"I won't pretend to be a man who can defend himself properly."
Sure, his short spell in the navy had given him enough training with guns, but he hasn't touched one since. The only way he would arm himself, even now, would be if he were shoved out on the battlefield to fight the third party. Not his favoured cup of tea, fighting.
"I'd best make friends with you, if I've any self preservation at all." He teased, however, no matter how grave his thoughts.
"...Please. Don't feel obligated to be nice to me just so you can live. I promise I also have a long-standing history of helping insufferable people. Call it a character flaw. Or equal opportunity heroism."
Her fingers knotted up in the borrowed tie. She was always a little...unsettled by tooting her own horn. It never had to be done, back home. The Slayer was the Slayer. Simple fact. People understood what that meant.
"I rather doubt anyone would have reason to go about killing a finely clothed homosexualist. Particularly without his ties to the information he'd be worth killing for."
Then, a bit of gallows humour. "Though I can't say the same of the Third Party. You must be extraordinarily valuable."
She dropped the article back into his hand -- letting it pool in his palm.
Did she, though? Did she know? Maybe she was learning; Jack helped with that. But she had grown so invested in her Slayerosity in the last few years back home.
"I also like long walks of the beach, sugar and milk in my tea, and ice-skating."
He'd always been particular about his. As he slung the tie over his neck and tugged on the ends of it, shifting it back and forth to slip beneath his collar, he remained impressed.
"Honestly? My favourite kind of tea is the kind I don't have to make myself."
With so much milk and sugar, who could be picky? And she didn't feel like blabbing about her medicinal, contraceptive tea that she took alongside her morning routine.
"Ease and comfort. I could see the draw if not for the sacrifice in taste." In, around, a thumb held here, and a loop around again, up and over, a thread through. Tug, tug. "Although I admit I'm a bit picky about tea."
"Are they? I was under the impression that a few of my countrymen were born inept at tasting those subtleties and brewing it properly." He had met men back at Cambridge who argued tea before. They had argued everything, back then.
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Sure, his short spell in the navy had given him enough training with guns, but he hasn't touched one since. The only way he would arm himself, even now, would be if he were shoved out on the battlefield to fight the third party. Not his favoured cup of tea, fighting.
"I'd best make friends with you, if I've any self preservation at all." He teased, however, no matter how grave his thoughts.
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Her fingers knotted up in the borrowed tie. She was always a little...unsettled by tooting her own horn. It never had to be done, back home. The Slayer was the Slayer. Simple fact. People understood what that meant.
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Then, a bit of gallows humour. "Though I can't say the same of the Third Party. You must be extraordinarily valuable."
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Oh. There was a little venom behind those words; she didn't enjoy seeing herself as such.
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He held his hand out for the tie back.
"You know you're better than that, and frankly, even now, so do I."
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Did she, though? Did she know? Maybe she was learning; Jack helped with that. But she had grown so invested in her Slayerosity in the last few years back home.
"I also like long walks of the beach, sugar and milk in my tea, and ice-skating."
More than a Slayer; also Buffy Summers.
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He'd always been particular about his. As he slung the tie over his neck and tugged on the ends of it, shifting it back and forth to slip beneath his collar, he remained impressed.
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With so much milk and sugar, who could be picky? And she didn't feel like blabbing about her medicinal, contraceptive tea that she took alongside her morning routine.
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