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RP post to compliment (and hopefully wrap up) the ongoing in-game RP of James D. Crow teaching Nwilmen's PC - Grace O'Malley - the Cant language.
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it could be a version of her he can tolerate: asking-for-help Grace. and to learn a new language, of all things; she's probably tweaked out of her mind somewhere, drinking in some tavern planning a thousand different ways to kill him (or not).
and Crow's not quite sure how to react, or go about reacting, to this new thing, and it's almost funny because he's not one to consider reactions. he's half hard but it's not her; his brain gets him off, knowledge is sexy, especially when it's his, and a logical conclusion to lording something over Grace's ignorance is mental masturbation for him. he grins like a fucking idiot and reclines a little further, playing his fingers over the handle of his daggers. he closes his eyes. first on the menu:
captain O'Malley (pathetic sympathetic) Grace
she's good at what she does when she doesn't act herself. but, most people don't deal with swashbucklers (pirates); they've got a hang up, or something. so. will her recreational and professional overlap? hands a trembling and brain activity a dwindling while she tries to decode every simple gesture and symbol? will she drive herself crazy trying to decipher whether or not that man just scratched his ear told the person behind her to stick a dagger through her spleen?
it comes with the lifestyle born on high seas and cut throats. huh. . he'll have to come back to that intriguing unpleasantness.
(Crow takes another long drink. he is unaware of the parallels now drawn.)
let's get physical
no, really. she takes decent care of herself considering the toxins she loads herself up with. he's all but memorized her body through its clothes. how fabric hangs on her frame, regardless of the cut, it's all clean lines and no bulging tendencies. larger than life, she's complete and contained;
and it's pretty obvious what he, the lecherous and dashing James Dorian Crow wants in return for this little tid bit of knowledge, this little slice of linguistic education that would open up an entirely new avenue for one: Grace O'Malley.
cant? no, not 'can't'. it's all about perception.
can she, dependent now on what he tells her is this underground language of common gestures and innocuous motions, trust him? theoretically, realistically, philosophically — he could fuck her over good and get her killed. should he so be inclined and that would really cut down on the current competition. Which …
Crow snorts. philosophy is for idiots and people who want to guarantee unemployment. all it does is start with something so obvious, not even worth mentioning, and end with paradoxes in knots as statements that nobody will understand.
back to Grace, he's not sure what to make of any of it. suppose he couldwouldshould get a little something out of her for his troubles (not so much trouble, though, she's quite smart) but then he's always liked the chase more then the catch and would be more then disappointed if he caught what he was chasing. he's built up quite the expectation, after all.
this entire 'possible life threatening information and hopefully spontaneous sex and risky behavior' reeks of a number one drama story arc. it's ridiculous how upset people have gotten. but him? he knows it'll be fine by next week.
yeah, he'll teach her the language of ice cold murderers and women killers and widow makers. and she'll deal because he's got no time to pretend.