Reaching out, giving the proffered hand a firm shake, and murmuring an introduction (”Ragnar, Iceland”) in return happened on autopilot before he had properly processed the words.
“Amazon Prime?” His voice did not crack. It was - shock. Extreme surprise. Those were words from what felt like a world away. Here he was, scrounging and - and using rocks on the beach, and these - these kúkalabbi had internet. Of course the pirates would not be depriving themselves of modern conveniences, but the reminder still rankled.
On the other hand, this Noah - Noah the Architect Pirate - seemed like an amenable sort.
He picked up a stack of pavers, giving them a considering glance. “How long would it take to order a new stack of these - these pavers then? For example, if this stack met an unfortunate accident.” He wasn’t even aware this forsaken place received mail. Did they use - use drones?
He pasted a smile on his face. “We royals, we can be quite clumsy at times. After all, we are not architects.”
Noah reached over, taking the pavers from the prince. Three, he could hoist under an arm. Five required both arms. He huffed, and nodded his head at the gravel. “Yeah, that’s why you’re carrying that.”
A nudge with his toe, green eyes flicking up at the prince. “Come on.” This one took almost as much cajoling as the princesses, and that was saying something. Noah wet his lips. “Down we go again. Shut your eyes and think of the vodka.”
Mischevious didn’t play well with him, since the fire. Or, he thought, since ever.
Amazon seemed to interest him, though. He couldn’t blame the prince, Ragwash or whatever he’d said his name was. The world owed everything to Jeff Bezos. Leading the way down the path, he set the next stack of pavers down and trotted to the top of the hill, his eyes alighting on a joyous sight: last load.
“What, are you missing your Marvelous Mrs. Maisel or something?”
