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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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."