“You don’t have to go, surely.” [ @ vane in That Verse. flint also absolutely fed and watered him when he arrived bc He’s A Domestic Fuck ]

{ Don’t Starters }

Charles stilled, eying Flint quietly for a time. He couldn’t determine whether or not the man was simply growing accustomed to his chosen exile or if he had reached a new level of loneliness within it, but it seemed strange the one who was so insistent that people not visit had now reached a point where he was not only tending to them, but keeping them. 

This was beyond his ability to resolve – too complex and mired for him to even want to try parsing through. Instead, he simply reached out and turned his chair back, sinking into it heavily and remarking, “I suppose not – Rackham’s got his work cut out for him tonight anyway, and I can’t say I’m eager to spend my time listening to him squabble with the traders.” 

In truth he didn’t mind overhearing the debates, such as they were – he picked up more than a few haggling tricks just listening to Rackham drag a man under the table with such affable and reassuring tones they thought he was doing them a goddamn favor – but he could tell where he was needed tonight, and it wasn’t with his quartermaster.