Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-5078678-20130915195653/@comment-14800267-20130925134018

Esmee fidgited with the paper. No one seemed to understand what she was saying. Sure, she had an accent and maybe she used a few forign words but...

"You're too much of a sailor bumpkin for these precious little delicate darlings... I could have told you that." Jane said silkily from behind her, infuriatingly able to read Esmee with ease.

She refused to face her Captain, opting instead to put the lid back on the box. "That ain't true, Cap'n. They jist ain't used to me is all." She whispered back, trying to quash the deflating idea that perhaps, just perhaps Jane was right.

"Not that you'd get a chance. They seem to be unable to hold an idea for more than nine seconds. Thye're self absorbed, graceless dandelion puffs." Jane continued smooth as a well honed razor.

"Yer being unfair Cap'n. Ye should jist talk to them some, maybe make a few friends. Ye'd see, they're good folk." Esmee forged on bravely, but still refusing to turn to face her catty Captain. She threw a nervous glance at the knot of girls, but they were too absorbed in decisions about scary stories to listen in.

"Don't make me laugh. I can hardly bid them good day, let alone have long enough discourse to make friends. These people are appallingly monosyllabic with the barest grasp of the mother tongue, let alone higher learning. I have no use for people like this."

"Ye don't USE people, Cap'n, that's yer problem. Always has been." With that ridiculously, insanely foolish footnote, she quickly shuffled away from Jane in her isolated corner and into the ring of other girls.

Jane watched her go with thinned lips. These mewling, melodramatic, tiny, insignifigant girls were a bad influence on her first mate... But so be it. This foray on land was already iresome, and she had only been in this thrice accursed school for a few weeks. She longed for the sea, and she knew Esmee would feel this "land sickness" all too common with sailors soon herself. She took a small flask from her bodice, having a quick nip of the darkest Carribean rum before tucking it away again, then used her toe to pull the discarded box of turkish delight close enough to pick up and place on the window sill. She might as well get comfortable while she had to endure this fairy floss and sugar mice display. They planned on telling scary stories? At least THAT should be a laugh.