[SE] a little bit of sun out when it's freezin'

flora

As soon as the pair are within eyesight of Flora's Kaisel's townhouse, Spice is off, squeezing herself through the open window above the sink with all the elegance of a cannonball wrapped in tulle. Her claws scramble across the counter, tail flicking like a whip, and the second she spots Kaisel, she launches herself onto his shoulder with a flurry of indignant and warning chirps. Moments later, the front door slams open hard enough to rattle in its frame.

Flora storms in like a summer squall; curls half-wild, cheeks kissed by too much sun, fingers already digging at the edge of her waistband as if removing her pants might also remove the entire system of government. Her sandals clatter against the floor as she kicks them off mid-step, and her bag drops at the entry like this was still her home to fall apart in.

Then comes the groan; long and theatrical and echoing through the townhouse like the wail of a siren who’s had enough. "I hate it here!" she declares to no one in particular, arms flung wide as if the walls themselves are to blame. "I’m changing!"

She takes the stairs two at a time, already shimmying out of her jeans. The townhouse isn’t hers anymore—not really—but that doesn’t stop her from heading straight for the bedroom, even though anything remotely practical to wear is long gone. All that’s left in the closet are the glittering cast-offs of her life pre-Sugar Tide: sheer cover-ups, risqué evening gowns, an alarming number of bathing suits that exist solely to be taken off. But that’s fine. Flora doesn’t need sensible right now, she just needs to be out of her bra and into something with a stretchy waistband (or perhaps no waistband at all). Just because she’s a queen doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve to be soft and pantsless at the end of a godsforsaken day.

lust's a liar, a short lived fire
it isn't what you and I are at all

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

// Ring around the rosie - Pocket full of posie //

There's no splash that accompanies Spice's cannonball, but there is a billow of steam as she darts right over the freshly poured pasta he's straining in the sink. The visible heat eddies up, moving like a sigh before resuming it's steady climb upwards. Kaisel startles mildly, some tortellini scattering as he jostles back while setting the pot aside. "Spice?" he asks with a tinge of disbelief as he grabs for the towel on his shoulder, drying his hands as she replaces its perch there. He cocks his head towards her as the excited chittering starts up, the message delivered enough in tone and presence alone. "That bad, huh?" he grimaces, holding aloft a piece of the cheese-stuffed pasta for her.

He's barely got time to finish pouring the glass of wine before the front door attempts to merge with the wall, cracking open like thunder has just arrived in a pair of sandals. She loses pieces of herself with nearly every stride, shedding every bit of added weight as though carrying anything extra is entirely unbearable right now. Kaisel leans on his hands against the counter, just watching her with a slide of copper as she breezes along, silent as he sips on the wine. That she treats this like home doesn't even register; it is her home to him, and not just because she used to own it. He is however, entirely impressed that she's able to take her pants off while climbing stairs, and half waits for the sound that she's fallen and might need help getting back up. It's just stomping though, and frustrated grunting and growling, her ascent a spectacular feat of multitasking rage.

Kaisel glances down at Spice and raises his 'brows, as if they're nothing more than the comic relief in the changing scene of a sitcom.

Abandoning his glass to the kitchen after one more swallow, he rises up after her, slower and clothes intact. He's barefoot, dressed in thin black sweats that only stay upright with the knot at the front, and a lime green long-sleeved shirt with little star shapes building up a pattern on just the arms, which he's bunched up to his elbows. He stops at the doorway to the room, leaning heavily against it with one leg crossing over the other, hair pushing up along the frame. He swirls her glass of wine in his hand, cradling it in his fingers like some sort of crystal ball where he could divine out the future of her workload. "What a douche," he starts, of Hadama, having no context for the whys but feeling like at the very least, in this shitty moment of accepting the truth of being alone, that it rings true enough regardless of the reason of the right of it.

Kaisel

// I'ma fucking blow all the ashes down //

flora

Spice answers him with a chilly snorffle in the shell of his ear, something halfway between a disgruntled sigh and the sound of a snowstorm breaking against glass. Her tail loops around the back of his neck like an ice-breathing scarf, her tiny body tense and puffed, wings twitching at the tips as if she too has been holding herself together just enough for this moment.

Upstairs, Flora’s restraint has thinned to a trembling edge. She’d known there wouldn’t be anything practical left here—no cozy sweaters, no soft shorts or oversized hoodies—but somehow that hadn’t mattered until she’d opened the closet and come face-to-face with a sequin bikini, a hot pink robe made entirely of feathers, and three floor-length gowns that looked more like punishment than possibility given how she'd have to squeeze into them. These were all the kind of clothes meant for parties and pool decks and performances, not...y'know, a casual menty B.

So she stands frozen in the centre of it just in her shirt and underwear, her bra discarded on the floor and her jeans somewhere on the stairs, but none of it softens the tightness wound in her chest. Her toes curl into the floor. Her fingers twitch at her sides. The scream building in her throat isn't rage or grief or fury, it’s the kind that comes from being so tired and so alone in the decisions that keep wrecking her.

She turns slowly, then, almost like the movement costs something, to find Kaisel leaning in the doorway. Her gaze catches on the small, familiar things first: the slant of his mouth that never quite rests, always curling toward a smile or mischief; the way his hands cradle the wine glass like he’s afraid to grip it too tightly, like everything he touches deserves to be held gently. His hair’s a mess—fluffed up like he’s been running his fingers through it again—and his eyes, impossible and so easy to drown in, glow molten in the light, gold sunk deep into amber. He’s in sweatpants, which she shouldn’t find this attractive, and yet something about the knot at his waist, the way he leans one shoulder into the frame, all loose-limbed and unhurried, makes her want to dissolve against him. Because he doesn’t just look like home—he feels like it. Like she could crawl into his arms and hide there until the world stops spinning.

His comment about Hadama the delivery is so simple, so dry, so Kaisel, that it shatters something in her. A humourless laugh tears out before she can stop it; crooked and cracked, the kind of laugh that always comes just before the sob. Her chest lifts as she inhales, eyes burning, and her hand lifts to gesture helplessly at the closet. The ridiculous closet, clearly indicative of the ridiculous person who owned it. Her voice wavers, too close to the edge now to pretend she isn’t.

"..Can I wear one of your shirts?" she asks, soft and sad and overwhelmed.

lust's a liar, a short lived fire
it isn't what you and I are at all

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

// Ring around the rosie - Pocket full of posie //

He sees it before he hears it—the rise of something heavy trying to break free, carried on the short, empty sound of her weary laugh. That surge in her chest, like two breaths have come in at once, one for her to keep and one for her to cry into, is what kicks him off the doorframe. Seeing her stranded in the middle of the room, bare legs adrift among her own discarded glitter and absurdity, shoulders trembling with the effort staying upright, it's too much. There’s not enough comfort left around her, nothing she can sink into except the ache in her chest, and that's the last place he wants her to go.

Wine would not be enough right now, so he quickly sets it down on a nearby dresser, crossing the room to her. "Yes," he says simply, tugging her into his arms without allowance for any refusal. "Of course, yes. You never have to ask," he murmurs, pressing her against him for a moment, taking some of her weight onto his chest. He tilts a kiss to the top of her hair before resting his chin there, smoothing out one stray strand for the time being.

"In fact," he considers after a moment of pulling all her sad tight against him. He leans back just a touch, holding her upright as his hands brace on either side of her arms. "Do you want this one?" He starts to lift it up with one hand, but then stretches the bottom out and up towards her like he means to swipe it up over her head, despite the absolute certainty it cannot reach. "In fact I think we could just share this one," he suggests as he moves.

Kaisel

// I'ma fucking blow all the ashes down //

flora

She stands there like a lone sandbar in a rising tide, surrounded by shimmer and silk and sequins that once felt like armour and now just feel like mockery. Useless things, all of it. Her chest is drawn tight with pressure, like something is coiled inside her ribs begging to crack. Sowhen Kaisel moves—when he sets the wine down like it’s nothing, like she’s everything—her breath catches in her throat. The second his arms fold around her, the dam breaks.

The tears bite first, sharp as seawater in an open wound, but their fall is a mercy. She buries her face against him, her arms locking around his ribs in a clutch that’s all desperation and disbelief that he’s here, that he’s real, that she’s allowed to fall apart in front of someone without fear of being too much.

It’s safe, with him, and quiet. Not the brittle kind she’s learned to fear: Jack’s silences always meant storms and Sohalia’s meant exhaustion, as if Flora’s grief was something too heavy if only because the Luminary had been asked to do so so many times. But Kaisel...Kaisel just holds her like the weight’s nothing. Like she could hand him every heartbreak and he’d shoulder it without flinching.

Her tears stain his shirt, bright salt-dark splotches soaking into the ridiculous lime green like flowers blooming in reverse. Her breath shudders out, then back in, ribs tightening again as he leans away—but only a little, just enough to make space for light. The stretch of fabric between his hands draws her gaze. It’s such a stupid offer, so deeply him—gentle and ridiculous and kind—and something in her almost laughs.

The smile that finds its way onto her lips is barely there, but it lifts the weight on her face, and her eyes—red and shiny—sparkle with something closer to herself. She ducks her head, scooping under the hem of his shirt like a child burrowing into blankets, snuggling up until her cheek is pressed against his chest, as high as she can get. A long sigh escapes her, a weight exhaled. The tears are still there, but softer now, washed out by the warmth of his skin, by the ridiculous comfort of being inside his shirt and pressed full-body to someone who never asks her to shrink.

"Gods, I love you," she mumbles into him, lips brushing his chest, the words crumpled by emotion but still clear. Her shoulders sag as she melts against him again, every part of her unravelling in the safety of his arms.

Tucked beneath the fabric so that Kaisel is safe to make whatever face he wants to given the name she's about to mention, Flora whispers, "Jack left Torchline." It comes small and sore, barely audible, but it matters—like a crack in a dam that explains part of the flood. "It feels like everything is falling apart," she adds, breath catching again. "And it’s my fault."

lust's a liar, a short lived fire
it isn't what you and I are at all

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

// Ring around the rosie - Pocket full of posie //

"Ah, see? Fits you perfectly," he says to the lump of Flora smuggled very obviously beneath his shirt, a ghost of a laugh biting in on the words for the fact she accepted the preposterous offer. She always does.

He can't quite bring himself to fully celebrate the humor though, not when tears are still storming over the sea of her eyes and soaking every part of her in salt. His grip just circles back around the lime green slope of her, holding at least one thing steady while the rest comes undone. He doesn't want her to stop, not if it's what she needs—sometimes there's no way to move past it except to let it spill over. "And I love you," he says low and sure, just to ensure she knows, out loud and repeated, that it's true. Doubt has a cruel way of sneaking back in, even when it seems like it's been defeated; it persists and it multiplies, and she has plenty enough that he'll not let that be one of them.

It's an odd pattern of thought, to go from that to Jack. Maybe less so for Flora, given both dwell around the word and idea of love for her, but the name hits Kaisel like a lightning bolt, sudden and unwelcome, not even sure when the clouds had rolled in. At this point Kaisel is convinced Jack is half phantom and means to haunt him until the end of his days, so beyond the sudden arrival of his presence here between them, one that does absolutely create a bitter expression on Kaisel's face, the captain's name feels nearly inevitable. Maybe he should stop counting how many conversations they have where he's brought up, seems it'd be easier to keep score of all the ones he evades.

Still, stitched into Flora's shadow or not, Kaisel doesn't intend to let Jack break her heart even further than he already has. "Come now," Kaisel objects with a snort. "I don't think Jack being here was an integral support structure to Torchline." Whatever the captain's hand in all the trade, there haven't been riots in the streets or buildings collapsing in the absence of the Ark. If there has, is it really because of Jack, or because people respond real well to change? A new normal would rise up, in time, and arguably should. He'd hate to see this region tied to a man like that. "I also think I deserve a little credit for that one," he says, an attempt to be more lighthearted, to keep her from finding some way to keep yanking herself apart needlessly.

Kaisel

// I'ma fucking blow all the ashes down //

flora

Flora sighs softly against Kais' chest, a breath that catches on something heavier before it slips free. "He was, though," she murmurs, the words warm and muffled where her cheek rests against him, like she’s not sure whether to confess or apologize. It probably isn’t what Kaisel wants to hear—she knows that—but truth rarely arrives on clean feet when it comes to the things that have made Flora cry lately. And it doesn’t make her love Kaisel any less, doesn’t change the way her body curls into his like he’s the only shelter left. It’s just that Jack’s absence left a shape in Torchline, and it’s one she doesn’t quite know how to ignore, let alone how to fill.

She grumbles, almost theatrically, her nose pressing deeper into his sternum like she’s trying to burrow somewhere safe from the fact that her city is fracturing. "Apparently there’ve been a bunch of fights breaking out at the docks," she mutters, the words reluctant. "And now there’s this stupid, violent scramble for control."

The shirt tugs lightly as she recedes, messy-haired and rumpled, a newly emerged sea creature blinking at the surface again. Her fingers come up to rub at one eye, smearing away whatever tears haven’t already dried against her skin. "When it comes to Torchline's undercity..." she sighs, the weight of it all beginning to drag her limbs again, "Torchline’s a lot worse off without him."

There’s a helpless sort of groan as she flops back against his chest, more drag than drama, her head thunking gently beneath his collarbone. "Do you know how many bribes it took to keep Jack onside?" she groans, tossing a hand limply in the air as though trying to scatter the memory like confetti. "It’s gonna take weeks—months, maybe—to figure out who’s trying to replace him and whether they even want the same sort of arrangement Jack had."

And as for Kaisel—sweet, goofy, star-sleeved Kaisel—when he says he deserves a little credit, she thinks of what she’d whispered into his skin just moments ago. Of what it cost her to admit it, and what it must’ve cost Jack to hear it. She hadn't come back to the captain after that admission despite saying so, and given that Jack had remained in Torchline during their last breakup, his absence was almost certainly tied solely to Kaisel's place in Flora's heart.

Her smile is the kind that doesn’t quite make it to her eyes, miserable and a little lopsided, like it aches just to form. Slumping fully against him again, she lets her arms encircle his waist, her voice small and sad as it spills into the cotton between them. "Actually...you probably deserve all the credit."

lust's a liar, a short lived fire
it isn't what you and I are at all

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

// Ring around the rosie - Pocket full of posie //

Well, shows what he knows about this region. Maybe he just wanted to believe Jack hadn't mattered that much, that Flora had built him up into something larger than life because that's the shape of him in her heart, which Kaisel suspects could still be true to a certain degree. He does understand the dilemma she's facing though. Much as Stormbreak likes to tout rules and control, it's also got a shady underbelly fraught with criminal hierarchies, some that Kaisel's more familiar with than his folks would appreciate.

"Right now," he corrects swiftly. "Torchline is a lot worse off without him, right now." Which doesn't make dealing with it now any easier, but he feels it's an important distinction to make, that the fate of this region is not, and has never been, in Jack's hands. "Maybe Jack kept his boot on the right necks, but that doesn’t make him the foundation. Torchline will find its footing again." Maybe she already knows this, even believes it, but he's not hearing it, and sometimes things don't really exist until you put some noise to them.

His grip only loosens to permit her reemergence, a wet, salty, static mess that tugs one of the corners of his lips despite the seriousness of the issue at hand. The ring of his arms tightens back around as she leans in again, deflated despite all the volume to her curls. "Bribes?" Kaisel echoes, not quite able to keep the distaste from his tone this time. He's not so naïve as to expect a self-appointed seedy king doesn't demand bribes, but it's the implication that Flora is the one who'd been paying those out that has his jaw tightening. "Is that how it all..." he trails off, hands flexing against her like he's grasping for reassurance. He's not quite sure he wants to ask if their relationship began with her offering her body to him, or if he wants to discover that the piece of shit took it time and time again. "Even at the end?" he wonders instead, because if it'd been love by then, how did business transactions find the space still?

Exhaling heavier than he means to, an attempt to remove some of the rigidity that crept in at the twisted notions of Jack's greed for anything and everything Flora would offer him, Kaisel's more than happy to grasp at fault instead. "Finally I get to be the one to ruin something," he says dryly, reaching to drag the hook of her arms up to his neck instead. "Sorry it had to be your kingdom." Although, he doesn't sound very apologetic at all, far too focused on positioning her hands and abruptly sweeping his up under her legs, swinging her off her feet and into his arms. If she's going to cry in her panties, at least she could be more comfortable while doing so.

He flashes a smile down at her before carting her over to the bed, seamlessly depositing her onto the nest of pillows and blankets. He doesn't entirely join her, just bows over, arms bracing on either of her sides as he lingers forehead to forehead for a moment. "What if," he ponders as he pulls away faintly, capturing the full view of her sea-glass stare. "You increase soldier presence? They'd keep some of the peace. Make the small fries think twice before adding to the chaos like they are now. Some of the real bottom feeders don't have many opportunities like this, so they're stirring it up even worse to stretch it out, but they're cowards at heart."

It's not a revelation, increasing security where there's riots, but it's a fine enough place to start if she's got the resources. It could cause a backdraft of unrest if mishandled, since these are the people who most loathe being policed, but there's a balance to them being allowed to thrive in her city and a reminder that their actions have limits. He's also part of that army now, and he'd love to get boots on the ground to clean up Jack's shit more thoroughly—not too different from burning his abandoned jackets in Flora's closet, just these ones are a bit more of the skeleton variety. "Station your dads out there and I bet a lot would calm down," he tacks on, because shitty fathers or not, they are local and strong, and this is their city too, surely they wouldn't want to watch it eat itself alive?

"And/or you could appoint someone king of thieves," he offers with a mild shrug, dipping lower to press a kiss to the tip of her nose and the corner of each eye before retreating into the closet. "It might not stick, depending on who you pick, or because you picked them at all, but it could be a line of intel for a while." They might die, but that's sort of the risk inherent with that rank regardless. "Could also pick without making it known you were the one to do so. You're in a position to close and open the ports, ignore certain inspections and jail others...you could just make one person particularly lucky." Her invisibility is an added tool to that effort as well.

Kaisel

// I'ma fucking blow all the ashes down //

flora

Flora blinks at the correction, her brows tugging together at first—soft confusion like a cloud moving across the sun—before it hits. Right now. Not forever. Not fate. Just...for now. Flora nods, slow and quiet, because yes, of course Torchline would find its footing again, but it wouldn’t have stumbled if not for her. The weight of that doesn’t press down like guilt—it is guilt. But it's different when it's not a punishment handed down, when it's something you've chosen. Something you broke and now have to mend with your bare hands.

She looks up at Kaisel when his voice twists on the edge of a question, that half-finished is that how it all...pulling a frown onto her face. His hands have tightened, but they don’t match the storm behind his eyes, and her own expression tugs with confusion as she echoes the words, puzzled: "Is that how what all…?" The tilt of her head is nearly birdlike as she studies him, but the truth comes out simple. "Of course even at the end. Jack's business was always separate from our relationship." It had never occurred to her to think it could’ve been otherwise, and there’s something in the quiet sincerity of her gaze that makes that clear.

But when Kaisel moves her arms and lifts her effortlessly, she goes without resistance, though her laughter comes in a tired puff of air. "Congratulations," she says with a tired, crooked little smile, the humour tangled through with ache. She doesn’t clarify that it wasn’t her kingdom he’d ruined—it was Jack’s home. Kaisel’s presence had made one of the most stubborn and determined men she’d ever known pack up and walk away from the thing he built from nothing, and the sea he belonged to.

But she doesn't say any of that as he quite literally sweeps her off her feet, just leans up in his arms to kiss his cheek like she’s some noblewoman bestowing knighthood, and then chuckles as he drops her into the mess of pillows like he’s tucking away something precious. Nestled among the chaos of fabric and lingering memory, she inhales and nods, her expression thoughtful. "That’s a good idea," she murmurs, even if her mouth pulls down a little. "But I just promised Zavien I’d send a whole bunch of them up to Stormbreak." Her arms fall from around his neck, fingers reaching instead to comb back a few strands of hair that have fallen around his face, her touch gentle and affectionate.

Pressing her nose against his in a motion that’s more adoration than kiss, she sighs. "I should make Remi and Ronin do more. And honestly? If those assholes want to flood the Fingers again, I’ll send the actual Flood after them. Let’s see how brave they are with a tidal wave breathing down their necks."

Just saying it out loud makes her feel better. Like it’s a puzzle with edges again instead of some endless tangle of seaweed around her ankles. And it’s Kaisel who’s given her that. The space to breathe. The belief that she still has choices.

When he offers the idea of appointing a king of thieves, her nose crinkles fondly at the kiss pressed to her face, her gaze following him as he slips toward the closet. "You know, uh.." she says, clearing her throat as she rises up slightly on her elbows. "Something I never told you. I actually run the Thieves Guild across all of Caido." Her voice is breezy, casual, almost offhand—like it’s not one of the most morally grey things she's ever done—but there’s a glint in her eye as she waits to see whether Kaisel’s jaw will drop or if he’ll somehow be unsurprised or maybe even disappointed.

lust's a liar, a short lived fire
it isn't what you and I are at all

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

// Ring around the rosie - Pocket full of posie //

Of course even at the end. The confirmation twists his disbelief into disgust—not for her, never for her, but for the lengths the captain would go to. Kaisel can't imagine loving someone and continuing to demand payment from them, whatever the means. Nor can he grasp the idea of their roles standing alone and separate from their love, because it's still the same people filling both. He frowns deeply as he swallows it down, eager to move on from this train of thought, because ultimately it doesn't matter anymore. Jack is gone, and isn't that a fucking good thing?

Still pretending to preen over his successful destruction, admittedly he's not certain she has it right, though he'd never say as much since it'd shift more of the blame back to her. Kaisel does not have the presence to send Jack running, much as he'd love to claim that kind of aura. It's Flora that's sent the Ark into distant waters, because what else is a man to do when she's broken his heart, other than break everything else too?

He hums thoughtfully into the sweep of her hand through his hair, grabbing at it after a beat. He stills her, just for a moment, to press a kiss to the bottom of her wrist before releasing her with a faint smile. "Ah, so he did talk to you about that." Kaisel has already made a few short trips up to Stormbreak and back, and talk of Zavien meeting with Flora had come up. "I suppose it won't do to rescind the offer then," he grunts, shifting his weight with the lean across her. "Lazy dads it is then," he agrees, brightening considerably as she runs away with the idea in force.

With adoration planted into the corners of her features and him rifling through the closet on a newfound mission, he does pause briefly at the words she so casually sets loose. She likely won't hear it, but he huffs out a faint laugh, the sort given when an expectation has been met. That she'd somehow find a way to be even more beguiling and mischievous does not surprise him, even if this particular route does. "That so?" he asks with a hand on his hip as he reappears from the closet. He's swapped his attire for one of her stunning evening gowns, the straps far too thin on his shoulders. The back refuses to zip up without bursting, so the chest droops in grief that it's not properly filled, hanging limp from him. The rest scatters down around his legs in a tangle of elegance that doesn't suit the top half, especially not with the wild streak of his hair from where he'd pulled the fabric over his head. If she didn't get to wear what she wanted to, then neither would he.

His grin is a boyish assault of mayhem that he unleashes upon her. One strut is offered across the floor, head held aloft with a very regal angle, before he breaks into a run. The dash is an utterly outlandish streak of muscled sequin, and then he's vaulting over her and diving into the bed at her side with an aggressive flounce of the mattress. "That explains why you were so good at stealing my heart," he teases as he spins towards her, flopping onto her partway as he sprawls on his side, the belle of the ball. Edging back a bit into more serious waters, despite the unending smile he keeps, he grabs for her hand and links his through it. "Well, then you should already have some connections to help you with intel and placement. Find someone who doesn't require your body for a bribe." Someone better than Jack.

Kaisel

// I'ma fucking blow all the ashes down //

flora

The kiss to her wrist draws in a breath so small it barely lifts her chest, just the smallest flutter beneath her ribs like a ripple caught midair. She still doesn’t understand how he can be so gentle with her. Not just now, but always. Somehow his kindness never feels soft in a weak way. It’s not paper-thin or careful; it’s steady, like a current that holds her up, even when she isn’t strong enough to swim.

"Mhm," she hums, her thumb brushing just above his jaw as he shifts across her. "He came to see me a few days ago." A pause, before she grins. "So., yep, Lazy Dads it is. Maybe I’ll round up a few Ancients too, let them go bloodlust their way through the Fingers. That oughta sort out the riff-raff."

She can hear him in the closet but can’t see what he’s doing, so she props herself up on her elbows, brows drawn with suspicion and intrigue, narrowing toward the laugh she hears but can’t decode. When Kaisel emerges, the reaction is immediate: her jaw drops, eyes sweeping over him with the same greedy, slow drag a man might have given her in that dress, and gods, he fills it better than most of them ever would. "Wh—" she starts, only to dissolve into delighted laughter as he struts and launches himself toward the bed.

"Shut up," she groans at his cheesy line, rolling with the mattress as he flounces into her space, shoving at his shoulder with an eye roll so theatrical she probably deserves an award. Her hand instinctively slides to the open split of the gown where it won’t zip over his back, fingertips greedily tracing the warm, muscular lines beneath as if her hand already knew where it wanted to go. Her other hand closes tightly around his own as he threads their fingers together.

She’s already nodding along when his words catch her off guard. At first, she just blinks, tilting her head like she must have misheard. But when the implication sinks in—that Kaisel thought she’d been the bribe—her whole body stills. "What? No." Her voice is high with disbelief, her mouth falling open for a different reason this time. "No, no, ew. What?"

Eyes wide now, she sits up a little more, still cradling his hand in hers as she waves the other emphatically. "I wasn’t the bribe, are you kidding me? I was seventeen when I met Jack. And that's not.." Trailing off, her cheeks flush. There's of course no way to explain why a man like Jack couldn't find anything less than enthusiastic consent pleasurable without revealing more about him than she wanted to, and so instead Flora just shakes her head, lashes fluttering as her lips move uncertainly for a moment. "..he wouldn't want that." Swallowing, she shakes her head before adding, "the bribes were things like the mageglass he has, or docking slips to move illegal goods, or political favours."

Her frown comes slowly, drawing across her brow like a cloud skimming in front of the sun, not angry so much as a bit wounded. "You really thought I'd sleep with someone as a bribe? As a way to hold onto power?" she wonders, voice soft but unmistakably offended, her gaze flicking up to meet his with a flash of hurt behind the aqua.

lust's a liar, a short lived fire
it isn't what you and I are at all

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

// Ring around the rosie - Pocket full of posie //

The rich sound of her laugh and the warmth of the moment isn't one that gets to remain nearly as long as he'd hoped. The easy smile he offers, unwavering in his belief that she could not only repair this, but improve it, wavers at her first rising words. "I'm not—" but his voice peters out under the weight of confusion as she continues to backpedal. The 'ew' in particular lands like a stone thrown into the little pond of clarity he thought he'd gained. It hadn't seemed like a far cry to think she'd do it when she offers all the rest of herself for her region—and it made sense, more than the other ideas he's had, about why she ultimately fell for Jack.

He struggles to rise up alongside her, the gown cinching him down thanks to his own weight. He now feels entirely stupid in it, the giddy shock and the glow of absurdity fading as she blushes, and frowns, and waves her hand about. He cuddles an arm over a pillow instead to serve as some manner of shield for the gaping neckline of sequins. "Oh," he says quietly, 'brows rising up with the surprise of her age and the firm refusal of that truth. "I thought...that was maybe how it all started with you guys," he sighs faintly, another assumption about her and Jack disrupting them.

His gaze has wandered to the edges of her, his free hand brushing the corner of the pillow he's clutching with idle energy, and all the while his thoughts stumble over one another in a race of guilt. The last thing she says though, a punctuation of damage forming, that brings him fully back to her. His fingers still over the cloth, and he grips her hand firmer as his eyes cradle hers with steadily growing horror. "No," he breathes, hoping it carries enough of his certainty to reach her before she curls in any further. "No, not to hold onto power. I just—I know you go to tremendous lengths to preserve this place. You've put your life on the line." Maybe more honorable than her tits, but very devoted all the same. "And I know that bribes come in more than just purses," case in point, all the ones she'd listed previously, which weren't a direct exchange of money, although they surely helped the captain profit. "So I thought...given everything between you and Jack, maybe that's where the bruises came from." They'd never quite gone into detail about what she liked yet, and she'd told him she didn't want it that same way, but it certainly seemed like the mark of a man receiving payment and safe harbor.

Kaisel

// I'ma fucking blow all the ashes down //

flora

Flora's lips part, sharp and ready, the protest already blooming at the back of her throat, but she swallows it, jaw tensing as her breath pulls in instead. Kaisel wouldn’t want to hear how it really started between she and the captain. Not about the endless seasons she and Jack spent circling each other like weather systems, the danger he kept her out of and the trouble he introduced her to. Instead, her mouth presses closed, her teeth tight behind the shape of silence.

But when he rushes to clarify—not to hold onto power—something flickers colder across her face. "Oh," she breathes, low and bitter. "But maybe for other things?" The words fall like snow on glass, too soft for how much they cut. Her hand is still in his, her body still pressed into the tangle of his, but her heart curls in on itself, a cold coil of shame and insult tightening in her stomach. Once she'd warned Kaisel away from looking at her like she was a dream, and now she has to wonder just what he replaced that image of her with instead.

Her fingers twitch in his, a barely-there spasm like a thread pulled too tight as he mentions the bruises. Not because of the word alone, but because of everything it implies. It drags her straight back to that last night with Jack, how all it had taken was a genuine moment of intimacy and affection between them to bring everything crashing down, and then some. But worse than the memory is the understanding that’s dawning now, slow and sharp in her chest: Kaisel didn’t just think she’d whored herself out to keep Torchline afloat, he thought those bruises were unwanted. That she’d let someone mark her without consent. That she’d stayed in something like that.

And all of a sudden, it’s hard to breathe. Her eyes lift to his, stunned and hollow. "So you think I whore myself out for Torchline," she says quietly, "and that I stayed in an abusive relationship?" It isn’t quite a question, but it’s not an accusation either. Just a wound she didn’t see coming, raw and shining in the low light.

lust's a liar, a short lived fire
it isn't what you and I are at all

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

// Ring around the rosie - Pocket full of posie //

Shit. She's folding in anyway.

If the path to hell is paved with good intentions, it's a wonder he isn't already roasting in the eternal damnation of poorly chosen words and I didn't mean tos. Maybe it all starts with poorly chosen thoughts, ones that come too quick and too shallow, grasping for any strand that makes sense even if the shape isn't all there, like excitedly screaming circle when it's a completely flat line on one side. He does win charades often just by being the fastest to blurt out anything and everything, so, one small win?

Everything is telling him that yes would be the wrong answer to her question, even if, yeah. He doesn't intend to start lying to her now though, not the least of which is because of her fancy jewelry, but maybe something a little more detailed than a nod would serve better here. As he's grappling for the best way to say the thing, she continues, and a chill starts to creep in. While he's still got ahold of her, it feels like he's watching her tumble further and further away, impossibly caught beneath a frozen lake with only her hand above the ice. Worse, she's looking at him like he shoved her into the water and closed up the cold around her.

His other hand presses over the one they've kept linked, desperate to apply some heat, to haul her out onto dry land. "I think—" he swallows, his mouth suddenly run dry. "—That sometimes you're put in difficult positions and make the best choices with what you have available." It's said slow, purposefully careful, like maybe he could spot the pitfalls this time before they come. "There's no judgement," he rushes in to say though, caution yeeted away for the sake of reassuring her. "I had to get my toes sucked once in the Silk Houses—declined the hand job so also had to pay him..." There's a lot to be said about the lechery that happens in the darker allies of cities, and at least in Stormbreak he often saw that the only bribes those men had been interested in were docking in a woman's harbor (or a man's).

Kaisel

// I'ma fucking blow all the ashes down //