[His hand closes on the spine of the book. His fingers spasm a little, not in anger or shock but in an amusement so strong he almost laughs outright. He honestly can't remember the last time anyone even tried to speak to him like that. Certainly, before he stepped into the skin of James Flint. But even McGraw was formidable, on those rough London streets. There has always been something animal, unknowable in him. In his Navy days, it only ever came to light in a fight, but as Flint it subsumed him.
Yet. Here he is getting spoken to like a syphilitic halfwit by a slip of a boy over absolutely nothing, completely without fear.
Flint could not, by dint of his reputation, allow such a thing to stand. Hell, in Nassau it'd be all but expected that - rather than suffer that insult - he'd just kill the boy in the street and leave his body in the gutters as a reminder to anyone else who might cross him. James has rather more freedom than that, though, and he merely takes the book into his hands. It's a novelty not to have to leave someone dead for the sake of his reputation.]
I believe the words you were looking for were 'I accept your apology'.
[He says it with nothing more than mild amusement.]
no subject
Yet. Here he is getting spoken to like a syphilitic halfwit by a slip of a boy over absolutely nothing, completely without fear.
Flint could not, by dint of his reputation, allow such a thing to stand. Hell, in Nassau it'd be all but expected that - rather than suffer that insult - he'd just kill the boy in the street and leave his body in the gutters as a reminder to anyone else who might cross him. James has rather more freedom than that, though, and he merely takes the book into his hands. It's a novelty not to have to leave someone dead for the sake of his reputation.]
I believe the words you were looking for were 'I accept your apology'.
[He says it with nothing more than mild amusement.]