqueak casts light and shards of ice as she shakes herself vigorously before launching off the stern, her needle-toothed mouth opening and closing as she fires puffs of dragonfire through the mist toward Spice.

The good-spirited fun is reflected in their humans, Koa's grin broadening at Flora's retort. "Oooh, that is your special move." The Dragoon's voice is teasing, but there's honesty there, too. They've both been rather spectacular idiots at various points in time, and it feels nice to joke about it, without any stinging accusation or the viability of a relationship hanging in the balance of it all.

The playfulness sharpens when they cast anchor, however, a soldier's vigilance falling comfortably into place. He follows Flora down the rope ladder, aware of the weight of the ring on his finger, of the bracers wrapped around his wrists. "None of this is normal," Koa mutters as his boots land on the odd, porous ground. The first to admit his ignorance where any sort of plant is concerned, Koa nonetheless feels pretty confident in his belief that none of the foliage surrounding them is normal.

Or the sounds coming from beyond their sight.

"I'm honestly surprised nothing's attacked us yet. Like... I dunno, a massive worm? Spiny tree person? Field of flowers with teeth instead of petals? Bees?"

Koa

But you can have your way with me Till you go

your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand

Spice emits a sound that can only be described as a gleeful, frosty cackle, the kind of noise that starts in her throat and ends in a stream of giggles made entirely of ice. She loops tight circles just beyond the reach of Pipsqueak’s fire, twisting midair with all the grace of a smug little hurricane, clearly living her best chaotic life.

Flora watches the dragons with a grin tugging at one corner of her mouth, head tilting lazily toward Koa as he joins her on the island. "Well, you’ve absolutely helped me perfect it," she says, the words warm as a sunbeam despite their content. "Without all the practice bailing on you, I’d probably still be halfway decent at honest communication." Her lashes flutter dramatically as she sighs.

But then as Koa keeps going—bees, of all things—and Flora laughs, a bright, unfiltered sound that echoes faintly off the alien rock around them. "Okay, bees would suck," she agrees, snorting. The absurdity doesn’t soften the tension of the place, though, and even with the laughter still clinging to her lips, her fingers dip into the folds of her sweater. One of her feathered daggers appears in hand, the gold glint of it catching in a sliver of watery light. She twirls it once, lazy and precise, then tosses it casually into the air and catches it by the hilt.

Brows arched, she glances sideways at him. "Sooooo," she says, slow and syrup-smooth, "you still think you’re faster than me?" He had been, once upon a time, in their youth when it seemed like the only pace they ever moved in was a full-on dash.

You won't stay with me, I know

"Always glad to be of service," Koa drawls in reply, though his ears do color slightly as this playful jab hits home. Forcing down the sting of the memory (memories, because there was a plethora of miscommunications to choose from), he decides to double down on bees. "Right? Can you imagine void bees? Big purple fuckers, always stinging at your eyes." He shudders dramatically at the notion, which somehow still upsets him less than the idea of Flora fleeing again.

The earth feels unsteady beneath his feet, wrong, which he supposes makes sense considering it's not earth. It's something quite literally alien, and that idea sends another shiver down the Dragoon's spine. His fingers run over the ties on his bracers, making certain they're secure, finding comfort in the familiar weight of the leather on his wrists. From the corner of his eye he catches the glint of hazy sunlight on gold as Flora flicks a feather with expert precision, like a juggler warming up for her act. It's reassuring, and he feels his nerves unclenching: whatever bullshit might come for them, he knows they're well prepared.

The smooth challenge of her voice infiltrates his thoughts; Koa smirks, half-turning to Flora, his own brow raised in turn. Honestly he has no idea if he can still compete with the Doubletake, but the young Dragoon's competitive nature prohibits him from turning down a challenge. "One way to find out," he counters - then snaps toward her, projecting an open-palmed blow to the hand that holds the deadly feather in hopes of knocking it from her grip.

---

1/4

Koa

But you can have your way with me Till you go

your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand

Flora’s grin widens as Koa smirks, and if she notices the flush at his ears, she’s gracious enough not to say anything, though it sparkles in her eyes like it wants to be teased. Instead, she cringes theatrically at the mental image. "Ugh, don’t. Now I’m picturing them with, like, ten legs, buzzing into my brain the way Vox used to."

She’s still halfway through a faux shudder when Koa lunges. His hand strikes hers with more confidence than she expected—or maybe just less hesitation—and the dagger tumbles from her grip, clattering once against the rock before skidding off to the side. She lets it fall, lets herself laugh, bright and delighted and full of challenge.

"Oh noooo," she calls, clearly not even trying to sound convincing, as she darts forward—not at him, but around him, the way she used to in their old, ridiculous races through the Wildwood. Her boots kick up dust, curls flying behind her, and she flashes him a sly glance over her shoulder just as her hand lifts. With a flick of her fingers, the feather-dagger hurtles back toward her palm like a summoned bird, As it does, Flora angles her body just right, a breath ahead of its return path, aiming for the arc of it to pass close enough to nick Koa's side. Or, if he’s clever—and of course he is—for him to dodge.

"Just as deadly when they aren't in my hands," she calls with a laugh.

---

1/4

You won't stay with me, I know

Vox-bees, ugh. Far better refocus his thoughts into reflexes and combat than conjure up hypothetical demonlings that might lurk on these shores. The light flickers on Flora's dagger as it flies from her hand, earning a fierce grin from Koa in response.

Fierce but brief, because Flora wastes no time in darting at him, the gap between them closing in the time of a blink. He scarcely has the opportunity to raise his hands in defense when she's at him, and then past him, the wake of her passage ruffling his hair like a playful summer breeze. Surprise briefly crosses his face, replaced promptly by an understanding smile as he catches her sly glance. Oh, okay, he sees her plan. Very clever, Flo.

Immediately he's chasing after, attention on her hands. "I remember!" He's faced these damn daggers often enough to know their secrets, and as Flora's fingers flick in recall Koa dodges left, predicting the trajectory of the blade as it zips back to her hand. He's correct enough to avoid being sliced, though the flying feather does catch his shirt, tugging it playfully as it passes by. He tries to catch it as it passes, though he isn't sure whether or not he even can stop it in its tracks.

Regardless, Koa takes advantage to lunge forward, his strides lengthening. She's still out of reach of him physically, but Koa has his own tricks and toys to use. Counting on the projected reach of his bracers he swipes out and down with his left hand, aiming a blow he hopes will trip her toward the back of Flora's knee.

---

2/4

Koa

But you can have your way with me Till you go

your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand

Flora laughs, a sharp and delighted sound that arcs across the wind as her dagger tugs at Koa’s shirt and zips past. "Apparently so!" she calls, grinning over her shoulder. There’s real joy in it—some bone-deep delight at the fact that he still knows her, still reads her like a book he once memorised and hasn’t quite forgotten how to hold.

She’s mid-turn when she catches the blur of his hand moving, the flicker of motion sharp enough that her instincts twitch just a hair too late. Something catches at the back of her knee—projected force, not touch—and it sends her stutter-stepping forward, her boots scraping against the rock. She gasps, loud and performative as she rights herself, spinning on her toe like a dancer and throwing him a bright, dazzled smile. "Well, that seems handy," she says, her eyes dropping with intent to the bracers on his wrists, voice as honey-sweet and loaded as she can make it. "I can think of a few uses for that kind of reach." Because if they’re dancing this close to old memories, she might as well press her palms to the glass.

And just to make sure he doesn't get too smug, she tosses her dagger—not at him, but down near his feet. Then a second joins it as she recalls the first, before throwing it again, and so on, as if meaning to make him dance across Starfall by avoiding her daggers.

---

2/4

You won't stay with me, I know

There's a part of his heart that still catches flame every time she laughs, though it no longer blazes hot enough to morph into that old wildfire of love. But part of him will always be a little bit Flora, her mark emblazoned in a tattoo of first loves and first pains.

Surprise ripples through him as the punch lands, sending Flora stumbling but not quite to the ground. Koa grins, slowing his stride as she pirouettes his way, careful to maintain a little bit of space. Her comment has the tips of his ears flushing; "They have their uses," he agrees playfully, eyebrows wiggling exaggeratedly like overzealous caterpillars. Not that he's actually had the opportunity to try the tricks she's insinuating. The boy's been rather celibate for a while now.

Maybe that's the reason he's so high strung these days.

But thoughts of sex and Flora no longer belong together, and Koa shuts that mental door with pointed intent. Besides, Flora has him immediately distracted by a dagger at his feet. He raises an eyebrow at her, starting to say "Your aim's a bit--" when a second joins the first, and then the first is flying away and ah, okay, he sees what's going on.

Like a man dancing barefoot on coals Koa begins hopping backwards, trying to avoid the sequential wave of daggers as they fly at and away from his feet. One catches his right ankle, but it isn't quite enough to make it through his thick pants and boot. Another hits his shin, though, and this one does slice into skin, earning a sharp inhale. Laughing, Koa adjusts his dodging to more of a rhythmic stomp, trying to catch the knives under his feet and prevent them from being recalled. One does snag beneath his heel; Koa reaches swiftly for it, planning to send it flying back at its owner, though he has his suspicions as to whether or not they can be turned on the Doubletake.

---

3/4

Koa

But you can have your way with me Till you go

your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand

For Flora, slipping back into a vaguely flirtatious rhythm with Koa is as instinctive as breathing. She never means to act on it again, but like him, a part of her heart will always be scorched with the mark of all the firsts they shared together. The cracks and marks he left behind haven’t been neatly filled in with gold or anything so poetic, but enough time has passed for her to be able to look back on it without the sharp edges catching.

She laughs as he starts to call her out on her aim, only for the realisation to dawn on him mid-sentence. The sight of him dodging, stomping, and hopping to avoid the barrage is more satisfying than she’ll admit out loud. When he finally manages to snag one of her daggers and fling it back in her direction, she lifts her palm to catch it in midair, the recall magic tugging it gently and obediently into her grip.

Brows arched, she grins at him. "Ohhh, so we’re playing dirty now?" The words are light, but there’s a challenge glinting in her eyes as her fingers toy with the hilt. Before he can answer, her hand drifts down to the gold band at her finger. She twists it, and in the space of a blink, she’s gone—dissolving into nothing more than the faint scrape of boots against stone. She dances a few steps to the side, her laughter now disembodied, echoing faintly against Starfall’s porous walls.

And then her blade flies again—this time from empty air—its gleam cutting toward him as if conjured from the island itself.

---

3/4

You won't stay with me, I know

Turning Flora's feathers against her goes about as well as one might expect, which is to say it fails quite utterly. The what leaves Koa's hand as a projectile lands in Flora's like an obedient cat, arcing neatly to settle into her palm. Neither surprised nor disappointed, Koa responds with an unbothered shrug. "And here I thought you liked things a little dirty," he winks.

And then blinks as she pulls a classic trick and disappears before his eyes.

"Who's playing dirty now?" A flicker of irritation pulses through Koa, but he stifles it before it can take hold. Laughter flutters like butterflies around him; Koa resists the impulse to spin toward it, forcing himself to wait patiently, to hone his senses and let his awareness expand as he waits for her to strike. The faint shuffle of footsteps, the slightest flicker of movement - there. Koa spins as the blade slices through the air, his fist coming out and arcing around in what may or may not be a rather idiotic flail. At least he has her origin point correct, something made obvious when the knife tears neatly through his shirt sleeve, leaving a faint spray of blood in the air as it cuts into his skin.

---

4/4

Koa

But you can have your way with me Till you go

your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand

Flora flashes Koa a dazzling smile at his tease, her voice dropping into a purr. "Sometimes," she concedes, light spilling through the word like sunlight on glass. His flicker of irritation only earns more laughter from her, airy and unbothered. "Couldn’t help myself," she admits, footsteps scuffing invisibly against the alien stone.

But then his wild swing actually lands, catching her mid-turn as she recalls her daggers back into her hands. The air knocks out of her in a surprised wheeze, but it’s nothing compared to the way her gaze snags on the red blooming across his sleeve. Her dagger—her fault.

"Shit," she hisses, the word sharp as she’s already closing the gap between them, forgetting entirely that she’s still cloaked. Her hand presses firmly against his arm, the heat of her healing ring pulsing in quick, golden waves until the skin knits back together beneath her palm. Only when she twists the other band, shedding her invisibility, does she lift her hand to reveal the smooth, unbroken flesh.

Her nose wrinkles, lips pulling into a crooked grin. "Sorry," she hums, softer now, apology stitched between the syllables.

And then, because she refuses to let heaviness linger between them, she tips her chin back toward the Sugartide, eyes glinting with mischief once more. "Maybe instead of playing dirty we should go get a snack," she suggests, giving his newly mended shoulder a playful nudge. "I have bread, and I can tell you for certain that carbs can fix anything."

With that, she starts back toward the ladder, curls bouncing, letting the spar dissolve into something easier—because sometimes that’s the only way to win.

---

4/4

~FIN