the house guest. (nel + murdoch)

[Nel Sayo]

"What would I do in a shop?" she wondered aloud, folding the towel she'd used to dry the dishes, and setting it aside.

She wandered over to the cot and flopped unceremoniously down onto it, ponderous. Nel was a pirate; they didn't buy things. Usually. And when they sold things, it wasn't quite the same as when one sold things in a shop. More like You'll take it and like it than Can I find this for you in a different size?.

No more argument about the pillow. Either she'd already decided he would get a second one, or she just didn't want to talk about him using her as a pillow instead. She could imagine the purpley-red color Syon's face would turn if he was alive to imagine that scenario.

"You don't have gainful employment," she pointed out, sprawling back, propped up by her elbows. "But maybe. You'll prolly have to teach me how to do whatever it is you want me to do. Unless it really is just stand there."

Which, knowing Murdoch, it might be.

[Murdoch]

"Oh, there's nothin' to teach, darling," he laughed, padding over to stand in front of the fireplace and let his pants finish drying. "A lot of it will be 'walk down that street looking lost' or 'go smile at that drunk guy and find out if he's married.' That sort of thing. If there's a bigger job, maybe it'll get a little more complicated, but I don't have anything in the pipes right now."

He shook out his shirt and hauled it over his head, holding the shirttails up so they didn't get damp. "And there's plenty to do in a shop. I mean, I certainly can't see you hocking purses, but there's a few that could use a pair of clever hands. There's a clockmaker, strange little fellow, sort of like a mad hermit in the middle of the city, but I've heard tell he's looking for someone. And you've the advantage of small fingers, which you should point out to him. That is, of course, if you want a job. Then again, easier to be a dasterdly thieving scoundrel when you've got a respectable day job as cover."

[Nel Sayo]

Nel collapsed back into a full sprawl on the bed so that she could hold up her hands in front of her, judging their smallness.

The pattern of scales winding about the backs of her hands and around her wrists caught the sunlight again, and shimmered.

"I like clocks," she said absently, with a shrug that did little more than shimmy the cot. "I could be good with clocks."

Once she'd finished breaking several of them; Nel was kind of clumsy, but she kept that thought to herself. No doubt he already knew, anyway.

"I'll leave you to the dastardly stuff. You seem pretty good at it." A compliment! "So I don't really see why you need me, unless you're just lazy, then I totally understand."

She lifted her head, bright eyes squinting at him curiously.

"How'd you get that big scar?"

Which might have come out of nowhere, but he'd just put his shirt so she suddenly couldn't see it, which reminded her to ask about it. Circles within circles.

[Murdoch]

"I need you because I hate having to do everything myself. Could I just walk through the markets picking pockets? Yes, of course, and probably make a gold or two by the end of the day. Or I can have you distract a few blokes twice a week and get more of a reward, and spend the rest of my time planning the big heists. I don't want to be stumbling into drunk men forever, little swan," he chuckled.

He turned his back to her and unfolded the leather pants he'd worn the day before, and quickly began changing from one pair to the other. He was at least polite enough not to flash her, but if they were going to be living together it was more likely than not that they'd see a bit of each others' bodies from time to time, and no point bothering with a honeymoon period. She'd lived on a pirate ship, she'd probably seen more than her share of bare man-ass. Although maybe not one as well-toned as his. Well.

The lash-marks that began at his shoulderblades traveled all the way down to the backs of his thighs, wounds long-healed and doubtful any trouble to him now. "Which one, the one at my throat?" he asked, settling himself a little more comfortably before he turned and glanced up at her, hands working to tie the laces of his trousers. "Ah, price of the life, I suppose you could call it. My brother gave me that. Tried to come from behind, cut my throat," he said, dragging a thumb in an imaginary line from the left side of his neck to his right, "but the idiot thought it might be a good idea to make some smart-ass comment. What was it? Oh, yeah: There is no honor among thieves. Whatever that means." He'd waggled his fingers when reciting that line, as if it were some ghost story too ridiculous to be believed, and then just rolled his eyes and began tucking in his shirt. "Dumb petch should've just done it. First rule of killing the hell out of someone - just do it. You hesitate for the sake of dramatic arts, they'll grab your arm and stab you in the liver. Case in point," he chuckled, miming how he'd grabbed the arm and the piece of broken glass had sliced into his chest and up to his shoulder instead.

[Nel Sayo]

When he'd turned to strip his pants off, she'd just dropped her head back down and stared up at the ceiling instead. Murdoch might have been surprised to know how careful those pirates had been with her. In many things, they treated her just the same as any of the crew members, but there were certain...sensibilities that Syon simply insisted be guarded, and Rezar supported this idea. It would've been too easy to turn her into a miserable, battle-hardened bitch who'd bend over for a sack of gold, and none of them had wanted their bright, lightning-girl to turn into that woman. Sy had always been more concerned with keeping her heart safe than he'd been with her body, but both had been a priority.

As a slave, she'd never felt the lash. Her skin was too white, the scales too delicate; her appearance was part of her price. Even the cruelest master wouldn't leave a permanent mark upon her, just in case he sought to sell her later. But she knew what those wounds looked like, had patched up plenty of them.

When she heard him turn around, she propped up onto her elbows again. Nothing bashful, just polite. Her eyes focused on him curiously; without paranoia or fear in her figure, Nel was just...open. And interested. Her toes wiggled.

"I've got one," she announced.

This was familiar; pirates traded scar stories all the time. She sat up and held out her hand to him. Sure enough, right in the middle of her palm there was a scar, almost white enough to blend into the rest of her skin, but not quite. Too silver, but not shining like the scales on the back of her hand. Just shy the size of a coin.

"Caught an arrow," she explained, and of all things, she smiled. "Obviously not the right way."

[Murdoch]

"You call that a scar? he snorted, but his smile twisted into something more teasing as he crossed the room, slinging his still-damp pants over the back of the chair to dry. He took her hand in both of his, turning it so he could see the scar properly in the light, much warmer than her cool skin.

"You're lucky it missed the tendons," he murmured, running a thumb curiously over the scar. "Usually you take a shot to the hand, you lose the use of a finger or two. One of the first things you learn on the streets, doll - you can't steal nothin' with floppy digits. Most of the ones on my arm are from deflecting aims at my hands. Guards know it, too - it's one of the first things they go for if they can't get a killshot."

[Nel Sayo]

"Well I didn't do it on purpose," she laughed, waggling her fingers when he lifted her hand to better see the scar. An unnatural interruption in perfectly white flesh. On the back of her hand, he would see that it pierced one of those delicate scales -- like scoring on metal armor, except lovelier. Maybe the scales weren't so delicate after all.

"I was underwater," she explained. "We got attacked, and they threw Lohpot over the side, and he can't swim. I went in after him and he was sinking...he was a lot bigger than me, so I had him in one arm and was trying to get him back to the surface before he was dead for good -- 'cause you know, even if you swallow a bunch of water, you can beat it out if you hit hard enough, get breathing again fast enough -- and a hail of arrows hit the water just as I was surfacing. I ducked again, but one got me."

Right through the hand. She was lucky, in that respect, as well, that it was only through the hand.

"I managed to get 'Pot back on the ship, but then there was a hole in the hull, so I had to go back under and fix it, with the bloody arrow in my hand, and like that would've taken me maybe a half hour without the arrow, but so it took a good long while with it, and by the time I came up, Sy was freaking out 'cause 'Pot had said I'd gone under, and he'd forgot."

She rolled her eyes; sure, being underwater for over half an hour -- what's the big deal?

"But I think it's cause I had to leave it in. Scar is bigger."

Her toes waggled again; blue eyes were locked on his face, now, more intent on him than they'd yet been, in a night and a morning.

[Murdoch]

While she chattered on, he slid into a seat on the edge of the bed, his hip brushing against her knee. "Why'd you have to leave it in?" he asked, laughing a little. "Seems like you coulda gotten more done if you'd snapped the damn thing and pulled it out. And anyway, how can you be a sailor if you can't swim? You think there'd be some sort of standardized test or something. Swim this far, hold your breath this long, climb these ropes, haul this cargo, stab this guy. That sort of thing," he smirked, muddy eyes catching the twinkling of light that flew off her scales and bounced around the room.

"But I guess that means you can breath underwater, then? Sirens, surely, made to entice men to their watery graves," he teased, and then seemed to suddenly realize he was still holding her hand in his - so he squeezed her fingers as he waggled dark eyebrows at him, then released her.

[Nel Sayo]

"You can be a pirate if you can't swim," she pointed out. The smile on her mouth dimmed by just a fraction, though, and she was forced to add, "I mean he isn't anymore, obviously, but he did fine for awhile there."

When he released her hand, she shrugged and piled both of her hands in her lap, glancing down at the scar herself. Taptapping her fingertips against it. A tilt of her head, thoughtful, the raucous spill of silvery braids.

"It hurt," she muttered. "The salt water hurt, and with the arrow in, I kept some of the water from getting in and hurting more."

Made sense. If you were a teenager in a sea fight. Surely. A roll of pretty blue eyes at the siren comment, and she elbowed him soundly in the arm.

"I'm not. Just me. I have..." She looked into his face again, to see how he'd react. "...gills, too."

[Murdoch]

He shrugged at that, though curiosity quirked a smile in her direction. "Good to have on the water, I'm sure," he chuckled. Of course, it also opened up a wealth of opportunities for thieving on the docks. Well, well.

He gave her knee a pat, then hauled himself up to his feet. "All right, get dressed. Might as well get you a damned job. Can't have you hanging around here all day," he chuckled.

He wandered over to the hearth and pulled on his belt and his coinpurse, which wasn't where he kept his real stash of money but would distract anyone who thought to try and steal from him, fools though they be. A quick run of his hands over his person ensured that everything was where it belonged, and then he threw a glance around the room. "All right, girl, let's get moving," he said with another charming smile.