He hums, a small noise that falls perfectly between debating the point and agreeing with it. That's part right, Gates thinks. Neither of those men like being told what to do; it's an unarguably shared trait. But the fact that Vane's accountant is willing to say as much is-- funny? Interesting? Says more about Charles Vane than Flint would ever give him credit for, that much Gates is certain of. But he's certain it's not something most of the Ranger crew would say neither.
"I've heard that about some people," he says, as magnaninous with his good humor as he is with gossip.
He finishes off his drink, then fishes after the pouch on his belt. "So tell me, since you don't find the work objectionable," -- if he did, the rail thin man would be halfway across the island by now. Or have tried it. Pressed men with objections always try once -- "Is all this anything like how you thought it was?"
Thomas has yet to come down on the dark side of his captain's anger, but he doesn't scare easy as a rule, for starters, and for further mileage, he did just weasel the whole Ranger out of being over a barrel with regards to their cargo. They shall see how things fall if he spies his accountant fraternizing with The Enemy; perhaps Thomas will regret this whole conversation.
"Mm," he says, of objectionable work. What else is a dead man to do? Not that anyone is aware he's a dead man.
"I don't know what I thought it would be like. I thought mostly about the men involved, I suppose, if I thought about it at all. I figured there would be those with very personal reasons to be doing it, and those who simply found it to be work, because people are people. And as it turns out, that's correct. I believe I've met more honest people in the Bahamas than in London, which I don't think is actually a surprise, either. But honesty is neither good nor bad."
Perhaps this man is asking after the violence, and not the philosophy. Alas.
Nonsense. He's asking after the man's opinion. That it has nothing to do with violence (of which he knows for certain the he's seen something of his the rumors are right) says as much as anything else. A good quartermaster knows a thing or two about what men don't speak of as much as what they do. And Gates is, he thinks, comfortable in that role. Comfortable enough anyway. God help him of he didn't know how things worked after this long at it.
Which is why he doesn't ask what he'd like to know of the Ranger - how long it's due there in the harbor and her heading when she goes. Nevermind Charles Vane. If he knows Jack Rackham, that won't be something the bloody accountant has any grasp on.
"Well. I can't say that's a ringing endorsement, but I suppose I didn't ask for one." He'll take honest though. As the gebtleman said - it's not bad and Gates hasn't the constitution to be a pessimist. The work's exhausting enough as it is.
He shills a few coins out onto the table for his drink and the accountant's meal. A little money in the right direction never hurt a new friendship. "If nothing else, I'm glad enough to hear there's another level head to be found over there." Then he offers his hand across the table. "Hal Gates. Quartermaster of the Walrus."
The violence is what most everyone seems preoccupied with, when they realize he was once highborn; fascinated with a man who came from a world rumored to be cloistered from it, eager to shake severed heads and oozing wounds in his face to see if he squirms. It had exasperated him at first, but then - painfully - it reminded him of James and the gallows. And he's tried to take each instance since as a learning experience.
This, too, is educational, filling out his opinion of pirates are just men pleasantly - Hal Gates is temperate man, and interesting. (For as gracious as Thomas is concerning pirates, there is unsurprisingly little variety aboard the crew he's a part of. Rackham and Bonny are the standouts for puzzling uniqueness, but mostly, it's a lot of violent idiots.)
"That's very kind of you," he says, of the coin. Thomas takes his hand, his own free of ink but littered with small scars (god knows what) and callouses (adjusting to work?), grip firm. "Thomas Barlow." He just about doesn't waver on that one. Private self-congratulations. And uh, oh. Right. "Ranger."
Gates' handshake is as credible as the rest of him - sturdy, off the cuff, nothing at all to prove. Most importantly, there's no moment of hesitation over the man's given name - not in his grip anyway. Maybe his head cocks by a degree, the shape of a question shifting just out of sight there under the surface-- not Are you sure?, but maybe Are you fucking with me?. The trace of it evaporates faster than it appears though, there and gone as he reaches for the ledger.
Coincidence, probably. There's no rule in the world that a name can't be shared (tell that to the two Matthews they've on board at this very moment). And what does he know of the woman Flint keeps on New Providence, really? (Enough to be certain that James Flint will want to know about a shipwrecked English gentleman who calls himself by the same name currently working the account under the Ranger's flag, is how much.)
"Good to know you, Mr Barlow," he says. It is - never hurts to be able to identify most of a room when he walks into it. "Now unfortunately, as much as I'd prefer to sit here all afternoon in conversation it seems I've quite the list ahead of me. You'll have to pardon my running off to see to it. Keep that offer in mind though, won't you?" He flashes Thomas a grin. It's a joke and it isn't one. "Should you care to jump ship the next time we share a berth, I guarantee we could keep an accountant hidden for the time it'd take tempers to cool."
Years ago, Thomas would have been able to catch that split-second glimmer - and maybe he'll be able to again, someday - but now, holding himself together through sheer stubbornness and staying awake for days on end, he misses it entirely. (And honestly, Thomas can sound so awkward, so out of practice being a human, would he think anything of it if Gates did look at him strangely?)
"I'll remember," he says easily, and he will-- though only to laugh about it with Gwen later, perhaps, after she tells him about meeting Captain Flint. Certainly not kept in his mind with any seriousness. Thomas has no ambition for himself in this raw and bloody profession, and wouldn't even if he didn't have Gwenaëlle. His future is no so potentially promising that it's worth risking crossfire over, no matter how strangely lovely that ship continues to strike him.
(And being rescued leaves a powerful impression on a person's psyche. Thomas is aware some of his loyalty to Vane is thanks to that animal imprint, but awareness doesn't make it go away.)
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"I've heard that about some people," he says, as magnaninous with his good humor as he is with gossip.
He finishes off his drink, then fishes after the pouch on his belt. "So tell me, since you don't find the work objectionable," -- if he did, the rail thin man would be halfway across the island by now. Or have tried it. Pressed men with objections always try once -- "Is all this anything like how you thought it was?"
He asks if genuinely curious. And maybe he is.
no subject
"Mm," he says, of objectionable work. What else is a dead man to do? Not that anyone is aware he's a dead man.
"I don't know what I thought it would be like. I thought mostly about the men involved, I suppose, if I thought about it at all. I figured there would be those with very personal reasons to be doing it, and those who simply found it to be work, because people are people. And as it turns out, that's correct. I believe I've met more honest people in the Bahamas than in London, which I don't think is actually a surprise, either. But honesty is neither good nor bad."
Perhaps this man is asking after the violence, and not the philosophy. Alas.
no subject
Which is why he doesn't ask what he'd like to know of the Ranger - how long it's due there in the harbor and her heading when she goes. Nevermind Charles Vane. If he knows Jack Rackham, that won't be something the bloody accountant has any grasp on.
"Well. I can't say that's a ringing endorsement, but I suppose I didn't ask for one." He'll take honest though. As the gebtleman said - it's not bad and Gates hasn't the constitution to be a pessimist. The work's exhausting enough as it is.
He shills a few coins out onto the table for his drink and the accountant's meal. A little money in the right direction never hurt a new friendship. "If nothing else, I'm glad enough to hear there's another level head to be found over there." Then he offers his hand across the table. "Hal Gates. Quartermaster of the Walrus."
no subject
This, too, is educational, filling out his opinion of pirates are just men pleasantly - Hal Gates is temperate man, and interesting. (For as gracious as Thomas is concerning pirates, there is unsurprisingly little variety aboard the crew he's a part of. Rackham and Bonny are the standouts for puzzling uniqueness, but mostly, it's a lot of violent idiots.)
"That's very kind of you," he says, of the coin. Thomas takes his hand, his own free of ink but littered with small scars (god knows what) and callouses (adjusting to work?), grip firm. "Thomas Barlow." He just about doesn't waver on that one. Private self-congratulations. And uh, oh. Right. "Ranger."
no subject
Coincidence, probably. There's no rule in the world that a name can't be shared (tell that to the two Matthews they've on board at this very moment). And what does he know of the woman Flint keeps on New Providence, really? (Enough to be certain that James Flint will want to know about a shipwrecked English gentleman who calls himself by the same name currently working the account under the Ranger's flag, is how much.)
"Good to know you, Mr Barlow," he says. It is - never hurts to be able to identify most of a room when he walks into it. "Now unfortunately, as much as I'd prefer to sit here all afternoon in conversation it seems I've quite the list ahead of me. You'll have to pardon my running off to see to it. Keep that offer in mind though, won't you?" He flashes Thomas a grin. It's a joke and it isn't one. "Should you care to jump ship the next time we share a berth, I guarantee we could keep an accountant hidden for the time it'd take tempers to cool."
no subject
"I'll remember," he says easily, and he will-- though only to laugh about it with Gwen later, perhaps, after she tells him about meeting Captain Flint. Certainly not kept in his mind with any seriousness. Thomas has no ambition for himself in this raw and bloody profession, and wouldn't even if he didn't have Gwenaëlle. His future is no so potentially promising that it's worth risking crossfire over, no matter how strangely lovely that ship continues to strike him.
(And being rescued leaves a powerful impression on a person's psyche. Thomas is aware some of his loyalty to Vane is thanks to that animal imprint, but awareness doesn't make it go away.)
"Good luck."