The flood thing

A mind of your own? Bajie let out a scoff, throwing his hands up dramatically. Flea, you’ve got a mind like a damn steel trap—once it snaps shut on something, not even the gods themselves could pry it open. He smirked, but there was warmth in his gaze as he watched her, the way she mulled over his words, weighed them like a blade in her hand, deciding if they fit just right. That was the thing about Flea—she never just accepted things at face value. She had to test them, turn them over, make them hers before they became real.

He let out a slow breath, glancing at the recruits—some still running, others trying to look busy enough that he wouldn’t make them join in. He’d always known this wouldn’t be easy for her. Not the training, not the fighting—that was second nature. But believing in herself? That was the real battle.

Listen, he said, more serious now, I didn’t try to give you a life of your own because I thought you needed to be someone different. I just wanted you to see what was already there. Yeah, you’re good at killing. So was I. So was every poor bastard who ever got thrown into that pit. But you? You’ve always been more than that. You don’t just fight to survive, Flea. You fight to *live*. That’s the difference.

He bumped his shoulder lightly against hers, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. And yeah, maybe I’ve got too much faith in you. But what can I say? Old habits die hard. Just… humor me, alright? Give this a real shot. Give *yourself* a real shot.

@Little Flea