{ Nonverbal Starters }

Balanced somewhat precariously as he was presently, Hal didn’t really have chance, choice, or opportunity to dodge the oncoming assault from below. The feel of a face pressing into his stomach was all he needed to register the fact this was a rather ill timed hug from someone on the crew, which was probably the only thing that kept him from dropping the ropes he held on their head in retaliation for his surprise.

“Really?” Hal mused, now looking at his newly acquired, Flint shaped barnacle and knowing damn well he was being buttered up for nonsense. Shoving the rope still in his hands aside, he shook his head and fluffed the younger man’s hair, hoping he had a good stance, because if he fell over as a result of this the son of a bitch was coming with him, by Jove! “What is it, you damned lug?”