“Oh? Makes sense.” His hand drops from where he’s been nursing a bloody nose, leaning forward to spit out the remainder that had made it’s way down his throat. He takes a minute to collect himself, pinching the bridge of his nose again before turning back to the other. He seems to pause, as though taking stock of Charles for the first time, marrying the image of him to the words spoken over ale and tavern rumour.
The rough features, handsome and worn, the faint air of calm before the storm, all things that more or less matched his imagination. Yet there’s something almost magnetic about Charles Vane that he hadn’t taken into account.
Interesting.
“So, question.” His tone has dropped, syllables slurred but still detectable, he knows how to steer the conversation towards secretive well enough. “Which do you like better? Iguanas, or, gold?” He raises an eyebrow, demeanor nothing but curious. There’s motive to his innocence, though, and Patrick coughs again, another subtle reminder that he’s injured and is more than happy to keep breathing thank you.
There was very little by way of sympathy from Charles as the man dealt with his bloody nose. The decisions that had lead to that damage were not his problem and frankly he had no reason to be interested.
Though some part of him understood it was customary to ask pointless shit like are you alright or what happened the answer to both of those things were obvious and the stories that they might prompt did not interest him in the slightest. So when he found himself confronted by the other man’s gaze, he didn’t offer anything in return – customary or otherwise.
Apparently, this man could read him about as well as Flint – which was to say, not in the slightest. “I have a better question.” Leaning forward, Charles dipped the fiery end of his cheroot into the dirt, snuffing out the burning tobacco without ever taking his eyes of the other. “Who are you that I should care enough to answer your stupid fucking questions?”
For all he knew, this was some new partner of Elenor’s. He looked soft and posh enough to be exactly the sort of idiot she’d twist around into serving Nassau’s interests in cleaner markets, so it wouldn’t do to fuck with him just yet. Not until his value had been determined, at any rate.
“This?” His words are slurred, expression dazed. He’s miking it – but Charles doesn’t need to know that. His face hurts well enough to remind him not to bring on round two so soon after such a spectacularly drawn out round one. “Oh, uh. Nothing. Tripped.” Into someone’s fist. Yeah, he’s not making any friends, and about the only thing useful he’s learned on this damned island is that Charles Vane was a man with a reputation.
A man, who, also likes iguanas.
“So, you have a few as pets or do you just, you know.” He gestures vaguely around. “-watch?”
Satisfied the man before him seemed more afflicted by pain beset on him through fucking around with the wrong kind of people, Charles exhaled the burn that had been resting in his lungs slowly, his disinterest rather clear. Nassau had troublemakers, but none were fool enough to tussle with him while he was sober.
“Any man who thinks he can keep an animal is a fucking idiot.” Like people, animals were beings unto themselves – they stuck around if it pleased them to do so, and left when it was no longer beneficial. Though admittedly, animals were a great deal more honest about that reality than people were – which was indeed what made this notion of ‘pets’ so goddamn ridiculous.
Flicking ash off his
cheroot, he eyed the other quietly, then, “I let them be. If one happens to come along I won’t let anyone fuck with it, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“So you like Iguanas?” Ignore the blood on his face, the evidence of a tussle. He’s more interested in Charles’ thing for lizards than the fact he just had his ass handed to him.
The blood on his face in conjunction with that particular opening does not endear this man to Charles even one iota. “The fuck you do?” If you killed an iguana he may have no choice but to feed you to it’s brothers.
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