[ Their on hand weapons when she finds herself bare does so many her itch. Having one for herself might all of this - food as plain as anything she'd find in England, poor weather, and the loss of her home -- so much better. But she has nothing to do but watch them over her work like a hungry tiger at a flock's edge. Like she's waiting, just waiting, for a reason to pounce and take one for herself. Though she's been in war enough to not be bothered why she hasn't been given one, she's not bitter too much. She wouldn't give herself one, either.
But it gives food for thought, her grand escape attempt in the near future.
Enough that what she can say for him is moderately little. A new comer like herself, like his drink from the way he was nursing his head - not so different to any of her brothel patrons come a morning where they needed to be tossed home to their wives and families.
Perhaps that gives her a measure of familiarity, but she keeps it close. ]
How kind of you. [ It's amused, faintly. ] Come here, I need of your hands, I'm afraid. [ Her hand lifts, beckoning him closer to her. The hardened worn in leather of her gloves no longer stiff from how she's stretched them to her. ]
no subject
But it gives food for thought, her grand escape attempt in the near future.
Enough that what she can say for him is moderately little. A new comer like herself, like his drink from the way he was nursing his head - not so different to any of her brothel patrons come a morning where they needed to be tossed home to their wives and families.
Perhaps that gives her a measure of familiarity, but she keeps it close. ]
How kind of you. [ It's amused, faintly. ] Come here, I need of your hands, I'm afraid. [ Her hand lifts, beckoning him closer to her. The hardened worn in leather of her gloves no longer stiff from how she's stretched them to her. ]