psl | ofmd

[singlemalts]

[ Martinique, then. Ah, well, still French soil, they say, though upon arrival, Michel wasn't so certain that was a definition he'd immediately ascribe to. It didn't smell like Paris here, which might in most cases be for the better, and the guvernor's mansion was quite grand and luxurious, but he'd left his wife, now former, and his son, now uninterested in talking to him, back on real French soil and had shipped out to this job, only because it seemed gentler on all of them. Easier. And because his father would have been proud.

The reasons a man can find to move to a different part of the Earth and most likely end his life there, really. Were they good? Who knew. Would it pay off? Who could say. Life!

He's up late tonight, as he is most nights, because since his arrival a month and a half ago, his new home has been overrun by people, politicians and merchants and captains who want deals and treaties and contracts, to make their life easier. And because Michel can extend that favour to them, he does. Much of it is his job. The rest is his fancy. If nothing else, the menagerie of characters is somewhat interesting to witness.

He's reading over the final contract he's just finished for a M. Bernard, importer of alcohol and spirits, allowing him an advantage of several percentages in distribution pricing. Sell it cheaper, sell it more, yes? Signing it lazily, Michel finally stands up, pushing the parchment out of the way and walking over to the windows, looking out onto the dark streets below. The governor's mansion is smack in the middle of Fort-de-France, everybody should be allowed convenient access, after all. Isn't that why the governor is there in the first place?

That's why Michel is here, at least. So It seems. He stretches, hands clutching at his lower back while he grunts slightly. Below, he can hear the servants milling about, someone calling out quietly, a door opening.

Ah, another midnight guest! Isn't that what life's about?

Michel turns around slowly, awaiting the newcomer with a far-from-credulous smile. ]

Comments

[singlemalts]

[ What had he expected, writing down the contract which would be sure to disappear into the pirate's pocket and thus, disappear from all official records, should anything happen. Pirates knew nothing if not how to vanish things. From your shores, your towns, your pockets. And this man in front of him?

Michel taps the end of the quill onto the parchment, blotting ink in an elegant cluster of ink islands. Meets Teach's eyes, kind eyes, full of warmth, mirth, easily amused if you know, learn what buttons to push, what hidden compartments sit waiting inside of him. Michel smiles, gestures broadly with both hands, quill quivering in all its feathery fibres.

What more could he want, than to do his job, work for Martinique, keep her safe and sound? Well, he is more than this island they've dumped him on for moral transgressions and bad rep. Michel is more than what is good for the country. He looks at Teach and thinks, so is he.

Pursing his lips tightly, he leans in and, without answering, quickly scribbles down a brief note. Clear passage everywhere on the condition of good behaviour. Send the Captain to the governor's mansion on first sight. And probably second and third. But let that be what it is. Powdering the contract over quickly, he blows on it a few times, then pushes it over towards the other man. Quill, too. Holds it out. ]

A little bit of company in my old age, Edward. I meet many people, more than half I wish I never had and the half I wish would stay, well... Life takes us here and there and a bit of everywhere, doesn't it? [ A headshake and a deep sigh. ] When your ship docks here, come and see me. That's the only condition. The rest is fair exchange, I'm sure we'll agree.

[ He gives the quill a small shake, offering it with a warm openness to his expression. Michel can be kind, too. And more importantly, he wants to. Whatever else he wants, and there are many things, a fair few that could include Edward Teach as well, that goes first. Kindness. ]

[toleap]

[ Michel looks at him from across the table and Ed looks right back, easily and without hesitation. He's not where he is today for being shy or insecure - at least, he's learned how to push all that crap down so far that it only ever breaches the surface of his mind when he needs it to, when things have to get done in the worst of ways. Right now, though, all he feels is contentment. The lingering after-taste of wine and the warmth of Michel's gaze, the quiet between them infused by the cooling breeze from the window. He leans back a little. Sips his wine again, trying to make it last.

When Michel finally starts writing up his terms on the contract, Ed frowns in concentration as he reads along because yeah, sure, he can read shit upside-down, it's not his favorite thing to do because it kinda makes his head hurt but you know. He's not letting anyone surprise him these days. Too many creeps hoping for a shot, too many items on his fucking dossier to give them the time of day.

Thus, when Michel looks up at him, pushing the contract towards him, he lets the quill hang between them, his gaze darkening for moment. Send the Captain to the governor's mansion, yeah? Yeah? His lips tighten dangerously for a second because from just about anyone else, that would be offensive as fuck and probably deserving of at least a smack-down, if not some proper maiming. But when he meets Michel's gaze, the man looks... open. Uncomplicated and kind. And Ed's chest aches a little in response because kindness is a rare treasure out here and something within him is longing to respond, to echo the sentiment.

He gives the quill another long look. Says, quietly, voice low-pitched: ]

A bit of everywhere, you say.

[ And where did it take you, before it took you here? It's the kinda shit you don't talk about on your first meeting, maybe not on your second either. But perhaps on your third, over a proper glass of expensive wine? Ed's not particularly curious for the sake of strategy or political influence - after all, the man's here, isn't he, and it's gotta be punishment, meaning the sin's already been processed. But it's been a while since he... knew another person. He's got a few friends, sure, meaning they all know each other exactly well enough to spot the next fuckery before it hits them face-first. It's not... quite what he's picking up here. ]

Don't have to make it a condition, mate. I've got nowhere else to be these days. [ As he speaks, he strikes out the first few words and writes above them, his hand-writing a dirty but easily discernible scrawl: The Captain visits the governor's mansion on first sight. ] Gotta fix that, though, in any case - top of the chain, no one's about to send me anywhere.

[ Said with a smile and a small hint of teeth as he signs his name beneath it and turns it back around for Michel to re-read as needed - signature's already there but you know. He's fair. He can afford to be. ]

[singlemalts]

[ Teach takes the quill, reads the terms and then, proceeds to change them.

Which must, of course, be said to be the really exciting part about the whole exchange. For their roles to be leveled out, not made unimportant, simply equal. Truly, anything else would be abhorrently unfair.

Michel has never been one to mind corrections anyway, it's how your learn and adapt and make it comfortable, pleasurable for others to be in your general vicinity. It's a condition of any functional relationship. And always what is missing, when it is anything less. Thus, his pride or masculinity or what have you isn't terribly offended when the other man, notorious pirate captain or not, scribbles in easily discernible handwriting above Michel's own stricken-out words. Visits. Willingly. He simply smiles, holds both hands up in front of himself as if to wave off the whole implicated matter. It's not a battle for power, a show of dominance or anything of the sort. It is simply one man to another saying, you don't have to order me, I'll come on my own.

As it should be, isn't it? As anyone should most want it.

So, Michel takes the document, folds it up twice over and holds it out to Teach, knowing it'll disappear easily in a pocket this way, but always be right at hand. As is its purpose. The meaning of it. ]

It'll be a greater honour to me if you come of your own volition under any circumstances. [ And then, completely casually, he gestures to the same cupboard that the wine glass came from, indicating a row of old flasks and bottles on display. ] Like tonight. A glass of whiskey before you go? I have an excellent Scottish single malt that I would like if you tried with me. Some roasted nuts. Biscuits.

[ And before waiting for the other man's reply, not as if to say it doesn't matter that he says yes, not to imply that Michel would ever force neither alcohol nor his company upon him, but to show that he'll have himself that whiskey with or without Teach because it's good and it's been a long night, however, with Teach it'll simply be that tiny bit better, Michel gets up and walks over to the cupboard, grabbing the old, brown flask of whiskey, two tumblers, a tray. Small bowls of nuts and salted things. Arranges with efficient neatness.

Then, he walks right back and starts serving up. This time it does say, you can't say no to this, surely. Or maybe he's hoping it'll be enough that the other man doesn't want to. Michel knows, if nothing, what you can offer others that makes life a little nicer, a little easier than it was before.

And that making such offers, as well as accepting them, is what binds people together. ]