"Why Mr Dufrense, with only a little more effort you'll look worse than I did on my first outing aboard. Chin up, we'll muddle through." It would be very easy for such words to be warm and friendly, but Thomas makes no such effort. Dry and with just a hint of distant British chill; the kind of thing most men here find more off-putting than a drooling maniac running at them with a knife. Dufrense, conversely, looks like he'd be most comforted by a good dressing down from nanny about his attire. His lordship will just have to suffice. "You can read and write in English though, yes? Of course you can. See if you can't scrape up the broad strokes of this one."
He hands over a journal before moving to open the itinerary ledger for Gates, poking one long finger towards the entry preceeding the scheduled stop this vessel will never make. For helpful reference. "It looks like business as usual with no apparent obsfucation, to me, but I leave it to your more experienced eye. If everything saleable is still intact it won't be the payout my captain was hoping for, but nothing was ever going to be."
They could bring in a Spanish warship full of gold and Vane would still complain about it having Flint cooties.
"I have the feeling your captain will be just fine, seeing as he's being accommodated twice over." Helpfully, in case there was any question as to how they might be doing more than their fair share in this arrangement: "Not that I have any doubt Captain Vane enjoys your company."
It's truly amazing how that flat look Gates employs as he leans over to get a look at the ledger can turn a barb into good humor.
(Somewhere in the background of all this, Mr Dufresne is taking to the task set before him with admirable speed. Under different circumstances, given the comparison of no other company, it's the sort of thing that might impress someone enough to matter.)
"I won't be knocking off anything in the final tally for nanny services," he says, "though you've been very attentive."
Captain Vane likes him just fine and is despairing in his absence, he doesn't need anyone to mind him for a week to give the man a break. The Ranger is perfectly serene at all times, no one on the crew is neurotic, and Thomas adds nothing to the atmosphere of poorly-contained chaos. This is all true.
"To say nothing of hospitable." Twofold. It's a show of trust, outwardly, that Thomas hasn't brought along anyone else from his crew to act as a bodyguard. (His bodyguard is Captain Flint, hopefully no one is looking so closely at such an angle.) And the convicts. Their ultimate fate may not yet be decided, but it's looking better now than it did before the ship was overtaken, in Thomas' opinion.
There are tedious numbers to go through, books to match to the actual product in shadowy holds, inspections to be carried out, would-be bookkeepers to observe out of the corners of eyes. Sometimes piracy is an awful lot like running a large house; women would fare better at captaincy - or at least quartermastery, he's sure - than men, Thomas reflects privately. It's a wonder young Eleanor manages the inventory juggling she does, raised as she was like a boy. Interesting.
Dufrense gets stuck holding a lantern below, with a man Thomas doesn't know the name of pointing at the corner of a stack of containers, insisting on evidence of rats.
"Reach your hand in there and get it, then," Thomas says, an idea that's met with indignation but not outright refusal, since it sounds like a dare.
"I seen a man get his finger chewed off by a rat before."
"Do you need all your fingers for something?"
At this logic, a hand is surrendered, slithering in blindly to search for vermin. And then he screams.
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i don't remember where i was going with the german stuff sorry
"Why Mr Dufrense, with only a little more effort you'll look worse than I did on my first outing aboard. Chin up, we'll muddle through." It would be very easy for such words to be warm and friendly, but Thomas makes no such effort. Dry and with just a hint of distant British chill; the kind of thing most men here find more off-putting than a drooling maniac running at them with a knife. Dufrense, conversely, looks like he'd be most comforted by a good dressing down from nanny about his attire. His lordship will just have to suffice. "You can read and write in English though, yes? Of course you can. See if you can't scrape up the broad strokes of this one."
He hands over a journal before moving to open the itinerary ledger for Gates, poking one long finger towards the entry preceeding the scheduled stop this vessel will never make. For helpful reference. "It looks like business as usual with no apparent obsfucation, to me, but I leave it to your more experienced eye. If everything saleable is still intact it won't be the payout my captain was hoping for, but nothing was ever going to be."
They could bring in a Spanish warship full of gold and Vane would still complain about it having Flint cooties.
no subject
It's truly amazing how that flat look Gates employs as he leans over to get a look at the ledger can turn a barb into good humor.
(Somewhere in the background of all this, Mr Dufresne is taking to the task set before him with admirable speed. Under different circumstances, given the comparison of no other company, it's the sort of thing that might impress someone enough to matter.)
no subject
Captain Vane likes him just fine and is despairing in his absence, he doesn't need anyone to mind him for a week to give the man a break. The Ranger is perfectly serene at all times, no one on the crew is neurotic, and Thomas adds nothing to the atmosphere of poorly-contained chaos. This is all true.
"To say nothing of hospitable." Twofold. It's a show of trust, outwardly, that Thomas hasn't brought along anyone else from his crew to act as a bodyguard. (His bodyguard is Captain Flint, hopefully no one is looking so closely at such an angle.) And the convicts. Their ultimate fate may not yet be decided, but it's looking better now than it did before the ship was overtaken, in Thomas' opinion.
There are tedious numbers to go through, books to match to the actual product in shadowy holds, inspections to be carried out, would-be bookkeepers to observe out of the corners of eyes. Sometimes piracy is an awful lot like running a large house; women would fare better at captaincy - or at least quartermastery, he's sure - than men, Thomas reflects privately. It's a wonder young Eleanor manages the inventory juggling she does, raised as she was like a boy. Interesting.
Dufrense gets stuck holding a lantern below, with a man Thomas doesn't know the name of pointing at the corner of a stack of containers, insisting on evidence of rats.
"Reach your hand in there and get it, then," Thomas says, an idea that's met with indignation but not outright refusal, since it sounds like a dare.
"I seen a man get his finger chewed off by a rat before."
"Do you need all your fingers for something?"
At this logic, a hand is surrendered, slithering in blindly to search for vermin. And then he screams.