( He is flustered, surfacing from his encounter with the masters of the Dawn's Reach Trade Company, cheeks ripe and eyes wild-white, gaze diffuse. There is always a softening of a man when he is flayed, vividly and unmistakably, in the company of his peers and his betters. That his vivisection takes place in a communicator array, rather than in the physical presence of his employers does little to preserve his dignity.
Hours of discourse, of reprimand, of scrutiny. An afternoon of spiteful anger. How he has born this, without losing control of himself and his senses, he cannot say — only that he deeply and wholeheartedly depends on his composure to close the day without ordering the next man who crosses his path whipped to the bone.
And then, first mate Lattimore delivers the news: messengers, from the Pariah. Under a white banner, carrying gifts. A chance to prove, if not necessarily the success of his action, then at least its indubitable and apparent finality.
He receives Master Kirk in the full, recently cleansed, spartan splendour of his captain's cabin, knowing full well that the luxury of order will awe far more sweetly after however many days this wretched man has spent at sea with pirates. Then, reaching out a hand to clasp Master Kirk's, when he enters: )
Come. Come, you honour us. If your companions haven't skinned you of the concept of honour yet, I suppose you might even understand what I mean. ( Laughter, shrill. His own joke. Delightful. ) No matter. No matter. What's this, you've come from Vane? Quicksilver himself? Surprised he could muster the wit. Is he well? They say he's taken ill.
kirk
Hours of discourse, of reprimand, of scrutiny. An afternoon of spiteful anger. How he has born this, without losing control of himself and his senses, he cannot say — only that he deeply and wholeheartedly depends on his composure to close the day without ordering the next man who crosses his path whipped to the bone.
And then, first mate Lattimore delivers the news: messengers, from the Pariah. Under a white banner, carrying gifts. A chance to prove, if not necessarily the success of his action, then at least its indubitable and apparent finality.
He receives Master Kirk in the full, recently cleansed, spartan splendour of his captain's cabin, knowing full well that the luxury of order will awe far more sweetly after however many days this wretched man has spent at sea with pirates. Then, reaching out a hand to clasp Master Kirk's, when he enters: )
Come. Come, you honour us. If your companions haven't skinned you of the concept of honour yet, I suppose you might even understand what I mean. ( Laughter, shrill. His own joke. Delightful. ) No matter. No matter. What's this, you've come from Vane? Quicksilver himself? Surprised he could muster the wit. Is he well? They say he's taken ill.