Grayell watched on but continued his discussion with Margrett.
Hm. So, in better news, it seems that our tolerance of a legalized drug trade has led to some interesting informants. The merchants who peddle the wares legally are not taking kindly to those still trying to shirk the law, such as the man I apprehended earlier. Should make our jobs a little easier, don't you think?
The legalized drug sellers have more to lose than we do, sir. We stop them illegals out of a personal sense of order or morality, but when they look at an illegal drug seller... She shrugged.
Indeed. Competition can make for rough waters Margrett. All of that desire but no way to follow through.
He smirked. He wasn't flirting, but was most certainly teasing.
Now, as Captain of the guard, you must be entirely capable in any situation. You are familiar with combat and woe befall the man hit by your hammer, but I am sorry I must insist that you train in unarmed combat. All our our recruits shall, best we set an example.
Grayell looks at her sideways and looks her up and down. Not the first time.
Only one way to find out Captain. Your armor is going to slow you down, just so you know. I do believe I can keep an eye on them whilst we see what you've got.
Grayell shrugged and removed his cloak. He draped it over a crate and then unbuckled his leather chest piece, removed it and his bracers. His sword was last, holding the pile in place.
Ah, but I'm rusty. In need of a good sparring partner. And as I recall captain, last time you were without your armor, you weren't entirely pleased with me.
Grayell swung his arms, rolled his shoulders and then rocked his neck side to side. He folded at the waist, feet together and pulled his forehead to his knees. Standing up he grimaced.
She rolled her eyes and unbuckled her breastplate and metal skirt. Everything else stayed. She had on the same shirt that she had when the werewolves attacked, the old but fine purple one. It was slashed across the stomach.
Grayell's left food slid out a weighs and his knees bowed, he shot one, two punches in the air with a satisfying whipping noise. He bounced, lifted his right foot and folded it back and forth ans then planted it. He relaxed, walked over to her and offered extended his hand.
I suppose I owe you a new shirt. But then we wouldn't get to see your navel. Oh my.. is it pierced?
No. No it is not, sir. She looked down at the hand.
You think I'm going to take it, interpreting it as a friendly gesture, a handshake before a fight, and then put me facedown in the dirt with some fancy move while telling me not to trust a friendly hand. She looked back up.
Grayell lifted his hands and then frowned - the punch connected with his cheek and he simply took it.
You know Marg, I'm not going to order you to try and hurt me. But I'm not in a hurry to whoop you to see if I'll spark a reaction either. Now, we can take this seriously, or we can just yank each other's chains and achieve very little.
Besides, if you don't take it seriously, I'll mess up that pretty face of yours.
Grayell groaned, an exasperated expression. He put his hands on his hips and stepped toward her, stopping immediately in front of her.
Let's get this out here and now. You're attractive. I might be old but I am not blind. You've got spunk, kick ass and apparently can bench almost as much as I weigh so guess what Captain, you're just my type. Sexy blue skin, muscular build, some scars to boot and shit, curves that won't quit. Yeah, I noticed.
Now, call me an idiot, I am a man after all; but I was under the impression that you were in turn being a tad flirtatious and in all honesty, it's quite enjoyable. But at no point, other than that gods forsaken mixed message prior to your damned bath at my house have I thought that you would entertain the idea of you and I grinding uglies because let's face it, I ain't your type. And that is just bloody dandy.
I have enough headaches concerning women at present and whilst I'd love to f***k my frustrations out of my system, I get the strong impression that you're not about to oblige which suits me just blood fine because fact is love, I just don't need another witch in my bloody head at this particular bloody point in f***king time!
Grayell closed his eyes. Where the flarb did that come from? Seems his stress was a little greater than he thought and he'd just blown something of a gasket. He hadn't yelled, nor had he been pissed, but he'd just ranted at his newly appointed town captain about matters somewhat intimate. He sighed, dropped his head and looked at her.
Look, I think you and I get along great. You know, getting torn up by a pair of fleabags aside, we've hit it off. Your a good sort and I'd like you to stick around and make my life miserable. But if my flirting makes you uncomfortable in any way, just lemme know and I'll knock it off? Deal?