[ Jack studies this little internal drama playing out in front of him with narrowed eyes, like pincers, ready to pick and rip and shred at him, for the simple fact that he does not play well with authority and this man so desperately wants to be one. For all his ranting and raving just seconds ago about being 3rd Lieutenant out in the middle of nowhere, he sure is struck dumb now.
Seems he's found not just a nerve, but a knife with which to prod at it, and it is devilishly satisfying. He, honestly, had no intention whatsoever of attempting to seduce this man, but now, it almost seems like Irving was wishing he had. Something about his nature draws it out of him?
Might be advantageous. Blackmail. Shattered pride of a potential adversary. A reason to never have to see him in his way again, if his reaction to the act itself is proportional to simply the discussion of it. The look on that fool Jopson's face when he sticks his nose in far enough to find out. Hmmm.
Jack runs a hand through his hair and situates all four legs of his chair back on the floor, so he can lean forward, eyes sparkling with something downright devious, and ask: ]
And tell me, what is that? Something about me has you riled up, so come out with it.
[ His rakish smile? The contour-sideburns? The way his hands are always moving, gesturing, tapping, rough but nimble? Do tell. ]
no subject
Seems he's found not just a nerve, but a knife with which to prod at it, and it is devilishly satisfying. He, honestly, had no intention whatsoever of attempting to seduce this man, but now, it almost seems like Irving was wishing he had. Something about his nature draws it out of him?
Might be advantageous. Blackmail. Shattered pride of a potential adversary. A reason to never have to see him in his way again, if his reaction to the act itself is proportional to simply the discussion of it. The look on that fool Jopson's face when he sticks his nose in far enough to find out. Hmmm.
Jack runs a hand through his hair and situates all four legs of his chair back on the floor, so he can lean forward, eyes sparkling with something downright devious, and ask: ]
And tell me, what is that? Something about me has you riled up, so come out with it.
[ His rakish smile? The contour-sideburns? The way his hands are always moving, gesturing, tapping, rough but nimble? Do tell. ]