[Not a soul fettered by idleness. Not one that cares for it. With what do modern women occupy their time? Miranda, who was born to wealth, who never sullied her hands in kitchen soot or took callus from a broom, learned to work a farm when presented with endless, impossible eternities. It is yet strange to him to consider that a woman may be anything she chooses well after his bones have been laid to rest. A soldier? A diplomat? A leader in the free world? Dizzying.
James takes the book back with rather less ceremony than he handed it to her, reverent but brusque, and it disappears back into the basket that has since been divested of its insides.
His mouth is quirked up at one corner at the way she seeks to portion out the food, but he accepts one of those two boxes without a dimming of that slight smile.]
Miss, you wound me. I would never.
[It's said with a rather droll species of sarcasm, as he peels back the plastic lid of the container. He's seated with one leg drawn up, the other stretched out, posture only quietly tense. His clothing - while all black - hardly reflects the era of his egress - that is to say, between the pierced ears, neat hair and the immaculate beard he could pass more easily for a twenty-first century hipster than an eighteenth century pirate.]
no subject
James takes the book back with rather less ceremony than he handed it to her, reverent but brusque, and it disappears back into the basket that has since been divested of its insides.
His mouth is quirked up at one corner at the way she seeks to portion out the food, but he accepts one of those two boxes without a dimming of that slight smile.]
Miss, you wound me. I would never.
[It's said with a rather droll species of sarcasm, as he peels back the plastic lid of the container. He's seated with one leg drawn up, the other stretched out, posture only quietly tense. His clothing - while all black - hardly reflects the era of his egress - that is to say, between the pierced ears, neat hair and the immaculate beard he could pass more easily for a twenty-first century hipster than an eighteenth century pirate.]
So what do you read, Peggy? If I may be so bold.