(no subject)
*in the captain's rooms, the candles are lit: the pirate himself is sat at the recalcitrant harpsichord which gave him such trouble when he first moved it in, repetitively pinging at one of the keys with the point of the hook. The illuminated copy of Paradise Lost lies open on the instrument's top. The recent fight with Spider, although he won hands (or more accurately, hand) down, has left him with considerable bruising from the man's kicking at his shins, and he hopes that should Ali call for him to visit another possible world he won't be required to walk too far. He also has a nagging suspicion that Spider may have been right: bad form to lord it over a foe so obviously outclassed, and a little too reminiscent of someone else's behaviour, someone to whom he would certainly not care to be compared.
It might even be considered ignoble.
Ping. Ping. Ping.
Perhaps spending too much time philosophizing isn't good for him after all. Or, on reflection, it may be just what he needs. After all, there's always Miss de Rosa's invitation to a Halloween party for distraction...*
It might even be considered ignoble.
Ping. Ping. Ping.
Perhaps spending too much time philosophizing isn't good for him after all. Or, on reflection, it may be just what he needs. After all, there's always Miss de Rosa's invitation to a Halloween party for distraction...*