[Training] twice, just to be sure

we show off our different scarlet letters

It took about as much effort to appear effortlessly beautiful as it did to appear as if you weren't waiting for someone.

Though it had taken some doing, Flora had managed to send Enzo off with one of the bartenders from the Hanged Man he'd been flirting with, with strict instructions not to come home. From there she'd cleaned and then set out things that seemed messy, but cool: an ashtray, some magazines, a deck of cards, some glass thing from Hadama that maybe could have passed for drug paraphernalia; that sort of thing. Then, having lit some candles, having chilled wine, set out whiskey, and made sure there were glasses chilling in an icebox, Flora had gotten her coolest book (one of Enzo's about poems, actually), and had sat poised on the couch in what was a masterclass in decadent ease: a cream silk slip with a gauzy purple housecoat that made her eyes pop.

Oh, and lotion. Lots of lotion.
Flora was smooth everywhere.

And then..she had waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

full speed ahead 'til I'm dead in the fast lane

It begins as a soft rustle at the window that might just be a breeze through the palms outside, but isn't. And then a knife lances through the open space and buries itself in a wooden cabinet somewhere over Flora's shoulder. Of course Jack has a perfect view of the definitely-casual Kaliesin girl and her book of poems, and when he appears at the sill, it's with a wolfish smile.

"I stand by what I said earlier," he purrs, perched at the window like some predatory bird come to say hello, "I ain't sure you can handle me. Not if you're expectin' to do much damage, anyways." Has he 'misread' the tone of the afternoon's conversation on purpose? Absolutely.

Because while a pretty face and a smokin' body is very nice indeed, so is not getting disembowelled by a demigod. And once Flora's fine ass had sashayed away from his ship, sense had returned, and it's here to stay. (For like... a minute, anyway).

we show off our different scarlet letters

Just because Flora is dressed for bed doesn't mean she thought that's where she was going to go. At least, not right away and maybe not even at all (there were counters and floors and couches after all). But that didn't mean she hadn't planned for this.

Lowering her book so that her lightly kohled eyes could spy him over her book, Flora hid the flash of a smile behind the pages of what she very much hadn't been reading in order to raise one of her hands. Was she waving? Aww that was—

—a feather, placed just so by the window where Flora knew Jack would come threw, sings through the air with deadly precision only to stop and fit safely in her palm. "There's more where that came from, but since you aren't expecting me to do much damage anyways...come on in." She purred while setting down her book on the coffee table.

full speed ahead 'til I'm dead in the fast lane

Jack senses something awry in Flora's mind just as she raises her hand, and for a second his blue eyes flash and his fingers are already at the heel of his boot, ready to aim at her properly--

When a feather, of all things, whizzes neatly out of a wooden beam by his head and right into her waiting hand. Well, colour Jack impressed.

Suspicion still dances in his eyes, because this is the good captain after all, and his hand remains on the handle of the knife in his boot, but he does give her a dressing down with his eyes. Not up, just down, because call him damaged crazy a hot blooded Torcher, but the sight of Flora and some sharp and dangerous objects suddenly makes her even more attractive.

"I see you've managed to get your gifts from Frey from that courier at last," he drawls, finally sidling into the room. "An' forgive my impudence, but I only saw it come back to your hand. It don't say much for your aim."

It starts as one. Then another. And then another. And soon a whole herd, keeled over as if asleep, but of course you know that can't be the case. These ramphire do not move; their chests do not rise and fall, and all appear to have been killed recently, all at once. How? You don't know. But there's no blood. Not a single drop to be found.

we show off our different scarlet letters

Regardless of what's happening outside (ewwwuh!!!), Flora has eyes only for Jack and a growing need to impress him by...hurting him? Gods, this is what happens when you mix daddy-issues with Jack, and we all should have seen it coming.

"Maybe not..." Flora stands; her body is warm from Jack's gaze but her eyes burn cold and desperate. "But here's the thing I've learned. Aim isn't as important as straight lines." Holding the feather in one hand, Flora flashes Jack a smile. "Say I threw this at you..." And throw it she does, but poorly, so that it landed on the countertop. "Maybe your guard goes down because what a terrible shot that was." So saying, Flora has moved to lean against one of the couches which just happens to put Jack in a straight line between her and her feather. Of course, what she plans to do is bright and triumphant in her thoughts.

'..and yet..' Flora flashes her fingers to recall the feather.

full speed ahead 'til I'm dead in the fast lane

Yes, let's all please ignore what's happening outside, because otherwise Jack will begin to think that Flora is some kind of serial ramphire murderer. And it certainly doesn't gel with his opinion of her so far, alright?

"Oh?" he purrs, having positioned himself on the other side of the coffee table, just to ensure that there's some continuing (safe? tantalising?) distance between them. It means he's in an absolutely perfect position to enjoy her terrible throwing skills, the captain gazing slowly over his shoulder as if to ask if she has even tried.

"You did, and it has," he says, as if playing along with her charade. But of course, he'd know what was about to happen even if she wasn't laying it all out in her thoughts like a buffet, and so as Flora recalls her feather, Jack turns to the side, barely needing to move to avoid the sharp projectile.

And sure, it looks cool, but that's because they're flirting more than they're training.

"It would work a lot better if you didn't tell people about it as you went," he notes with a grin. "I see your point, though. Are you not worried about puncturin' your pretty little walls here, though?"

we show off our different scarlet letters

It does look cool, and gods Flora might have otherwise been standing in a puddle of her own desire had it not been for the desperate need for approval keeping her suitably frosty. "Most people aren't really listening to what I say." Flora points out, straightening her shoulders slightly so that her nipples press lightly against the silken fabric of her slip. "Most people might write that off as a parlour trick." Because, you know, in looking at Flora you might think she was capable of creating a perfect smokey eye and not much else.

"Walls aren't what I want punctured." Recalling another feather, the white one as it happened from where it was lurking, this time Flora simply does it with her mind instead of a flash of fingers. Of course for anyone but Jack this would have looked more subtle, but alas the mental movements would be as clear to him as if she'd waved her arms around first.

full speed ahead 'til I'm dead in the fast lane

Flora might be able to create a perfect smokey eye and have perfect nipples pressing against her silk shift, but Jack has seen the flash of steel in her spine already, and he knows better than to underestimate. Or overestimate, for that matter. Besides, he isn't most people. He isn't even close.

"A dangerous parlour trick, if they ever get cocky with you," he remarks in agreement, his telepathy honed for any other such tricks. And of course she doesn't disappoint, because there's another feather lurking nearby, and the captain has to decide whether or not to risk arousing suspicion. (Heh).

Deciding that, based on what Flora wants punctured, he's probably alright, his hand reaches out to knock at the feather as it flies past, as if to make it miss her waiting palm. The result opens a cut on the back of his hand, but what's a little blood when you're having such a nice evening?

"Is that so? Do tell me more."

we show off our different scarlet letters

Flora's feather is knocked askew, such that for a moment all she can do is widen her eyes and have a mini existential crisis. Was she just useless? Was she just a pretty face? Was there really nothing more to the who of who she was than her last name and all the shiny things that came with it?

Smiling, slowly, Flora takes a step toward Jack.

Fuck that. She was Flora.

Hit him with something he can't dodge Flora prays to who—or whatever—might be listening. Because holes in her walls and an explosion of magic that damaged her perfectly curated furniture was absolutely worth it to wipe that smug smile off of Jack's lips.

---

Flora channels! xD

grey skies are gonna clear up

Some spirits are vengeful, some are wise. Some want to assist while others live for mischief. And some are just as damaged and broken as those who call upon them.

Jack will find his legs swept entirely out from beneath him as a gust of 'wind' from the open window he'd come through shoves him across the room.

put on a happy face

full speed ahead 'til I'm dead in the fast lane

Let it never be said that Jack Barclay doesn't get what's coming to him eventually.

It's one of those dawning occasions where he can hear what's about to happen next, and has absolutely no way of preventing it. At least he can brace himself, as Flora's thoughts materialise in a violent gale that yanks his feet out from under him, and as he's slammed to the ground (conveniently before her on the couch, how about that), he's thankfully not as winded as he might be.

"That a parlour trick too?" He groans, appropriately chastised (and secretly seething, maybe, he doesn't really know right now), getting himself to his knees to gaze up at her. Whether Flora finds that a turn-on or not will remain to be seen; either way, with a sly smile, Jack will run a warm and calloused hand across her smooth smooth calf, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

we show off our different scarlet letters

"Well..this isn't a parlour. More of a living room trick, I guess." Flora sings, sounding appropriately smug about having knocked Jack to his knees, and oh. Oh. Looking down at him Flora finds that her mouth has gone quite dry (unlike other areas), and though she's able to keep her lips from opening and closing like a fish, her heart thunders away without restraint.

Gods this was just how she'd pictured it: besting Jack, winning his approval, his calloused hands moving steadily up her thighs, his lips inches away from places having never been touched by another, the blue of his eyes forever mixed with the explosive climax of an orgasm—

—wait.

In her mind she'd bested Jack, yes. But had she won his approval?

Twirling one of her feathers around her finger before lowering it such that if Jack really had been planning on proceeding with this maidan voyage he'd impale himself, Flora tilts her head to the side. "Seems to me you're all talk when it comes to being hard to handle, Jack, even if you are quick on your toes."

full speed ahead 'til I'm dead in the fast lane

Jack doesn't really care if it's a parlour, a living room, or a fucking outhouse at this point, his blue eyes smouldering as he gazes up Flora. As always, his interest is kindled more by her own than anything else, but they aren't quite done with the lesson in training just yet - on either side. The approval is irrelevant to him (she hasn't, because he doesn't know what he's supposed to be approving of, but he'll lie if she asks); the sharp feather between her thighs, though, that gets his attention.

"You'll be thankin' me for not bein' quick anywhere else," he points out with a catlike smile, nodding down at the pathway his hand has taken and the knife he'd palmed in it, ready to push and cut against the back of her leg at a moment's notice. "I reckon that's about a stalemate, don't you?"