[se] just a pinch

candlewax & polaroids on the hardwood floor

"Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" Flora's groan is loud, dramatic, and suggests she's somehow cut her finger off or perhaps broken some ancestral artifact instead of having just burned some cupcakes. With a clang and a clatter the girl bangs a muffin tin into the sink as a number of hels look on with curious expressions. 'What, like you could do better?' She demands of them, pouting sourly at them through the open window.

They clack their responses which serve only to irritate the girl more. With another elongated groan, Flora picks up the burned cupcakes from the sink and begins hurtling them at the hels. One would think given how close the birds were and how relatively stupid that she might have hit at least one. Instead, it's more likely that her baked goods will strike whoever is unfortunate enough to be passing by her window.

JACK

"Pretty sure a blind man with no tongue could do fuckin' better," comes a snappy response just after one of Flora's cupcakes goes sailing out of the window - and it comes back to her too, the burnt husk lancing into the kitchen with the full intent of clobbering her in the side of the head. A moment later, the original cupcake recipient appears in the window, Jack swiping crumbs from his stubbled jaw and raising his eyebrows at her.

"Of course it's you," he says, scoffing a laugh as if he hadn't known it would be Flora from the moment he walked close enough to hear the fireworks of her thoughts. They spar and clamour along the magical webbing of his telepathy, twanging off annoyance and frustration that he has to be careful not to make his own.

"The hels are still laughin' at you," he adds, for good measure.

believer... believe it or not you'll know
when it ends and how it goes

candlewax & polaroids on the hardwood floor

Jolting upright, Flora looks out the window with a scowl and is struck squarely in the forehead. "Oh my gods, oww!" She complains, rubbing at her forehead as Jack comes into view. "Oh! It's you." Softening considerably, Flora peels the hair away from around her face and brushes at the flour smeared to her top.

"Oooooooh!" Eyebrows furrowed together in such a way which will cause wrinkles down the line, Flora picks up the last of the burned cupcakes and hurls it at the squadron of hels who watch it fall harmless before them. Flitting down off a post to pluck at the nearly inedible ball, they click their disapproval in her general direction only to receive a sneer from Flora before she turns her attention back to Jack.

"It's this stupid weather." She says, gesturing with one hand. "Things don't cook the same way they do in the Greatwood even though I'm following this recipe exactly." For all her drama (and let's be honest, Flora might have been just as upset about this anyway), her thoughts are a grief-stricken tangle of longing. The recipe was one of Vai's, and her failure to recreate it here has the girl missing the witch all the more.

JACK

Jack doesn't apologise because he's not sorry, but he does raise his eyebrows at her as if to say see? watch where you throw your lumps of coal. He's already sidling smoothly out of the way as she goes to launch her assault against the Hels, a smirk curling over his lips as they see her bullying and raise her a few squawks of mocking disdain. "The weather?" he repeats. "It's monsoon season. Figured the wet an' the wind an' the chill would be just the kind of shit you'd get in the Greatwood."

Indeed, while the majority of the damage has been mitigated these days, by Safrin's hand, the continuing Deepfrost has made things rather dreary, all things considered. Still, leaning against Flora's windowsill to peer into her kitchen, you wouldn't think it to look at Jack. "They're just cakes," he says, knowingly unhelpful in his remarks, but that's mainly a knee jerk reaction from her grief trying to cling to him.

"Besides, I don't reckon it's the recipe's fault they're burnin'." That's all you, baby.

believer... believe it or not you'll know
when it ends and how it goes

candlewax & polaroids on the hardwood floor

'Ew no. We never had rain or plummeting temperatures like this. Not deep in the woods anyways. The trees always kept everything pretty even." This last sentiment is said with a touch of pride, as if the protection of the trees was meant just for her.

"Ooh, I guess something in here is a little too hot then, mmmm?" Flora purrs, her melancholy sharply transitioning into flirtation before sliding right back as she gazes at the oven with a sigh. "They aren't just cakes. They're...special. And my stupid brother said he would help me with it but he's off doing gods know what, and ugh!." Picking up the recipe again and trying to keep her nostrils from flaring, Flora pushes back a strand of blonde hair succeeding only in painting it white with flour.

{sasy}"They're for the stupid Liat Fux festival or whatever, but that's where my baby sister who I never got to meet was killed and so I just wanted this to be nice." Flora admits with a shocking amount of easy honesty as her shoulders slump.

JACK

"An' yet here you are," Jack drawls, leaning his elbows on the window sill as if he's at a bar and she's the tender, though to anyone looking it's just the captain of the Ark snooping into some apartment. Which, you know, probably isn't that rare an occurrence. "I guess it is - an' if I had to take a real wild guess, I'd say it was that." Pointing over her shoulder to the oven, Jack can practically see the air rippling around it.

The majority of people (read: anyone with an ounce of empathy that isn't forced onto them by magic) would soften at Flora's story. But the waves of grief and longing slosh over Jack like swamp water, and he feels like he wants to peel off her thoughts and push them back into her. Alas, the only thing he can actually do is groan his annoyance and heft himself in through her window, nudging her out of the way.

"Make 'em again, then," he says. "An' make me a drink too." Meanwhile, he's approaching her stupid oven to make it less stupid hot so she can make her stupid cake for the stupid festival.

believer... believe it or not you'll know
when it ends and how it goes

candlewax & polaroids on the hardwood floor

Giving Jack a sour half-smile like he'd missed the punchline of a joke (No Jack, I'm the thing that's hot, obviously) even though he was absolutely right, Flora awkwardly backs away from the window as Jack slorps himself through. "I do have a door, you know." She points out, although lets be real, having the handsome captain of the Ark stealth in through her window was incredibly romantic (on a certain reading), and no doubt Jack would feel a girlish thrill colour her thoughts.

"And what will the gentleman be having? I have..." Biting her bottom lip, Flora opens and closes various cupboards (she and Enzo haven't lived here that long and her twin has a habit of rearranging things), eventually finding a bottle of wine from Ronin, gin from Remi, and something green (absinthe) and brown (whiskey) that Enzo had probably brought home. "...these."

JACK

"You got a window too," Jack remarks, knowing that much because he had just used it (ha, ha). Rolling his shoulders like her girlish thoughts have prickled across his skin, Jack is crouched before the oven to see what's what. His version of what's what includes using it to light a cigarette before all else, naturally.

"Fuck'd you call me?" he mumbles, blue gaze flashing over his shoulder to examine the refreshments on offer. "That'll suit me fine." He nods at the brown, smirking to himself and using his air manipulation to start wicking away the oxygen from the fire in the oven. "So what makes 'em special?" he wants to know, of her cupcakes. "You lace em with ThirdEye?"

believer... believe it or not you'll know
when it ends and how it goes

candlewax & polaroids on the hardwood floor

"How astute of you to notice." Flora hums as if she might twist this into some sort of flirtatious remark...only what she does next will surely ruin it.

As he turns to twist her words into an insult, she spies the cigarette and immediately shakes her head. "Ew, no. Not in the house." Reaching out she'll aim to pluck the cigarette from Jack's lips and toss it down the sink, not knowing that the man assessing her oven (huehuyehuehuehe) had absolutely killed for less.

Reaching under the sink where a number of cold-algae-wrapped-rocks are used to keep a few glasses cold for such an occasion (gods she misses Sugar), Flora fills Jack's glass. Wrinkling her nose as she holds it out to him, she gives her head another shake as her thoughts take another swift nosedive. "No..mostly it's all these herbs and things that Vai used to grow outside in her garden. She was my grandmother. I did my best to find the same things here, but..." Flora shrugs.

JACK

It's a dangerous moment to be sure, but not necessarily for Flora. Jack reads her intentions a second before she reaches out, and in his mind he's already snapped out a hand to grab her wrist (and maybe twist it, maybe sprain it, maybe break it for good measure). He absolutely has killed for less, but he's also seen into the minds of things that are much bigger and much scarier than he is.

For anyone guessing, one of those things happens to be Flora's dear old dad.

And so she succeeds in plucking the cigarette from his lips, even if the flat stare he levels her way is one that would look more fitting on a muzzled lion. Continuing to draw the air out of the fire and accepting the whiskey to knock it back in one, Jack rises to his feet to peer over at the herbs she's using. "Mm, that'll probably taste like shit, even if you didn't burn it," he agrees. "What were you meant to use? Prob'ly got it on th'Ark."

believer... believe it or not you'll know
when it ends and how it goes

candlewax & polaroids on the hardwood floor

'Oh, you'll be fine.' She chuckles, having absolutely no idea how close she came to having to navigate the world as a lefty. (Ew). Reaching for the bottle to pour Jack another drink, Flora crosses her arms over her chest and begins to nibble on her lower lip as he examines her herbs (wink). "Peppermint bark, bloatbeetle refined sugar water, and honey collected from bee-will o' wisp hybrids." She says, tapping her finger at the bottom of the recipe where those words were written in Vai's careful but looping hand.

Raising an eyebrow, Flora pivots in place (look how graceful and elegant she is Jack). "Why would the Ark have things like that? I thought you'd have loads of gems, or weapons, or like...dragon bones."

JACK

He will be fine, and so will she, and everything will be fine. "Dragon bones," he drawls, snorting and shaking his head. "Shut the fuck up. I'm a smuggler, not a pirate. Or whatever you reckon keeps dragon bones on their ship." Glancing over at the recipe, he shrugs his shoulders. "Got plenty of peppermint bark an' regular honey. Not sure what you can do about the gross beetle water though."

Jack accepts the second drink, taking it a bit slower this time. "Still, if you're desperate I can get you what we got on board, but it'll cost you." Doesn't it always? "Don't ask me what yet, though. Always shit to do on deck." And wouldn't you know it, but his crew keep fucking off? Ingrates.

believer... believe it or not you'll know
when it ends and how it goes

candlewax & polaroids on the hardwood floor

"W o w. Someone work up grumpy this morning." Flora trills, almost entirely certain that no one had ever told her to shut the fuck up before. "I dunno, maybe someone wants dragon bones smuggled." She argues. "What would a SmUGgLeR be smuggling herbs around for?" That seemed like a good point and Flora was feeling quite proud of herself until it came to light that Jack didn't have what she needed.

Exhaling, visibly deflated, Flora huffs. "As if." Adjusting one of the rings on her long fingers, Flora gives her head a little shake. "I won't be your ship wench or whatever." She informs him rather haughtily, though her thoughts are suddenly soaked with caramel sea light floating in through the windows of his cabin onto immaculate white sheets.

"Well, I guess if it's going to taste like shit anyways it doesn't matter. Have you gone to this festival yet? Who is the food even for?"

JACK

Flora doesn't know this about Jack yet, but it's something she'll likely learn very quickly, but he wakes up grumpy every morning, and shut the fuck up is practically a compliment when it comes to the scale of his insults. Wishing he had his cigarette back and instead taking another slow sip of whiskey, he scoffs and shrugs before turning to check back in on the oven. "Suit yourself," he mutters, letting her get on with the cake batter.

"'Cause in some places, herbs are difficult to get hold of, an' they make good payment for shit that is worth smugglin'," he says, not that he imagines she'll care. A light breeze picks up through the kitchen as Jack tries to re-feed the fire, having smothered it a little too much during their conversation. "An' don't flatter yourself, you ain't up to bein' a ship wench yet."

As for who the food is for and what the festival in general is in aid of, Jack shrugs carelessly and finishes his whiskey. "No idea. Tea parties ain't my thing," he says.

believer... believe it or not you'll know
when it ends and how it goes