10th Wave

[tentacruelest]

The cacophony of noise here is growing worse. Stow your bleating, lambs, or I'll cast yeh overboard to fill your jabbering mouths with seawater.


[Never mind that they're not even sailing over water at the moment. Jones can understand English, but is speaking in Scots Gaelic]



[Private to Sylvanas]

If yeh would oblige me a moment, m'lady..? I've something you might like to see.

[Private to Bush]

Yeh've been quiet, Warden. Plotting something?

Comments

[tentacruelest]

[He was uncomfortable, yes, but not entirely for reasons Sylvanas might have thought. Long ago, he had fiercely, wholly loved someone else and was burned for it in many different ways, culminating in his own journey to the Barge. Some of it was by his own doing, but his love was the initial catalyst; as such, Jones had sworn never to extend his heart to any other creature.

Sylvanas resembled his lost love in some ways; she was fierce and strong and commanded a presence without raising her voice. She was imprisoned by those foolish enough to think they could lock her away for very long. She was vengeful and bloodthirsty and unforgiving. For all of these reasons, Jones' heart locked away in his cabin ached.

But he would not presume to make the same mistake again. He was too old to go seeking after love again, and too poor and unworthy to seek this love. Jones had set his eyes on the stars once upon a time - Calypso was, after all, more powerful than any living woman had ever been - and had regretted his heart's ambition to this day.

No; he would not love as he was. But he could be loyal to the heart he once had as a young man, and do right by a powerful lady brought low by forces that dared to command her, that didn't have the slightest idea what she was capable of...

Jones was..tender, around Sylvanas. He would not presume, would not encroach or proposition her. But he was at her service nonetheless.

He stepped away from her now, only a step back so as to let her reflect privately on the gift he had given. Suddenly he felt himself wishing that he'd presented the token in some other, fancier form; handing the lock of hair in a box with no adornments reeked of thoughtlessness.]

[forsaken_queen]

[No she couldn't guess at the why. They had shared only the barest of information about their individual pasts, and both of them respected the other enough not to press beyond what was offered.

As for the presentation, she actually appreciated it. She'd long ago adjusted to the simple brutality of her existence. She was a creature of anger, pain and blood. A fancier wrapping would have been as out of place for her as she was in her own cabin.

So now they stand looking at each other, unable to speak anything coherent, and she finds herself at a loss of what to do. She'd thanked him the only way she knew how, and he seemed to accept it. Now, it seemed neither of them knew what else to do.]

[tentacruelest]

[The deed done, Jones stands awkwardly, silently, before Sylvanas. Oddly, he's grateful they can't quite understand each other at the moment. He wouldn't have any idea what to say otherwise, and takes the flood for an excuse.

With a grunt, he touches the top of his hat to Sylvanas and begins to back away. It's a heavy thing, his gift; he's certain she'd like to mull it over in the privacy of her cabin, alone]