#naoise ic

“ WELL, if tha’s what ya think, lass. ”  there’s a shrug to his shoulders, pausing a moment before harshly slicing a rather dulled machete through the underbrush.  “ ain’t th’sea – er – r’rather sailin’ on it that i’m ‘ferrin’ ta. s’more sailin’ on th’roger, i’m warnin’ ya of. ”  a lip is bitten – and from the state of that lip it’d been bitten quite a lot. 

“ why’s if it ain’t Peter Pan! ”  smee calls a bit too enthusiastically (as he had never hated the boy in the first place), but quickly corrected his postures- or rather his expression and attitude since his fists remained at his hips, unchanging. 

( @jamcshook​ )

“ w-w-w-w-well- ”  he stutters out, wringing his hands close to his chest. there were very few things Smee remembered from ‘normal life’; he didn’t remember mothers, nor his own birthday, nor fathers or schooling (though he never went in the first place), and he only remembered smidgens of the concept of Christmas. he remembered all the holly jolly but without the Christ. as far as he was concerned it was truly spelled with an X.

“ i-i’s was just thinkin’, sir- cap’in- that it would be nice, y’know? pipe up th’crew wif’t a lil’ jolly stuff! it ain’t too messy, issit…? i tried ta make it all el’gant like ya said ya like! ”  he gives a nervous smile and some nods to try and seem convincing to the other, though his tiny bit of confidence gave way to a steady fear.

“ th’cap’in ain’t so bad, ya know! ”  the first-mate gestures idly. he’d been put on mother-watching-duty, not that he minded. just ol’ Smee and mother-- uh- what’s her name...? his memory never was that good... he was sat at the little sewing bench of the jolly roger, foot idly messing with the peddle of the machine, though he wasn’t currently working on anything.

“ ‘e’s got a good side an’ all... kinda... wot’s good is kinda viewed by how yer raised, ain’t it? r’somethin’ like that... ”  his brow furrows, as if he wasn’t even sure what he was talking about- which he wasn’t. he had no idea what he was talking about.

( @asprastra )

“ … wot makes ya say that, sir? ”  his nose scrunches and his eyes squint, a contortion of confusion if anything. calloused hands with rough nails reach back to itch at his head through his beanie, feet shifted their planted position in an attempted stance of thought.

031. — Slam my muse against a wall

fear briefly consumed him as he forced into the wall, his face contorts only for a moment before the grip seems to lighten up and he relaxes a little, only a small whimper escaping him in the moment and his shoulders jerking in an involuntary flinch.

“ s-sir— s… sir…? ” Smee opened a single eye, swallowing before he manages a shaky smile that fades in and out on his features. he was still held against the wall which continued to make him nervous. his gaze moves to the hands on either of his shoulders, his chest and abdomen seeming to sink anxiously.