my heart went from red to black

you look like my next mistake

The Sugartide rides the cloudline like she owns it. Wind teases her ivy-wrapped sides, and the stained-glass sails flash like jewels in motion—mauve, seafoam, gold—spilling fractured light across the upper atmosphere as the ship banks slowly toward Stormbreak. The shadow of the floating city is beginning to stretch long across the sky, a monolith of stone and gods and tightly wound laws that Flora has never much cared for.

Beneath it? Now that’s more her style.

She’s barefoot at the helm, her feet braced as the ship dips with casual grace through the updrafts. Her dress is billowy and impractical—soft peach with off-the-shoulder sleeves, slit high along one thigh, gold thread catching the light when the wind plays with the hem. Bangles jingle with each shift of her wrist as she steers, and Spice glides ahead of them in a lazy spiral, pale against the haze of the descending sun.

They’re close enough now to make out the sprawl of tangled roots clawing from the underside of the capital, the Grotto yawning open like the city’s unspoken mouth—earthy, hidden, riddled with treasure and trouble alike.

And behind her? Ace. She knows him only in the way one knows smoke and rumours: sharp around the edges, charming if you’re not careful, and very clearly the kind of man who’s seen the underside of more than one mattress, not that Flora's judging. Tilting her head back over one shoulder, she flashes him a grin. "Soooooo," she drawls, lips curved like honey poured over a knife’s edge, "slept with any more of my friends since the last time I saw you?"

There is no such thing as a bad idea.

Not one for driving ships, Ace lets Flora do the work, more than happy to sit back and admire every part of her that shifts and guides the boat around Stormbreak; from the angle of her hips to the way her golden curls catch the wind, he lets his mind wander down every curve and peek of skin. He's propped on the railing behind her to get a better angle of it all, arms crossed over a leather jacket that keeps off the chill of altitude and lets any accusing glances glide straight off. 

Not bothering to hide the appreciate look he's running over her ass, Ace gives her a crooked grin. "Depends on who your friends are." Winking, his dimple makes a playful appearance as he tilts his head. "Any friends you're worried about? Or maybe you just want to make sure you'll have me all to yourself?" He raises an eyebrow, well aware of her recent falling out with a particular 'smuggler' and more than willing to shoot his shot. The twinkle in the crystal blue of his eyes says that he's certain he can handle whatever she might want to throw his way.

Only Poorly Executed Awesome Ones.

Ace

you look like my next mistake

Flora doesn’t need to see him to know exactly where his eyes are. She can feel the weight of Ace’s gaze like sun on bare skin: hot, a little smug, and not the least bit subtle. It earns a roll of her eyes as she adjusts the wheel, hips shifting with the wind’s tug, her curls tousled into golden chaos by the breeze. Still, she doesn’t mind it. After the tangled mess that was Jack, and the too-close, too-tender moment with Kaisel, the unabashed attention is almost... refreshing. Simple. Fun.

So when she finally turns to glance over her shoulder, it’s with a sly, knowing grin. "Please," she says, sweet as sugar and sharp as sea salt, "it wasn’t exactly hard to get you all to myself. I barely had to spend anything at all to lock down your very exclusive afternoon services."

Her brows lift meaningfully, teasing, before she gestures lazily toward the city’s roots as the Sugartide drifts lower. The wind catches the edge of her dress and tugs it playfully against her thigh. "Tell me, Ace," she purrs, "you ever done any business in the Grotto before?" The tangle of roots and pathways beneath Stormbreak yawns below them like a secret waiting to be stolen, and Flora is already scanning the roots for their drop point—daggers at her hip, smirk still firmly in place.

There is no such thing as a bad idea.

"Oh? You mean the down payment?" He steps forward to stand a little closer, leaning into her space just enough for her to notice without touching or encroaching, a suggestive tilt to his head as his voice lowers a touch. "My services aren't that cheap, your highness." Ace lets his eyes linger, running down her body before turning to the approaching destination. 

The tangled mess at the underside of Stormbreak doesn't make it easy to spot the darkened tunnels amongst the shadows and blackened tendrils that twist through the rocks, but his eyes scan them with uninterested familiarity as he quirks the corner of his lips. "Maybe." Not wanting to give away too much too quickly, he shrugs his shoulders. "Although I'm guessing you brought me along because you think I'm familiar with them, so it would really suck for you if I wasn't, and quite the waste of money." He tucks his hands into his pockets, a teasing glint in his eyes that says he might just pretend not to know anything if she isn't willing to pique his interest.

Only Poorly Executed Awesome Ones.

Ace

you look like my next mistake

Flora exhales a laugh through her nose, the kind that tastes of sea brine and mockery. "You get the rest once we actually finish the job," she replies, dragging out the last word like a sun-drenched drawl. Her fingers flick the wheel just enough to level the Sugartide as the ship begins to skirt the lower fringe of Stormbreak’s roots. Below, the Grotto unfolds like a smuggler’s dream—shadowed crawlspaces, jutting ledges, root-wrapped caches.

When Ace leans into her space, she doesn’t flinch or back away—if anything, she shifts to meet him halfway. Their silhouettes brush close under the canvas of ivy and stained glass as the sails rattle faintly above them, the wind a conspirator to their proximity. Flora lifts her chin, aqua gaze locked with his. "Careful now," she murmurs, the words a breath of warmth against his ear, "there’s very little I can’t afford these days.' Her smile turns slow and sly. "So make sure your services live up to their price tag."

Then she’s already pulling away, golden curls catching on the wind as she turns her attention back to the descent. Spice darts past them with a trill, drawing a shimmering spiral just ahead of the bow.

The Grotto looms now—close enough to smell moss and loam and damp stone. With a smirk tossed over her shoulder, Flora adds, "Of course, it’s entirely possible I brought you here as payment." Her tone is light, mocking, like this is all just a joke between thieves. "Might be someone waiting down there with a very specific taste for pretty boys with suggestive grins." She shifts her weight, one hand idly resting on the pommel of a dagger at her hip. "In which case, I’ll loot your pockets after I make the trade and not be out a dime."

There is no such thing as a bad idea.

Satisfied to know his money would come, Ace doesn't need to know what job she's hired him for. He's willing to do most anything to line his pockets - or get a chance to work his charms on the Queen of Torchline. So, as she leans in, he doesn't hide the playfully heated look in his eyes, turning enough so that she can hear the deep timbre of his voice when he whispers, "I suppose you'll find out for yourself soon enough." He'll willingly show her [i]all[/] the services he can provide. 

Letting Flora reclaim her space, Ace scans the Grotto in all its overgrown underworld glory. He laughs something low and dripping with humor. "Unlucky for you that my value lies in my skills rather than my pockets or 'pretty boy' smiles." Although he shoots her another grin anyways, the dimple popping out in a taunt that dares her to pull a stunt like that, to see just how easily he can talk his way out of a situation and sprint for escape just for the thrill of it.

Only Poorly Executed Awesome Ones.

Ace

you look like my next mistake

Flora doesn’t bother turning fully toward the drug runner—just angles her head, letting the wind tug a few golden strands across her cheek as she glances back. He’s close enough that the air leaving her lips is more suggestion than breath, warm and deliberate. "I suppose so," she murmurs, the corners of her mouth curling like the start of a wicked spell.

Then she laughs, tossing the sound over her shoulder like a silk scarf in a storm. "Your value babe, is entirely dependent on what someone’s in the market for." One hand leaves the wheel to lift in a vague, airy gesture. "Maybe I’m selling you to someone with a thing for fast talkers. Or maybe they’ve got an ex who looks just enough like you to make a few hours with you and a set of pliers cathartic." Her tone is light, teasing, soaked in sugar and suggestion. But there's a blade beneath it—there always is these days.

Reaching into the leather pouch at her hip, Flora pulls out a folded square of waxed paper and smooths it open on the console. The rough map inside is sketched with fluid lines and curling symbols, each one sharp with intent: thieves’ cant, drawn in curves of seaweed and serpent spine. She taps a cluster of the markings near a hook-shaped root structure. "This is us," she says. "Somewhere under that twisted bit of limestone, there’s a drop marked with a double-crossed dagger that we need to find."

Tilting her head toward him, her grin returns. "Are those pretty eyes of yours good for anything besides getting you into trouble? Or do you think you can help me find what we're looking for so we won't be here all night?"

There is no such thing as a bad idea.

Flora's not necessarily wrong in saying that he's only as valuable as people say he is, but Ace would also argue that only idiots would be willing to assign his worth to something as measly as money. But he's not in the mood to argue semantics when she's giving him that sweetly sharp tone, the kind that makes his grin sharper and his blood hum in anticipation. "Then it's a good thing that my last moments of freedom will be in the presence of a drop-dead-gorgeous woman. I'll have no regrets." He gives a mocking dip of his head, offering a vague flourish of his hand that might have resembled a bow if she wasn't drawing him forward towards the parchment. 

Ace leans a little closer to the map than necessary, brushing against her side as he chuckles - a sound dark and full of a dangerous kind of thrill. "My eyes only attract the good kind of trouble, the kind that's best experienced at night." He shoots her a wink then looks down at the place she's indicated on the map, not moving away as he smirks. "I might have remembered seeing something like that. It's not too far off the main path." Although there were traps and confusing symbols to discourage any from accidentally stumbling upon the stash site.

Only Poorly Executed Awesome Ones.

Ace

you look like my next mistake

Flora lets out a dramatic sigh, eyes rolling skyward with all the weight of a woman deeply, deeply unimpressed—except for the unmistakable curve of amusement tugging at her mouth. "I still can’t believe lines like that worked on Sohalia," she says, tossing him a sidelong glance that’s all teasing censure and no real heat. "Then again, I suppose we’ve all made some questionable choices."

His flirtation washes over her like salt spray: noticed, noted, not especially feared. She’s been swimming in dangerous waters long enough to know when someone’s teasing the tide and when they mean to drown her in it—and Ace, for all his smirking, feels more like a game than a threat. So when he leans in and murmurs about night-time trouble, she arches a brow with mock-concerned gravity. "That’s an awful lot of daylight hours you’re painting yourself as rather boring."” Her tone is silken with challenge, but the twinkle in her eyes gives her away.

Still, the map draws her back. With his confirmation, Flora lifts her gaze to scan the approaching roots, the wind tousling her curls as she steers the Sugartide into a lower glide. The jutting hook of stone he described emerges from the mass of tangled wood and moss, a pale claw jutting from the shadows. "Mmm. That’s our girl," she murmurs, and with a flick of her wrist, adjusts the sails to slow their descent. The ship begins to bank gently toward a ledge just wide enough for them to disembark.

Then, over her shoulder, she asks, "You got any other shifts, or is it just the sparkle-horse? Because unless you’re planning to skewer the rock with your horn and let me rappel down your spine, we might need to do this the old-fashioned way." Her grin is dazzling. Dangerous. "And if I chip a nail climbing, I’m docking your pay."

There is no such thing as a bad idea.

Ace's laughter is genuine and unbothered by the accusation. He still spots the quirk of her lips, knowing that his words aren't totally lacking impact, and encouraging him further as he shrugs his shoulders. "They're less effective on women who know how beautiful they are, but everyone likes to hear it anyways." His eyes glitter with experience and the promise that he won't stop just because she doesn't believe him. 

He stays leaned against her, she shift of the boat making it a constant reminder of their proximity. "'Boring'? No. Just a little more charm than trouble. Can't give away all my secrets in the daylight." The suggestion in his words implies that some of those 'secrets' aren't suitable for virgin eyes, and he lets Flora fill in the blanks. 

With deft hands and easy winds, Ace watches appreciatively as she guides them into place, already preparing the ropes and climbing gear with practiced ease. He chuckles at her question, briefly glancing up from the work. "Nope. Don't need anything but the sparkle horse." Tossing a set to her, he gives another teasing grin, his blue eyes glittering mischievously. "Sure, blame me for your lack of grace."

Securing his gear into place, he glances at the familiar rock formations that structure their entrance. "How about if you chip a nail, I'll pay for your next nail appointment?" Another excuse to see her made obvious in the cunning tilt of his dimpled smile.

Only Poorly Executed Awesome Ones.

Ace

you look like my next mistake

Flora snorts, soft and incredulous, her brows lifting as she casts him a sidelong look. "Oh you're an expert on everyone now?" she asks, but the way her head tilts, the faint smile tugging at her mouth—it’s not a dismissal. If anything, it’s grudging acknowledgement, because he was probably right about that. Regardless of how many squirmed, Flora hadn't met anyone who genuinely didn't appreciate a good compliment.

She doesn’t shy away from his closeness, nor lean into it. His arm brushing hers is noted like one might notice the sun warming their skin—pleasant, but not arresting. Her gaze remains trained on the edge of the Grotto, even as her voice lilts back with sugar-laced sass: "So if this is your daytime version of charming...I’ve gotta say, Ace, it’s a little underwhelming. Suppose I’ll need to wait for moonlight to get the real show?"

Still, as the Sugartide levels out and begins to drift into position, she watches the way he moves—the shift of rope in his hands, the ease of preparation. It earns him a flicker of approval behind her eyes. She catches the gear as it’s tossed her way, nimble fingers closing around it without missing a beat. At his counteroffer, the queen barks a laugh. "Fine. Point to you. I do like a man who invests in preventative maintenance."

With a dancer’s grace, Flora coils the rope over her shoulder, then casts the grappling hook into the yawning dark. It whines out into the abyss, clattering once—twice—before snagging. She gives it a few sharp tugs, testing its bite, then nods toward the ledge. "Go on then sparkle-horse." As he makes his move, her voice drifts after him, casual and curious all at once: "So. Unicorn, huh?" She starts securing her own line. "Most times attuned have shifts that seem to suit them, but...gotta say...not so sure about you."

There is no such thing as a bad idea.

He doesn't comment how everyone is essentially the same, easily swayed by pretty words and compliments. It's how he's managed to make it this long in his line of work, sweet-talking his way through debts and unmet expectations when things don't go quite his way. That, and his ability to read between the lines, knowing when to push his luck and when to back off. And as Flora smothers the amused smiles and laces her voice in playful sass that's like sweet honey to his ears, Ace shrugs his shoulders, the movement and subsequent grin made more obvious given their proximity. "I'm willing to show you a sneak peak if you ask nicely."

Then he's moving to prep the equipment, securing the harness to himself before checking Flora's. He tugs and adjust the straps with confident strength, letting the motions jostle her a little just to prove a point then stepping back to make his way over the railing of the Sugartide. Just before his face lowers from view, he pauses, a cocky grin and knowing wink accenting the twinkle in his eyes. "That's because you haven't seen all of me yet." Skills and physicality aside, the unicorn shift is more than fitting, but he'll let her imagination run wild. 

Rock climbing isn't part of Ace's daily routine, but he's familiar and nimble enough to make the descent look easy, landing promptly on the outcropping without any difficulties. His eyebrow raises in teasing question as he looks up to where she stands on the deck. "Think you can make it down here on your own, or do I need to give you a hand, your highness?" He wouldn't mind an excuse to get his hands on her.

Only Poorly Executed Awesome Ones.

Ace

you look like my next mistake

Flora’s brows arch, slow and interested, the way a cat might perk up at the rustle of something worth pouncing on. If he’s offering a trick, well—she’s always had a weakness for sleight of hand and the promise of hidden aces. Tilting her head, she flashes a slow, feline smile. "Please can I see a sneak peek, Ace?" she purrs, dragging his name out like silk across bare skin, full of salacious promise and absolutely no sincerity.

When he steps in to tighten her harness, the jostle he gives her earns an exaggerated sway of her hips, like she’s humouring the motion more than resisting it. And then he’s over the rail, descending with that easy, self-satisfied swagger. At his parting line—you haven’t seen all of me yet—she snickers under her breath. "Is that really your closer? No way you thought that'd work on me."

She gives the rope one last tug for tension, then steps up onto the rail. Flora’s descent is just as polished, though deliberately slower, her movements less hurried than his and more calculated in their grace. She doesn’t need to aim, not really—but she does anyway. Her feet land squarely in front of him, close enough to steal his space without touching it, so long as he hadn't moved. With a grin, the queen unhooks herself, letting the rope fall away from her waist to pool around her feet for later use.

"Alright, shall we get what we came here for..?"

There is no such thing as a bad idea.

He considers her insincere pleading, not minding the honey-baited game of cat and mouse. "Mmmm. Fine. But only a peak, okay? And try not to fall for me too hard." There's a playful gleam in his eyes that looks suspiciously like an invitation as he raises the bottom of his shirt beneath his leather jacket, revealing the lean muscles of his abdomen and reaching his hand down towards his pants...

Lifting a knowing grin her direction, Ace shifts the path of his hand towards the bag tied to his waste. Instead of the waistband of his pants, his fingers slide suggestively through the fabric of the synch bag, disappearing inch by inch into the vast cavern that's invisible to the eye. Once he's up to his elbow, he finds what he's looking for, shooting her a wink before tossing a coin her direction. "A little gamble. If it lands on heads, you won't be disappointed." And when she bothers to look at the piece of gold, she'll see that it's particularly unique in that it doesn't have a tail.

Then he's checking her harness, and Ace lets his fingers brush her hips as they sway, silently hoping he'll get a chance to see more later but willing to play the long race with all of its thrills. Reluctantly drawing back from her and over the edge of the ship, he laughs at the quip, fully aware that it's cliche and stupid, but also loving it all the more for her reaction. "Maybe not, but you can't tell me you're not curious now." Isn't that why she'd asked him the question to begin with?

She obviously doesn't need his help, and as Flora lowers to the platform, Ace takes the opportunity to admire her from this angle too. When her eyes are level with his, there's a heated pause that he doesn't hide, not glancing down as she drops the harness from her hips like lingerie. His mouth is a crooked grin that shows off his dimple, not moving out of her space as he quirks an eyebrow. "You'll have to be more specific than that." Because they definitely didn't come here for the same reason, and he'll happily delay for more of a chance to play.

Only Poorly Executed Awesome Ones.

Ace