"I'm not going to make you work again for me," sniffed the youth with a pout. Goodness, did he look like a twig, even when he stood up on his toes and puffed out his chest in an obvious attempt to seem more imposing. Pitiful. "Well, right now, of course. You did decently last time, even if all you did was complain, then try asking me where the spirits were. It's not like I really drink, anyways. Do you really think I'd know? And I wouldn't want the homeowner to know that some fucking old man trashed the house in the first place... Have some decency."
Okay, Fitzgerald. Like you're as perfect as you claim to be.
With a wave of his hand, the young man paced around before huffing, "But I guess even if your breath smells like alcohol half the time, then shit the other half... I guess you're strong. That's admirable. I can only wish to be able to work that quickly, because there's so much heavy lifting involved when I have to move from one station to the next. It's fucking egregious." To show off, Fitzgerald held up his arms before attempting to flex them. The result was as anticlimactic and disappointing as one would expect, given how twiggy his limbs were. "And honestly," he then sighed somewhat dismissively, "I could use the help more often. Maybe I should consider paying you for this type of work, you know?"
At least... It was a good way to prevent the elder from kicking his ass? He still remembered the time the older man held him in a death-grip, like a crocodile's jaws locked around its prey. His bones almost seemed to ache from the memory, but he knew it was psychosomatic - the direct result of his one brain cell working for once. At least, maybe, that strength would be directed to those boxes and equipment.
And... Not... Me... thought the youth with a sheepish grin, though honestly, it just looked like he was regretting inviting this man into his lodging, a feeling that became more and more palpable as he spoke.
"Not that I think you should be working all the time, though. You deserve some rest every so often, given your advanced age," sniffed the youth with a shrug. His cadence was too hasty, too... Uncertain. Fitzgerald's eyes went off to the floor for a moment as he gently tapped a foot against the hardwood. "And, well..." Just admit that you gravitate towards older men who seem at least one percent nice to him. Fitzgerald grimaced before wringing his hands. Not today.
Or anytime soon, actually, for he soon stated, "You're a bit steadfast. A bit stubborn. It's not terrible, I guess, but... It'll likely do you more harm than good, in my books. It's supposed to be a compliment, by the way, as long as it's kept moderated." Sure, asshole. Sure.
fdvchgesvejfvbehf I am so sorry for both of them.... Fitz because of the fish man existing, but Nath because.... well.... Fitz is dumb as fuck.
HERE IS MY FOLLOW-UP.
Fitzgerald knew one thing for sure: he was going to fucking die.
After all, it required great misfortune to stumble into the hands of the Zeewolven leidsman - especially when pretty much all of his associates expressed fear or contempt towards him in one way or another. Roswell, M. Pourife, the blond thief, the singer, even the fish girl… They all seemed uneasy whenever the eponymous Nathaniel was brought up, and as the youth scanned the older Easterling’s burly, muscular physique and sharp teeth, he could definitely see why! One wrong move could literally end his life right then, right there, so…
He sucked in a breath, and turned his attention over to the seal pelts. Of course, Fitzgerald had to thank the singer for showing him the seals on the beaches a while back… And no whales. Thank fuck there were no whales.
“Just for the sake of research,” the young aristocrat answered with a wave of his hand, “I heard the seals here are endemic to Drakenburg, yes? You can’t really find them anywhere else in Krettwick, as far as I know. I just want to account for any morphological variations in the population, assuming that you and those... Zeewolven are responsible for hunting them, right?” Fitzgerald didn’t deserve such scientific, technical words, but… At the moment, he was careful to conceal himself as an intern - or at least try to. His clothes were plainer than usual, and he made sure that the conversation remained on the seal pelts. He was well-aware that Nathaniel didn’t like the rich - hated them, really - and the youth had firsthand experience of that himself in the past.
But again, why didn’t Nathaniel kick his ass? Then, or now? Fitzgerald looked up to survey him with a frown.
“Of course, I can see why such a monopoly would make you have a lot of money… I heard that there’s a strike going on at one of the iron mines in Goorse. You might as well have to turn to something else during these times, huh? The Jakes seem to be getting agitated with the lack of supplying for their swords and other weaponry…”
He scanned Nathaniel’s face again, then shrugged as he continued, “I see.” Though he had to question whether this extensive hunting operation was why he barely saw them until recently… Better not ask too much, just in case. His eyes then shifted over to the tobacco pipe that Nathaniel held out, and they just… Blinked. Fitzgerald was the type of edgy person who held cigarettes in his mouth but didn’t actually light them because he was a fucking coward. “You’re going to fail if you sell them for cheap anyways.” Speaking of business, his attention was definitely aroused when the other considered him a businessman. A businessman! Fitzgerald almost wanted to cackle from laughter, but he knew that was an objectively shitty idea. He instead just stayed silent and followed the other into the ship.
As Nathaniel guided him into the ship, Fitzgerald suddenly felt his skin prickle. Something seemed… Off, but what? He couldn’t tell, because he was a bit stupid, but… But why? He glanced around before chewing on his lip.
“You better,” he grunted when the Easterling brought up the Zeewolven, though the tone suggested that he didn’t exactly buy it. Nathaniel wasn’t lying in the sense that as long as he wasn’t beating the intern into bits, then his goonies would leave him alone, but… The glint in the “harpooner’s” eyes suggested that he was more than just honest. “There’s too much going on with them anyway. First them prowling through the streets, now this seal business…” He gesticulated somewhat wildly. “... It’s kind of a pain. I can only wonder how anything gets conducted with them around.” Careful there, kid.
Fitzgerald padded through the study with the utmost caution - perhaps with too much of it. He skimmed over much of the ragged pelts with apathy, only lifting up his notebook once to scribble something about how difficult a lot of them were to preserve after being separated from the seal carcass itself. It wasn’t until he witnessed the rack that he actually held his stationery up with raised brows, sitting down but also focusing much of his attention on the seal pelts in that room. They were actually in decent condition, and for a second, the youth thought of scrambling over to his notepad and start writing, but that’d be rude now - wouldn’t it?
With a shake of his head, the youth scanned the pelts before nodding in contentment. Yes, even at that stupidly high price of ten duiten. If only Roswell was here to warn his not-son of how stupid that idea was. But then again… He was intrigued by the possibility of scoring these pelts at a cheaper price, so he looked back over at Nathaniel when the latter mentioned Halves, and how information about them could serve as a discount.
Nathaniel was going to be disappointed, because Fitzgerald didn’t know jack shit about the Half business in the city. Well, maybe he did, but his sole brain cell sure wasn’t being nice to him right now.
Thus, the only thing he could respond with was “What’s a Half?” Oh… Honey...