Click here for a list of weather descriptions, seasonal festivals, and a real time:site time conversion.
Character of the Season
Once known as the Butcher of Whitebrim, he's now The Butcher of Dygra, stepping forward as the first created demigod of the Ancients. There is no question that Astaroth casts an intimidating silhouette. Tall, domineering and dangerous, if looks could kill you'd be dead already, but to get up close and personal with the Grounds' resident cannibal tells a much different story. Dripping with charm and clad in only the finest attire, Asta is a gentleman monster, as polite as they come and committed to his role as security for the Dusklight and those who have earned his loyalty. Be careful of that smile, though - those teeth are sharp.
Congratulations, Asta!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
OG Skinning provided by Kaons, with functionality and many custom plugins made by Neowulf!
The sign in the door reads CLOSED and she’d sent the staff home early with instructions that the bar wasn’t to be disturbed, leaving The Last Word quiet enough that the faint creak of wood and the water shifting beyond the glass seem louder than they have any right to be. She hasn’t dressed for Jack; there’d seemed little point in wasting the effort when he’s seen her glittering and furious, heartbroken and naked, and in nearly every unfortunate permutation between. A nicer outfit wouldn’t make him kinder, and war paint wouldn’t make her any less vulnerable to whatever carefully sharpened thing he’d undoubtedly arrived prepared to say.
Given the consequences of their last two meetings, Flora thinks this restraint demonstrates remarkable personal growth. One had sent her away from the Lighthouse and directly into an impromptu wedding with Kaisel on the side of a mountain. The next had ended with Safrin binding the three of them into a pact that could erase Flora from the memories of every person, animal, and god in Caido, leaving Jack as the only one who’d remember she had ever existed. Today, she’d settle for significantly less drama, if she could.
Seated at a table overlooking the sea, Flora keeps her hands folded neatly before her, though every few minutes her fingers begin to drift towards the small mark on her right hand before she catches them. A bottle of rum and a carafe sit within reach, but she hasn’t touched either. Her thoughts are already restless enough without encouragement, and she has no intention of giving Jack any reason to think she’s approached this meeting as anything other than Torchline’s queen.
Flora isn’t expecting friendliness, and civility might already be ambitious where the two of them are concerned, but some small, humiliating part of her would be satisfied simply to make it through one conversation without Jack reaching for the most painful weapon available to him and wielding it with a smile. Flora knows better than to mistake that hope for likelihood, though, and so she sits with her chin lifted and her posture carefully queenly, watching the water instead of the door as she waits for Jack to arrive and prove her optimism misplaced.
How can a person know everything at 18 but nothing at 22? Will you still want me when I'm nothing new?
Rain hits the glass in soft plinks of noise at first, speckling through the dark until The Last Word is filled with a hush that goes beyond the whisper of the Arclight or the creak of dock boards. A more superstitious person might have said the Captain had summoned the weather to join him on his way to see Torchline's queen, but Flora will know that this is just the way of the islands and the season they're in. It doesn't stop the world from seeming closer and more oppressive for it, but there's certainly nothing supernatural about the downpour.
The door, when it opens - because it was always going to - is silent but for the way the patter of rain grows briefly louder, though when Jack steps inside he's as dry as when he left The Ark (both the ship and the woman). Releasing the hold on his water magic and letting the door swing shut once again in his wake, he doesn't remark on how empty the bar is but for a raise eyebrow towards the tables. "Explains why it's so quiet," he mutters, referring to the relative telepathic blackout on his approach.
Hopefully it will continue to be that way, but just in case, the Captain has a few members of his own crew hanging around outside; if nothing else they're useful warning beacons should anyone approach who isn't altogether welcome. Locating Flora at her table overlooking the churn of the sea, Jack spares her only the briefest glance as he approaches, boots tapping quiet and hollow on the floorboards.
"One could get the idea you don't want to be seen with me," he drawls, shrugging out of his Kingmaker coat and slinging it casually over the back of his chair before plopping to sit down in a slouch, one leg propped out, ringed fingers already reaching for a glass and the bottle of rum. "See news still travels fast in Torchline." About his return, he means, Jack pausing to pull the cork out of the bottle with his teeth. "Out with it, then. I got another meetin' after this one."
it's not your fault that you're always wrong the weak ones are there to justify the strong
As the door opens, Flora’s gaze lifts from the rain-streaked glass and settles on Jack. He barely looks at her, but she watches him cross the room with far less restraint, trying not to let her thoughts catch on all the ways he’s still achingly familiar or how much of him now feels entirely unknown. By the time he reaches the table, she’s managed to smooth both reactions into a casual lift of one shoulder. "You were the one who said to leave Ronin home."
She lets the remark about Torchline’s rumour mill pass without comment. They both know how quickly word moves through the islands, and the moment The Ark’s maroon sails appeared in the harbour, there was never any chance Flora wouldn’t hear about it. Instead, she waits until he’s poured his drink before clearing her throat, keeping her hands loosely folded on the table. Jack had been woven through Torchline’s leadership long before she’d inherited its crown, regardless of whether he’d ever bothered with an official title, and his hatred of her doesn’t make him any less relevant to the region. Given the reasons for that hatred, she might be more forced into placating him than those who came before her, though.
"I’m sure you’ve noticed the Fingers aren’t how you left them. The whole undercity is..." Flora trails off, shaking her head as though there’s no single word broad enough to contain the mess of it. "Ronin and his soldiers have kept some of the violence to a minimum, but we both know that’s barely even half the battle."
Lifting her eyes to his, she holds his gaze and tries not to flinch from what she sees there. "If you’re planning on reclaiming it and getting it back under control, that would put the crown in your debt." She swallows, keeping her tone collaborative even as the offer tightens something low in her stomach. "To that end, if you needed any resources to make that happen..."
How can a person know everything at 18 but nothing at 22? Will you still want me when I'm nothing new?
"Didn't realise Ronin staffed the place all by himself," Jack rumbles, as if the missing Knight doesn't account for the various servers and bartenders he'd seen when he and The Ark had shown up for breakfast. He pours himself a couple of fingers of rum and spends a brief moment considering the bottle before setting it aside, raking a hand through hair he's left loose around his shoulders this evening. He's swirling the liquor in his glass when Flora mentions the Fingers, Jack scoffing into the drink as he takes a sip from it.
A mess is an understatement; reputation alone isn't enough to stifle that sort of chaos, and he's got still healing scrapes along his knuckles from just earlier that day to prove it. "Can't very well conduct crooked business with everythin' in disarray," he rumbles, as if his cleaning up the place was never in question. His blue eyes flick up to meet hers as if on cue, though, deeper than the Arclight but sharp as the rocks that line her shores.
"When," he drawls, "have I ever needed anythin' from Torchline's government other'n a blind eye? Or is shit bad enough this time 'round that you reckon it ain't gonna stay contained to the undercity?" In which case, one could argue that it's in Jack's best interests to let the riots happen, for cover and distraction if not for the gleeful spite of it. But Flora had known him when he lived here last, had known him before she was queen, too, and the Captain has never been lacking in resources of his own.
it's not your fault that you're always wrong the weak ones are there to justify the strong
Flora exhales through her nose, irritation briefly winning out over the composure she’d been trying to maintain. "Right, my bad. Next time I’ll make sure the place is incredibly noisy for you." There’s no shame in the way her gaze slips from his almost immediately afterwards, though. Holding Jack’s eyes has never been a neutral thing, and tonight they drag too much loose from the places she’s worked very hard to keep orderly, so she lets her attention settle on the rum turning slowly in his glass instead.
"I just thought maybe you’d gotten tired of doing things the hard way." Her fingers lift in a loose, dismissive gesture, though the sigh that accompanies it betrays how thoroughly unsurprised she is to find him difficult simply because he can be. Perhaps it had been foolish to imagine time away might have sanded down any of his sharper edges, but she’d made the offer regardless, and she refuses to feel embarrassed for trying to make his return easier on both of them.
This time, when Flora raises her eyes, she finds the nerve to keep them there. "We both know you’re a large part of the reason I wear this crown, and we both know that if you wanted it off my head and on someone else’s, you could probably make that happen." Her tone remains matter-of-fact, without accusation or flattery, as she lifts one brow and gives a small shrug. For all the resources Jack has always kept hidden beneath his sleeves, there are situations where her arsenal could be counted among them.
How can a person know everything at 18 but nothing at 22? Will you still want me when I'm nothing new?
Yesterday, 11:49 AM (This post was last modified: Yesterday, 11:51 AM by Jack.)
JACK
"You sayin' all this is for my comfort? Flora, you shouldn't have," Jack croons, letting his gaze linger on her for a second or two longer before he empties the rest of his glass in one swallow and sets it down with a soft tap. "I've gotta applaud your delusions, though, assumin' I'd consider any way that involves you easy." Snorting under his breath, he lets ice start to creep along the surface of the empty glass, as if cooling it before whatever he pours into it next.
He doesn't respond, at first, about her remarks on the crown she wears or how precarious its position might be should he decide to be a problem, his brows furrowing as he listens. "You've lost your bite since we last spoke," he says, honestly perturbed by it. "Last time it was here are your options, Jack an' every bit of power at my command. But we've gone from blackmail to bribery?"
Unaware of what has de-clawed Torchline's queen even with telepathy, the Captain wrinkles his nose and pours himself another couple of fingers of rum. "What I want," he says slowly, "is what I've wanted since I left Torchline, which is to never have to deal with you or see your face if at all possible. I know that must seem crazy to you, not to have someone at your beck and call, but truly, even if your help was available I'd have to be in dire straits to take it. I'm gonna live a long, long time if I get my way - long enough to wait out the wrinkles on your face an' the weakness in your body. Be queen as long as you like. I'll still be here when you're done."
it's not your fault that you're always wrong the weak ones are there to justify the strong
The bite in Jack’s voice is exactly what Flora had expected, and at first she meets it with a saccharine smile, her thoughts gilded in small, bright thorns that feel sharp enough to protect everything beneath them. "And yet here you are," she points out sweetly. "So if anything, not taking the help means you’re suffering through my company for nothing."
Her eyes roll ever so slightly when he drags their last meeting into this one. "Oh, by all means, if you’d prefer blackmail—" The rest of the sentence dies beneath his answer. In truth, nothing has declawed her beyond the apparently naïve belief that, given enough objective benefit, Jack might be capable of tolerating her for the sake of business. His determination to hate her for an ending he’d helped create had seemed like something she might eventually work around, right up until his words begin sketching out a future in which he waits patiently for age to hollow her out.
The thorns in her thoughts shrink inward, weaving themselves into a dense thicket around the softer affection she still carries for him. Flora had meant it when she told him she would always love him, and although she’d come prepared for his worst, somehow Jack still manages to surprise her with how badly his worst can hurt. She bites the inside of her cheek until the sting there eclipses the one threatening behind her eyes, then offers him a humourless smile. "Well, we don’t always get what we want, do we, Jack." Her voice is low, the words less a question than an old and bitter certainty, while her mind fills traitorously with all the things she’d once wanted from him and never received.
Swallowing hard, Flora lifts her chin. "Now that I’m a demigod, immortality is just around the corner for me too. So wrinkles or not, if you want a blind eye from me while you’re here, then you are going to have to deal with me at some point." Sitting back in her chair, she finds it much easier to hold his gaze now that anger has risen to meet the hurt, though the flush across her cheeks betrays more than she’d like. "Here I thought you were a smart enough businessman to take advantage of a situation when it was offered to you. I might have lost my bite, but it seems like that’s all you are now."
Her gaze cuts sharply towards the rain-darkened sea as she exhales through her nose. "I have more things I thought you’d like to know, but by all means, if this is too hard for you..." Flora lets the offer trail away between them, waiting to see whether pride or practicality wins.
How can a person know everything at 18 but nothing at 22? Will you still want me when I'm nothing new?
"Oh, it's hardly nothin'. I know what I'm workin' with now at least," Jack says with a casual shrug of his shoulder, nothing if not amused by her faux sweetness, and that amusement sharpens into something dark and knowing when the sugar chafes away with little more than a few well-placed barbs.
His eyebrows raise in quiet challenge - if she wants to talk about the ending he'd helped create they can open all of those old wounds again, but he doesn't bleed through the scar tissue the way he used to, and what Flora has shown him on the other side of their relationship is much less intimidating than what she'd managed to wield when she still had her grip snug around his heart.
"You don't get it, but you will," he says quietly, sipping at his drink. "If I hated you, that crown would be off your head. If I hated you, your love story with the soldier would be dust. If I hated you, Flora, I'd have been the one to request this meetin'. The truth of it is that you're still holdin' a rope that I dropped a long while ago, forcin' this narrative of us havin' to deal with one another so you'll get a chance to... what? Feel better about your consolation prize whenever you go home to him?"
He doesn't know, honestly, and he doesn't care to. "If you want to bicker, I know someone who does hate you plenty you can argue with," he continues, knocking back the second glass and pushing it away on the table lest he be tempted to drink more and scoffing out a mirthless laugh as she continues.
"I wondered when you were gonna flash your demigodhood like a stray tit at the beach. Congratulations, Hot Take," Jack drawls, his faux bow all theatrical sarcasm. "I am a smart businessman, but you ain't offered anythin' worth doin' business with yet. If your resources were all that, the Knight in your pocket would've squashed the trouble in the Fingers already. And we both know anythin' I wanna learn I can find out faster'n you can tell me. So if this is too hard for you, by all means."
it's not your fault that you're always wrong the weak ones are there to justify the strong
Flora has always been willing to revisit the scene of a crime, perhaps even more so now that she has the means to drag old moments back into the light whenever she pleases. So when Jack’s brows rise in challenge, she doesn’t flinch away. The thorns in her thoughts remain, tightening around anything softer, but she leans back into the booth and folds her arms across her chest as though settling in for a conversation he’d apparently convinced himself she couldn’t handle.
Jack was the one who’d given her the strategist’s mind she now relied upon, after all. He’d taught her most of what she knew about negotiations like this, which is why the curl of her lips is nearly genuine when she answers. "Oh, my mistake. I was under the impression you wanted to resume something resembling the life you led here before." The sarcasm lands smoothly as she lifts one shoulder. "There hasn’t been a single government in Torchline that you haven’t been closely embroiled with, Jack. It isn’t the slight to me that you seem to think it is that you’d rather hobble yourself than accept the situation for what it is."
The remark about Kaisel is so obviously bait that Flora merely smirks, privately pleased that Jack has been forced to stoop towards insulting her marriage when the rest of his argument begins running thin. As for the person who apparently hates her, she can only assume he means his fucking ship. "Huh." Her expression turns thoughtfully mocking. "Hating your boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend. Sounds like the sort of thing I’d do."
Rolling her eyes at his theatrical bow, Flora uncrosses one arm long enough to wave away the false congratulations. "The point still stands. I’d bet your immortality runs out before mine does." Whether that proves true is hardly the issue, though the notion of denying him the satisfaction of watching her age into weakness is enough to brighten the thorns in her thoughts again.
At his assessment of her offer, she only shrugs. She had genuinely believed the information would interest him, and her mind supplies flashes of it before her mouth does: the Blackfox framed against the memory of their conversation, followed by an apparently empty harbour split by the unmistakable wake of a vessel no eye could find, followed by a series of empty caches. "I’m not the one who keeps complaining about being here, am I?" One brow arches; If he’d rather continue making everything harder than it needs to be, he’s welcome to do so, but Flora isn’t going to pretend that stubbornness belongs to both of them.
How can a person know everything at 18 but nothing at 22? Will you still want me when I'm nothing new?
"Somethin' resemblin' the life I had before, not somethin' identical. Just because I ain't playin' footsie with Torchline's queen doesn't mean your government is free of me, Flora, an' we both know it," Jack drawls, and now it's his turn to shoot her a sweet smile. There are corrupt soldiers, crooked merchants and messengers more than willing to be paid off that will accomplish just as much as a whispered request in a queen's ear; it just takes a little more hard work, and Jack has never been afraid of that.
Still, he's willing to humour her if only for a little time to kill, to test that strategist's mind she's convinced he gave her. "Go on then, what does me not hobblin' myself look like? Wow me, your grace," he mumbles around the cigarette he produces and places between his lips. "An' I ain't her boyfriend, for the record, I'm her captain. She hates you the way water hates fire."
Drawing deep on his cigarette and shrugging away her offer of a bet, Jack exhales a ring of smoke into the air and settles back to listen to her thoughts - which, whilst interesting yes, and in a way that he doesn't let leak into his expression - still isn't anything he couldn't learn directly from the Blackfox. "Well? I'm still here ain't I?"
it's not your fault that you're always wrong the weak ones are there to justify the strong
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."
How can a person know everything at 18 but nothing at 22? Will you still want me when I'm nothing new?
Jack's brows flinch into a puzzled frown, then, the hints of the Caido equivalent of lol what on his lips, because no part of worming his way into Torchline's government has coincided with having idle chit-chat with her queen. Instead, he merely takes another slow drag on his cigarette, gaze flicking down towards her as she leans just a bit forward in her seat. "Oh, whatever could it be," he murmurs, his voice vaguely sing-song as he exhales a breath of smoke. The thing that gets so ruffled at dealing with her, he means. He has no clue, truly. Just one of those mysteries of life.
"An' if all those advantages are ones still available to you without me, how come shit is still in fuckin' shambles?" he wants to know, raising his eyebrows at her. His tone has shifted, perhaps imperceptibly, towards that of a hardened criminal who had dropped strings with the full impression of having them snatched up by the next greedy go-getter with half a brain. "Ain't you had one lickspittle come creepin' to ask you for your favour in gettin' the undercity beneath their thumb? Ain't you thought to do it yourself?"
Or has she been sitting on it quietly, in the hope that someone with blue eyes and a bad temper would sail home and pick up the slack for precisely this sort of meeting? He doubts it - but he doesn't doubt it all that much.
"Healthiest I've been in years," he assures her about The Ark, his response too quick to feel calculated, and one that will leave her truth ring cool against her finger. "An' she far from hates you on principle - she remembers every step you took on her deck, an' everythin' else besides."
But then Flora is flexing her new magic, and Jack's gaze flicks sidelong to watch the scene with the Blackfox play out, the Captain falling quiet to absorb the information for what it is. He exhales a quiet, tense sort of breath as understanding dawns, straightening in his seat for the first time to roll his shoulders. "Some of those caches were mine," he mutters. "Didn't consider some ghost ship to be the problem, though. That's a pain."
it's not your fault that you're always wrong the weak ones are there to justify the strong
Jack will find barren confusion in the gardens of Flora’s thoughts, every path ending abruptly against the same question of what, precisely, he means. Of all the men in Caido, though, she knows better than to expect an explanation of how he feels from Jack, so she lets the mystery wither where it stands and gives a bright, disbelieving laugh instead. "Oh, and who would I send? The White Fucking Knight?" Her brows rise sharply. "Remi and Ronin have already done what they could to keep the violence down, but the rest of it..."
Her aqua gaze returns to him, her frustration now aimed somewhere beyond the man across from her. "Of course people have tried, but think about who you left behind." She lifts a brow, and something darkens protectively within the thicket of her thoughts, shading memories of grasping hands and would-be successors who’d mistaken vacancy for opportunity. "Some of them managed for a while, but...none of them were you." The word gleams with a hesitant, gilded praise, though none of it has anything to do with whatever feelings she does or doesn’t still harbour for him. It is simply the truth of Jack’s infamy, the sort built from more than coin, violence, or reputation alone. As for why she hadn’t taken the undercity herself, Flora only rolls her eyes and turns towards the rain-darkened window with a quiet frown. Once, had she remained beside him, she might have learned to rule that part of Torchline too. She might even have gone rogue entirely, but they both know that when Jack sailed away, she hadn’t yet been capable of replacing him. Still wasn't.
His next words land exactly where they’re meant to, and Flora flinches without wasting the effort it would take to hide it. Her thoughts snag on what sort of temperament the gods had given The Ark, and what it must mean for her to remember every step Flora had taken across her deck and everything else besides. Every promise of forever, every time Jack and Flora had believed themselves inevitable. The implications leave a cold trail beneath her skin, and when she speaks, her mouth has gone suddenly dry. "Well, I’m sure she knows all the right things to say and do to make you happy, then." Having learned from Flora's mistakes as well as her providence as Jack's favourite thing.
Jack’s reaction to the memory isn’t approval, but it isn’t dismissal either, and Flora imperceptibly straightens as he does, her attention sharpening around the shift. "There are stories that she anchors in the middle of the floating isles and moves with them so that no one can accidentally collide with her. Others say ships can sail straight through her anyway." Flora gives a small shrug, keeping her gaze on him. "No one knows how much of it is true, only that the Blackfox doesn’t think she can be taken down through ordinary means Maybe the caches are connected and maybe they aren’t, but it seems like more than a coincidence." Her fingers settle lightly against the table as she recalls the details. None of them looked disturbed: No broken locks, no signs they’d been opened, nothing to suggest anyone had touched them at all, and yet they were empty.
How can a person know everything at 18 but nothing at 22? Will you still want me when I'm nothing new?
"Could've counter-bribed the soldiers already workin' with the undercity, got 'em to spill the details of where the problem points were. Could've sent Attuned in as rats to spy, could've channelled fuckin' Ludo before it went missin' to spook crooked sailors into thinkin' they'd sink if they didn't fall in line." Jack lists the items off like they're obvious first steps, which of course they are to a man who'd brought the undercity to heel for over a decade. "Then you send in your White Knights and Bastions to clean up."
But of course that isn't the crux of it, and when Flora finally says it - none of them were you - it doesn't feel as good as he thought it might. "So I've been told," he mutters, flicking the ash from his cigarette into a tray at the end of the table.
The Ark, though, that barb lands clean, and Jack doesn't shy away from the enjoyment of it. "On the contrary," he says, "she surprises me every day." A siren and a firecracker, for all the saltwater in her veins, and Jack truly wouldn't have it any other way.
For all that this could collapse into an argument and bruised egos and all manner of other pettiness, the conversation with the Blackfox and the rumours of the incorporeal ship do seem to have held his attention, the Captain tapping a finger along the wood grain of the table as he thinks. "Sailin' right through her," he mutters, half to himself. "Could be the same sort of magic as what's emptyin' the caches."
Sighing and sitting back, he places the cigarette between his lips. "I've gotta send out some feelers first, get the full picture." But then, yes, goes the unspoken response, it's caught his interest, and he'll work on it. "I gotta pay my respects to the Blackfox now I'm back anyway. I'll leave any findin's with her." So Flora can pick them up again, naturally.
it's not your fault that you're always wrong the weak ones are there to justify the strong
