the whole history of us
a-lion-roars:
England had hardly spared himself a moment to rest in the midst of command, to ready for battle sure to follow. It wasn’t as if he needed sleep, really, not like his men did. Such thoughts hadn’t crossed his mind as he kept considerably busy. So much so he regarded the navyman who had the gall to interrupt him with an icy stare that forced him to sputter his reason for stepping into his cabin.
Ah, yes. Nova Scotia. Her and her fleet where accompanying them as well. He had almost forgotten as his gaze slid to the boyish woman behind him. The facade was well-constructed, he would give her that—short, cropped hair, flat chest, a hard look. She certainly looked the part. England inclined his head out of careful acknowledgement as he stood up from his desk and drummed his fingers against its surface to regard her. It had been a while—twenty years, give or take?
“Thank you, Petty Officer Davis,” England told him in a tone that indicated he would do well to leave the two of them to talk privately and he bid a hasty retreat. The Empire’s eyes sought hers out again before turning to pull a bottle of rum from his drawers, along with two glasses. “I’d offer you something more substantial, but you and I both know you have a terrible tendency to fashion cutlery into deadly weapons and I’d rather hold off until you’ve got the French in front of you,” his smile was tight as he held a glass of amber-coloured liquid out to her to take, “It’s been a while.” That was one way to ask after her.
For a second, she wondered if the hard stare was directed at her, and the only response her body was able to produce out of that was her back shooting to stand ramrod straight, arms carefully folded behind her back, and a scathing reply ready at the tip of her tongue — after all, it’s not because she no longer hated the man that she wouldn’t respond to coldness in kind.
But her companion, surely lacking the years of experience being pinned down by England’s annoyance, responded first, and Nova Scotia allowed her shoulders to relax. He had called for her, why would he be upset that she had come to meet him? And with no concealed weapons — or anything that could function as such —, so, in all fairness, he had no reason to be anything less than thrilled. With a smile from her thoughts, she steps forward, bowing her head a bit as he took the bottle and the glasses out.
“That’s alright, I already had supper with my boys before we arrived”, she eyes the offered glass with an odd look. It’s not that the young woman hadn’t drank alcohol before — a couple beers, here and there, in stolen moments of quiet, and to drown a boring night with the few friends she still has —, but the strong smell left little room for her to think this would be as kind on her body as stale beer was. Nova Scotia still reached for it, though, and made herself comfortable on a chair nearby. “You’re getting sloppy, I must say. This nice glass would do some damage—“, she sipped the drink, and the fine retort she had planned was completely lost on her subsequent fit of coughing. Burying her face in the crook of her elbow, the rum went down burning like a bitch, and with the prick of a tear in her eye, she was at least glad she managed to keep the sip down.