Tales of the Meridian Society! (TheCorsair, Madame Mim)

"I know God Save The King," Kieran protested, though he laughed, "I just don't play it. Had to blend into a band at one of those royal procession things once. Not a bad haul that day. There's something to be said for the roots of a common pickpocket."

"Stories about detectives and cowboys, hm? So which one of us is making money off of our lives? Sam, I'll bet." He grinned. "I'll take a look next time I'm in America. Sounds like they might be a decent read. And if you like them I suppose they can't be that bad."

The pirate noticed Colin looking at him before stumbling over his words. God but he was adorable! He was taken off-guard, however, by Colin's question. He sat back in his seat a little, considering it. He'd never been called beautiful, obviously; it was an adjective for a woman! But Colin was beautiful, certainly. Perhaps he needed to reevaluate his view of certain descriptors...

"Dunno," Kieran finally admitted with a shrug. "Try it and we'll see."

The question hung in the air, and Colin waited on edge as Kieran - clearly startled - considered it. It had been a huge risk, as the pirate was still clearly gunshy about anything that smacked of the feminine. And that was not how he'd intended it.

"Dunno," he finally said. "Try it and we'll see."

Colin laughed a little with relief. "Well, then," he said. "You are beautiful. I think I could just watch you for hours, admiring the shape of your face. You are like a DaVinci sculpture given breath and life."

The waiter chose that moment to return, and Colin managed to not glare daggers at him as he opened the bottle of wine and poured two glasses. He sipped his wine, then swirled the red liquid in the glass and examined it. "You know, I think I'm a failure as an aristocrat. So many of my peers will talk about boquets and subtle flavors and the like, and to me wine always just tastes of sour grapes and alcohol. Give me beer any day." He glanced up, catching Kieran's eye. "I like it tall, and dark, and strong."

Kieran couldn't help but grin. A little stupidly, really, but it was probably the most genuine compliment he'd ever received even if he was a bit uncomfortable with how poetic Colin had gotten. It didn't feel natural to be that frank and that tender as a man. Well, none of this was natural so he might as well go with it. He opened his mouth to reply, hoping that he'd think of something to say back by the time the words got there, but was saved by the waiter.

"You know, I think I'm a failure as an aristocrat. So many of my peers will talk about boquets and subtle flavors and the like, and to me wine always just tastes of sour grapes and alcohol."

Kieran chuckled. "Because you call it what it is," he pointed out. "Besides, I can't stand pretentious arseholes like that anyway. I wouldn't...have come to dinner with you if you did try that shite." The pirate let out a breath as he narrowly avoided admitting, out loud, in public that he liked Colin.

"Give me beer any day. I like it tall, and dark, and strong."

He smirked. "Well then I think you've made the right choice," he said. "Some people find drinks like that overpowering."

"Oh, I don't know about overpowering," Colin smirked. "Aggressive, perhaps. The sort of drink that gets in your face and makes no apologies for what it is."

He sipped his wine again. "A drink that demands a second and even a third mug, you know? Not one that makes you wonder if it's really worth the effort to go back to the bottle. Speaking of which..." he refilled his glass, and topped off Kieran's. "Since we've ordered the bottle, we may as well try to enjoy it. And I think our meal has arrived."

The waiter drew up to the table, bearing a platter. With a skill born of long practice he placed the plates before the two men and then retreated. He cut off a slice of the fillet and ate it with a forkfull of the risotto, which proved to be creamy and flavored with beef and wild mushrooms. "Now this," he said, "is far better than what the Admiralty provides aboard ship. I don't know what it's like in your profession, but in mine you either hire your own cook or make due with what the cook makes." A grimace. "And they're typically concerned with quantity over quality."

Kieran smirked right back. At least Colin wasn't pushing anything on him, instead agreeing to use his euphemisms. "Well, why should it apologize? It is what it is. Isn't that what you like about...dark beer?" He sipped his wine as well, although at a somewhat quicker rate than his companion. It seemed to settle his nerves.

When Colin mentioned how many 'mugs' he'd go for however, Kieran snickered. "Only three? Either you're a lightweight or you need to find a better beer, mate." At the mention of trying to enjoy the wine, however, Kieran shrugged. "Booze is booze. Besides, the more I have, the better your chances, right?" He winked at him over the rim of the glass before taking a sip.

The beef was, in simplest terms, the best he'd ever tasted. The risotto was delicious, much to his surprise, but nothing compared to the beef. It was tender and cooked to perfection and his eyes closed involuntarily as he savored the flavor. He nodded as Colin described typical military airship fair.

"See, that's where we have something in common," he admitted. "You find a man says he can cook and you stick with him til he gets himself killed. All gristle and grease." He crinkled his nose before his expression relaxed again into quiet enjoyment as he took another bite.

Kieran snickered. "Only three? Either you're a lightweight or you need to find a better beer, mate."

"True," Colin laughed. "The problem is, there are so many flavors and so little time in the day. And you really have to try a beer more than once to make sure it suits you."

Kieran shrugged. "Booze is booze. Besides, the more I have, the better your chances, right?" He winked at him over the rim of the glass before taking a sip.

"Booze is booze, yes," was Colin's reply. "But some people strongly prefer one type to another." Then he winked back. "But you're right. The more you've tried, the more likely you are to appreciate something new when you try it..."

With that, he turned to his dinner. Which was magnificent, a fact that turned the conversation to the generally poor quality of military cooking. Kieran nodded knowingly as he described naval food as being, at best, competent. "See, that's where we have something in common," he admitted. "You find a man says he can cook and you stick with him til he gets himself killed. All gristle and grease."

"Grease and gristle?" Colin laughed. "Are you describing the galley cook on my ship, or his cuisine? Because you're right either way." He ate another bite of beef. "I honestly think we'd have a better meal if we cooked him, instead of letting him cook. But, at least he keeps the galley clean."

He paused a beat.

"Because I think he cooks the rats."

"But you're right. The more you've tried, the more likely you are to appreciate something new when you try it..."

As Colin bit into his dinner, Kieran raised his eyebrows. "Oh? And ah...what if you find you like the first one you try? Or, perhaps," he added, "you've tried quite a few but find you enjoy the beer you're currently drinking the most. Should you move on and just keep trying other lagers and ales and...wines if you've found a drink that you like?"

In otherwords, he thought to himself, what sort of a man are you? Kieran wasn't, after all, going to pour his heart out to the man if he was inconstant. Would he enjoy Colin's company? Absolutely. But he wasn't going to go into it with his full heart if it was all just going to be one-sided. That sounded exhausting.

The pirate continued his dinner, though, and laughed at the way Colin described his galley cook. "See, I know ours cooks the rats. But so long as no one complains, why not?" he shrugged before taking another bite. "Keeps the ship clean, keeps the crew fed, and it tastes a bit like chicken."

"Well, clearly, if you like the first one than there's no need to keep looking," Colin remarked. "Because you've found the right one."

But that seemed a little much, right now. So, perhaps deftly and perhaps clumsily, he turned the conversation to the food. And from there to cooking. And from cooking to the generally wretched cooks employed by the Royal Aeronavy. "Grease and gristle?" Colin laughed. "Are you describing the galley cook on my ship, or his cuisine? Because you're right either way." He ate another bite of beef. "I honestly think we'd have a better meal if we cooked him, instead of letting him cook. But, at least he keeps the galley clean."

He paused a beat.

"Because I think he cooks the rats."

Kieran laughed at that. "See, I know ours cooks the rats. But so long as no one complains, why not?" he shrugged before taking another bite. "Keeps the ship clean, keeps the crew fed, and it tastes a bit like chicken."

"Hmmm..." Colin considered that. "The meal of the day is ratatouille, then?" He let the rather lame joke sit there for a moment, then laughed himself. "I will say, though... I did wonder where my cook kept finding fresh chicken."

He ate another bite of his meal. "Still, I guess I can hardly complain. Rat is probably still healthier than salt pork. And tastier, as well." He glanced up. "Quick question - what's the worst battle you've ever been in?"

Found the right one? Kieran felt a little unsettled. He was getting in awfully deep for a first date. Of course, it was good to know that Colin was in fact the faithful type...It was just that the man sounded like he was talking about marriage or something. And faithful or not, Kieran had never envisioned himself the marrying type regardless of gender. That was far too constricting.

It was a relief, therefore, when conversation abruptly turned to food and cooking. The pirate pulled a face at Colin's ratatouille joke and shook his head. "I can't even pretend, mate. That was bloody awful." He did have a good chuckle at how terrible the joke had been though. "You mean you never gave it a good think? You're in the air for months at a time, cook keeps getting fresh meat that hasn't spoiled, no ice, what d'ya think it is?" He chuckled again.

There was another abrupt turn in conversation. Kieran took another bite and chewed slowly both to savor the flavor and to give himself time to think. "It was during the Martian invasion," he said slowly, taking a sip of wine to further buy some time. "I was helping out around Africa and India. Only time I'll ever work with you lot. I mean, not much point in pirating if there's no one left to pirate, right? Anyway, the buggers really wanted Madagascar. Madagascar, of course, clammed up quick-like, nobody in or out. But they were determined to break through defenses. We threw everything we had at 'em, almost nothin' seemed to stop 'em. Lost a lot of good men that day." He was quiet for a moment as he took another sip of his wine. "Beat 'em back eventually, but we had to explode most of the eastern half of the island to do it. Why? What about you?"

"You were at Madagascar?" Colin asked, surprised. "Half the African fleet was lost there. I can't imagine..."

Madagascar had, counter-intuitively, been where a nest of Martians had held out for a decade. Biding their time and managing to build up a tolerance for the germs that had slaughtered their fellows, they'd launched their assault during the Great War. Dozens of Martian flyers, supporting tripods, had come ashore and laid waste to Ethiopia and the Sudan before a united English and Ottoman force was able to drive them back to the island.

Four years later, Madagascar was still uninhabitable. The furies unleashed by the efforts to dislodge the invaders had baked life from the land. Men who visited sickened and died.

Then he heard the pirate's question. "Just curious. And... my worst fight?" He hesitated. "The Somme. Floating over the battlefield, just..."

The memories came back. Heat rays playing across the German lines. Heat rays and black smoke, slaughtering men by the hundreds, as they brought their primary rays to bear on the zeppelins. Zeppelins, because the war had so crippled the German economy that they could no longer produce airships. Butchery, pure and simple.

He pushed his plate away, his appetite suddenly gone. "I'm..." he started, face pale. Then he picked up his wine and forced himself to take a drink. "I'm... let's go." He forced a wan grin at the pirate. "Anywhere. Just... out in the air."

He finished the wine.

"Damnfool question."

Kieran's face fell. He hadn't been at Somme but had heard about it. Completely brutal; a massacre some called it. When Colin pushed his plate away the pirate's heart fell a little along with his face, fearing he'd ruined things by turning the question back on his companion. He gave the officer all the time he needed to form a coherent thought, but none seemed to come.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I guess war makes damn fools of us all. I find rum better for forgetting than wine. Vodka if you can find it; that's one thing the Russians did get right." He smiled weakly and finished his wine as Colin finished his. He laid money on the table--it didn't matter how much; he could always steal more--and stood. Colin wanted to leave, so they would leave.

"C'mon then," Kieran said, offering his arm. "Let's go for a walk then. We'll find dessert elsewhere, yeah?" He wasn't particularly subtle as his eyes flicked up and down Colin's form appraisingly. "And there's never anything wrong with a second dessert either, I'm sure." There was a wink to go with his smoulder this time as he led Colin out of the restaurant and down the street with no idea of where he was going.

"No, no, it's all right," Colin said, waving the question off even as he took Kieran's arm gratefully. "It's just... it was a stupid question. I shouldn't have asked it."

The evening air felt cool as they exited into the street. He drew a deep breath, then favored Kieran with a shaky smile. "Uhm... thanks. I... well..." He shrugged, feeling suddenly embarrassed. "Tell you what? You mentioned vodka? Let's go find some. Or some rum. Anything strong enough to take the taste out of my mouth. And then let's go find that dessert you mentioned."

Feeling better now, he picked a direction and headed off down the street. After a moment, he winked at the pirate. "And then, maybe that second dessert as well."

---

After a short walk, they'd turned off the main road and down a side street that could charitably have been called a "lane" and more accurately "an alley". Several turnings later, it became clear that they'd wandered into one of the less reputable parts of the city. And that suited Colin just fine. He'd put himself in a foul mood with the discussion of the Somme, and 'less reputable' sounded like just the sort of thing he needed to take his mind off it. Which is why, when he saw a man come sailing out of a door marked with a sign displaying two bottles, he stopped. "This looks like the place," he declared. "Scruffy and disreputable and charming. Just like the man on my arm." He grinned. "Shall we go in?"

Colin's mood appeared to improve as they walked, much to Kieran's relief. He knew all too well the look his companion had gotten when past battles were mentioned. He, too, had nightmares and sometimes awoke in a cold sweat, screaming. It was humiliating, certainly, but it happened to the best of men. As they wandered into the dirtier side of town Kieran raised his eyebrows.

"Why Captain Drake," he said in mock surprise, "I never would have thought a respectable personage such as yourself would ever be caught dead in a place like this."

It suited Kieran just fine. He'd grown up on the "wrong" side of town and felt more at home in a sketchy pub than in an upscale restaurant. He let out a noise of surprise and drew Colin up short to avoid collision with a man who had just been heaved bodily out the door. The pirate laughed at the man's misfortune before grinning at Colin's invitation.

"Well c'mon then," he agreed, tugging at his arm. "And keep up, will you?"

"Why Captain Drake," Kieran said, voice dripping with mock surprise, "I never would have thought a respectable personage such as yourself would ever be caught dead in a place like this."

"Respectable, me?" Some of Colin's old humor seemed to have returned by now. "Listen, you scurvy scalawag, I'm an Officer in the King's Aeronavy. I'm entirely respectable. At home." He gestured around. "Does this look like London?"

"Well c'mon then," he agreed, tugging at his arm. "And keep up, will you?"

"Keep up?" Colin laughed as he stepped over the fallen man and headed for the door. "Kieran, I'll have you flat on your back by the end of the night. Come on!"

Inside, the nameless tavern was dimly lit and filled with a fog of blue tobacco smoke and a miasma of unwashed bodies and fallen alcohol. All eyes turned to the newcomers, entirely out of place in their fine suits, and most of the looks they received were distinctly unfriendly. One man - a surly, stock man in a stained blue shirt and dark blue trousers, clearly either drunker or braver than the rest - swaggered up and grabbed Colin's jacket with a greasy fist. "Vous êtes au mauvais endroit, vous English pédé," he snarled, drawing back a fist. "Je vais profiter..."

Whatever it was he was going to enjoy was lost in a squall of pain as Colin twisted his wrist and forced him to his knees with a single motion. Before the man could do anything more than whimper, the Aeronaval Captain followed up his action with three brutal kicks to the stomach that left the man flat on his back, vomiting stale wine all over his face. Ignoring the fallen tough, Colin looked around the room. "Messieurs," he said, voice calm. "Je veux vraiment juste une boisson. Quelqu'un at-il un problème avec ça?"

Several men rose, clenching scarred fists. With a sigh, Colin glanced at the pirate next to him. "don't say I never take you anywhere fun."

"Keep up?" Colin laughed as he stepped over the fallen man and headed for the door. "Kieran, I'll have you flat on your back by the end of the night. Come on!"

The pirate smirked. "Don't tempt me with a good time." He laughed as they crossed the threshold into a seedy-looking pub and instantly he felt much more in his element.

And immediately someone started picking a fight. A stocky man pushed through the gloom and haze of smoke to face Colin. Kieran tensed, prepared to put the man in his place for touching Colin and, obviously, threatening him; he didn't take well to people threatening his...friends, unless he was the one doing it. The pirate's eyebrows rose in mild surprise and he pointed at the drunkard, looking offended.

"Did he just call me English?" he demanded. "Threats I can take but if he called me English we've got a problem, mate." But Colin instead chose to cut off the Frenchman's sentence with a few well-placed maneuvers that had him on the ground in pain, vomiting. Kieran crinkled his nose and nudged him lazily with the toe of his boot. "Oh now that's just showing off."

Colin addressed the tavern in general, and whatever he said didn't appear to sit well with the patrons. Several of them rose, causing Kieran to laugh. He looked back over at his companion, mischief sparkling in his eyes as he balled his hands into fists. After adjusting several rings on his fingers he shrugged off his coat and draped it over a nearby chair, then rolled up the sleeves of his borrowed shirt and took a defensive stance. This was his element.

"Oi, you may've had some fancy sort of martial training at the Academy or whatever, but these're my sorta people."

His grin was soon replaced by a grimace as pain exploded in his face. With a groan Kieran touched his nose gingerly; nothing broken. His knuckles hurt a little as he hit back and chaos erupted in the tavern. It had been some time since he'd had a good fight and this was refreshing. Soon his face was somewhat numbed by the endorphins as he plowed his way through several thick Frenchmen. Mostly his goal was protecting Colin; while he knew the man could clearly fight his own battles, there was still a part of him that believed Aeronaval officers to be somewhat...softer than your average sailor.

Damnit, Kieran was protecting him! Which made getting in the thick of things difficult!

Colin kicked a burly type in the belly, then slammed the palm of his hand into the man's nose. He'd learned, several years ago, that the only time to strike a man in the face with a closed fist was when you either had something on to protect your hand, or when you wanted to break a finger or two. And he had nothing resembling the first, and no desire to do the second.

The man went down, bleeding and pawing at his face. Colin stomped his testicles for good measure, then chopped the neck of a man who was preparing to tackle Kieran. Then he staggered, eyes glazed in pain as a vicious rabbit-punch came out of nowhere. Turning, he weakly fended off a low blow to the solar plexus, retaliated with a sluggish blow to the meat of his assailant's chest, and then managed a stomp to the arch of the man's foot. It didn't break anything, but the pain stopped him long enough for Colin to rake his fingernails through the skin of the man's forehead. Swearing, scrubbing at the blood that was suddenly filling his eyes, the man stumbled backwards.

Colin kicked him in the stomach.

"Es-tu fou?" an oddly-familiar voice bellowed in the sudden lull of the fight. "Ils sont des amis à moi!"

The thugs backed away. Baffled, Colin turned to see a smallish man balanced on a table. He blinked a couple of times, and suddenly he placed the figure. The strutting Russian they'd met in the catacombs, earlier! What was his name? Joseph. Ioseph? No, no... Ioseb. Ioseb Jugashvili.

With a laugh, the Russian dropped to the table and moved to embrace first Kieran and then Colin. "My friends! I had not expected you to visit! Come, come, join me at my table. And excuse my fellows - you appeared bourgeois, and such are not welcome here!"

Kieran wheeled around in time to watch a would-be assailant fall to the ground. He nodded a thanks with a bloody grin before turning back to a thug he'd been able to put down only momentarily. In the chaos of the fight his laughter could be heard; it had been far too long since he'd had a proper brawl. He'd noticed that Colin could hold his own just fine...but also that he wasn't hitting with a closed fist. The pirate knew very well what hitting someone with a closed fist would do, but years of scrapping in streets and pubs had numbed him to the pain and gotten him used to broken fingers. Anything else, in his opinion, just wasn't as effective.

Then a familiar voice boomed out over the brawlers. Kieran blinked hard, aggravating a bruise blooming across his left cheekbone, and spun on his heel to search for the source of the voice. He groaned. That damned Russian! The catacombs, the club...Paris was a large city and they couldn't seem to lose him! And now the squidgey bugger was butting in on their date. No...an evening out with a colleague.

"What so a man can't clean up a bit in this city?" Kieran asked, spitting a gob of blood onto the floor near one of the thugs who had been knocked out. "Seems we can't turn a damned corner without running into you." With a look for confirmation at Colin, he grabbed a chair and took a seat. After all, it would look a little suspicious not to join him.

"Ah, Comrade Kieran!" Ioseb laughed, reaching up a little to clap him on the shoulder. "You wound me! This is Paris, and if a man cannot clean up a bit in Paris, then where may he? But... you must admit... you do resemble an agent of the moneyed powers in that fine suit of yours."

He threw himself down into a seat, beaming as Colin sat next to Kieran, then began pouring glasses of clear liquid into three mostly clean glasses. When he shoved them over, they reeked of alcohol. "Come, come, drink up! Alcohol will clean your wounds, and vodka will clean your souls." He tossed back the drink and poured himself another. "Not that I believe in souls, mind. But it is good for what ails you. Particularly if sobriety is what ails you."

Colin gasped a little as the strong alcohol burned down his throat. "But... *cough* Ioseb? What... what are you doing here?"

"Drinking," answered the revolutionary. "Drinking, and thinking, and meeting with a few... ah... comrades." He glanced from Colin to Kieran and back. "And I could ask the same. You are, after all, Madame Giry's bodyguards - and truly, I would give much to have a chance to guard her body, eh? Eh?" He elbowed Kieran. "More importantly," he let his voice drop to a whisper, "you are here representing your governments in our matter of mutual interest. Did you have cause to believe that they were here?"

"You bite your tongue," Kieran chided at being told he looked wealthy. "It's borrowed. Like I'd ever spend such an insane amount of money on clothes." The Irishman tossed back the strong drink with barely a wince. It was strong, certainly, but he'd had worse and sobriety was most definitely what currently ailed them.

Booze didn't dull the pirate's sense of suspicion about the Russian, however. And that suspicion grew all the stronger when he started asking after them and what they were doing here. What business was it of his, anyhow? They had just as much a right as any to go about the city as they pleased, and at least they weren't meeting in seedy pubs with so-called "comrades," plotting who knew what. But then he expressed his concerns that the Devil Lord or someone affiliated might be in the tavern and his suspicions were slightly allayed. But only slightly.

"Madame's in for the night," he answered the revolutionary with a shrug, "and we figured how often are we gonna be in Paris? Just a night out; can't be working all the time, y'know. And for hating the bourgeoisie so much you sure are keen on Madame." Kieran raised an eyebrow at the small Russian. Certainly he'd never had any romantic interest in Anne Marie, but she was his friend and he tended to be rather protective of her when it came to suitors she didn't intend to kill.

"Ah, I see!" Ioseb cackled, clapping Kieran on the back. "Of course! Yes! I understand perfectly! This is Paris, after all, where the quality of the wine is exceeded only by the quality of the women!" He threw back another glass of vodka. "Sadly, the same cannot be said of the quality of their vodka - it is dreadful stuff."

" And for hating the bourgeoisie so much you sure are keen on Madame," Kieran added.

Ioseb laughed. "Ah, my friend! You mistake my ideals! I eschew all notions of status and property, holding all men and women as equals. And..." he leered, "I would dearly love to hold her as an equal. Hey? But I suppose I should not speak so of your charge, not to you."

Colin leaned in a little. "So... what were.."

"No!" Ioseb interrupted. "I am already rude, talking business. You are two men, out for a night in Paris. Come with me, comrades! This is a fine bar for intriguing and plotting, but not for entertainment." His chair scraped on the floor as he rose, and he slammed his empty glass back on the table. "I know a better place, for entertainment. A place where both the liquor and the women have all the qualities one could admire - both are strong, fiery, plentiful, and cheap!"

Kieran's eyes narrowed and a muscle in his jaw tensed as the Russian continued to outline just what he'd like to do with Madame LaMonte. He tilted his head jerkily in agreement when Ioseb realized he oughtn't speak in such a way about her to him. "Not to anyone, I should imagine," he suggested through clenched teeth. He opened his mouth to say more but Colin cut him off.

"So...what were..."

But the small Russian was already drunk and had forgotten his manners, choosing to interrupt Kieran's companion. He was right though; they were two men out for a night in Paris. If only the meddling fool could leave it at that. They were out for a night in Paris with each other, which certainly didn't include a third wheel along for the ride. When Ioseb standed, the Fenian stayed seated and smiled ruefully. "Forgive me, but I'm not really one for whatever diseases cheap Parisian whores might gift me. I'd rather stay and have it burn when I swallow than burn when I take a piss, if it's all the same to you. And we're not your comrades, mate."

Ioseb's eyes narrowed at Kieran's rather pointed words, leading Colin to step in before things could escalate. "My colleague," he said, clapping the pirate on the shoulder, "had a rather... ah... unfortunate experience at a house of ill repute in Vienna," he said. "I didn't witness the results, you understand. But he was relieve of considerably more than the price of the evening's entertainment."

Ioseb nodded slowly.

"And, apparently, his urine was bright green and burned for a fortnight thereafter," Colin added.

Ioseb's frown twitched at that.

"Ever since, he's been a little... gunshy, around ah... rented companionship. Far safer, in his mind, to seek after quality."

A bark of laughter escaped the Russian. "I see, I see! Yes, I see. I apologize, Kieran!" He poured another glass of vodka and pressed it into the pirate's hand, then poured himself another. "But what about you, Colin? Are you gunshy, as you say?"

Colin glanced at Kieran. "Let's just say that I have a taste for quality myself. And besides, I could hardly abandon my friend. Could I?"

"No, no, of course not!" Ioseb poured Colin another glass as well. "A toast, then: To friendship!"

The pirates entire body was tensed, more than ready for a fight with the nosy Russian. But Colin stepped in with quick thinking which really he had to give him credit for. Although...what was he supposed to have been relieved of? Was he...was Colin implying he was a eunuch? Kieran's reasoning was a little fuzzy with the expensive wine and strong, cheap liquor beginning to work its magic on his brain and wasn't quite certain what the officer was trying to get at. He was grateful, however, that Colin declined a trip to the brothels as well.

"To friendship," Kieran murmured, raising his glass slightly before tossing the shot back. It really was awful vodka.

"So do you mean to venture forth on your own then?" It was more suggestion than question, but he doubted Ioseb would see it that way.

Ioseb shrugged. "I can," he said. "But... even if you are uninterested in their wares, the liquor is spectacular and cheap. You are welcome to come with me still." He winked, nudging Kieran in the ribs. "And the women! They, surely, can persuade you to... ah... reacquire the taste?"

"I fear not," Colin intervened again. "We have plans for the morning. Regarding our... mutual friend."

The Russian nodded. "I see. Yes, I see. And it would be best to have your wits about you when dealing with our... mutual friend. And you, sadly, are not Russian. No offense, mind - but vodka is mother's milk to us, and we think well with or without it." He finished his glass off, and shook their hands. "If you need my help, my friends, simply inquire for me at this establishment. And if I learn anything, why then I will leave a message at Madame Giry's smoking establishment."

Rising once more, he pushed his chair back beneath the table. "Good evening, my friends. And good hunting!" With that, he threw a few coins on the bar and made his way out the door.

Colin watched him leave. "Does that man ever take a hint?"

Kieran watched the intrusive Russian leave. He rubbed his face and couldn't help but chuckle. The chuckle turned into a laugh as he pulled out a chair for Colin and leaned on the table.

"No wonder he lost his bloody 'revolution.'" The pirate had recovered from his laughing fit but his speech was still interspersed with church giggles. "Wouldn't know subtlety if it bashed him in the face with a brick, would he? My god! Not very bright, that one."

But there was a problem. Now that they'd gotten rid of the intruder on their evening out of their business, the two sailors were once again alone together. It was once again very much in the forefront of Kieran's mind that this was a date, with a man. A very attractive man, one he was very much interested in and one his vodka-blurred mind was beginning to imagine doing very interesting things with, but some thirty years of conditioning and denying who he was was very hard to wipe out in one evening.

"So how old are you, anyway?" The Fenian groped for a topic, any topic, to break the silence stretching between them before it could get awkward. "Don't think I've never learned."