[He catches the cloth handily, free of any fluttering, and lets it drop gingerly to rest against the tabletop. No, he cannot play at being naive on that count. He has cultivated himself, cut away pieces of who he was so the rest of him could stand bloody and jagged before all judgement. He earned what presence he has. He cannot claim to be anything else but that, a chimera cobbled together from dead remnants of an old life. A captain, a killer, a king.
He strokes his beard, briefly speculative, before he goes to pick up a flower arrangement, trusting she'll direct him to set it somewhere else if he's in error but for now intending to put it atop the table.]
I didn't say it surprised me.
[Everyone has theories about Captain Flint. Most assume he was a Navy man, not untrue. There were those that used to think he was some... thrall to Miranda's witchery, that she directed him thither. Men have called him devil even as he cut their tongues out. No, he is used to being spoken of in dark corners and in back alleys, he learned long ago that ten whispers can mean more than a single shout.]
no subject
He strokes his beard, briefly speculative, before he goes to pick up a flower arrangement, trusting she'll direct him to set it somewhere else if he's in error but for now intending to put it atop the table.]
I didn't say it surprised me.
[Everyone has theories about Captain Flint. Most assume he was a Navy man, not untrue. There were those that used to think he was some... thrall to Miranda's witchery, that she directed him thither. Men have called him devil even as he cut their tongues out. No, he is used to being spoken of in dark corners and in back alleys, he learned long ago that ten whispers can mean more than a single shout.]