Why should I not? Doth he not deserve well? (for John)

[jackrackham]

Jack arrives at the archive cautiously, early in the morning, for the first time hoping that Eliot won't be here. He's looking for Martin, because he needs advice and can't think of anyone else that might give a damn about modern social mores around giving gifts. Martin likes to be helpful, and he's ostensibly friendly with Eliot, so he's definitely the best option that he has today.

Only, as the little bell on the door announces his arrival, he realizes that no one is here. No Martin, no Eliot, no anyone. He steps in, and heads for Martin's office to make sure he's not there. He finds an empty desk, a stack of files arranged neatly on one side. He could just grab them and leave with some interesting reading, but that's not what he's here for.

He heads towards the back, thinking that maybe everyone is going through boxes, but he stops when he hears a voice through the other office door. He knocks gently. No answer, so he opens the door and finds John sitting behind his desk, reading aloud. He hasn't had much time to speak with the man, but he recognizes him, knows him as Martin's partner in this business venture...or whatever The Archive actually is.

"Oh, I was looking for-" He stops. John is still reading. He doesn't look up, so Jack takes another step towards the desk. "Hello?"

Comments

[jackrackham]

"Ah..." Jack pauses, assessing John and whether or not to ask him instead. He doesn't know much about John at all, but...Martin isn't here and there's no one else that he knows to ask.

"Modern social rules?" He blows out a flustered breath. "Eliot has given Anne and me a number of very thoughtful gifts, and I had thought to return the gesture. We were all...ah, we were at a botanical exhibit last week and Eliot made special note of a particular rose, so..." From the inside of his coat, Jack pulls out a linen handkerchief embroidered with a spray of pink roses. It's not quite finished- a green thread is still attached, the needle tucked carefully into the fabric. He shows it forward to John. "I have some skill in embroidery and I do think that he would appreciate it but-" Jack looks down at his work. It had taken a lot of very careful work, and he'd only realized today that it could be taken the wrong way. "...is this romantic? Eliot fucks men and I wouldn't want him to think that I'm making any kind of overture."

[statement_ends]

John almost regrets the question — the answer is certainly none of his business, and the look Jack gives him suggests that he's weighing the relative wisdom of sharing his dilemma with someone who looks as if they've stumbled face-first into every bad outcome life presented to them. But after that assessing pause, Jack begins to explain himself.

John grunts in sympathy at modern social rules. Tricky enough to navigate when you have modernity on your side, let alone when you've been thrown a few centuries off your usual mark. Martin would indeed be a better source on the matter, John thinks, but Jack keeps going at a clip, pulling an embroidered handkerchief out of his pocket. John blinks down at it in surprise — Christ, can most pirates do that sort of thing? — and then his gaze flicks back up to Jack as he lands on a concrete question. A question which is immediately followed by such a blunt assessment of Eliot's proclivities that John has to smother a startled cough.

"Wh—I, er," he starts, glancing between Jack and the embroidery as he struggles to pick one point of initial focus, "I supp—Jesus, that's really quite good." The embroidery ends up winning out, and John leans in to take a closer look. "You've done all this in under a week?"

[jackrackham]

"Oh," Jack says, surprised and flattered by the compliment. "Yes," the corners of his mouth tip up into a small smile. "granted I do have a lot of time on my hands these days, but it's not so difficult. The skill is in keeping the back clean-" Jack turns over the handkerchief, showing that the design on the back nearly matches the front. "If you're not careful it can become a big knotted mess."

[statement_ends]

"Christ," John murmurs, impressed. He doesn't think he's seen such tidy work that wasn't done by machine, and he can't imagine how difficult or finicky it would be to do as much by hand. He almost asks if he can take a closer look, but the beep from the kettle reminds him that there's tea to be made — and a more pressing, if less safe, topic of conversation than Jack's embroidery skills.

John straightens, then turns back to the tea station so prepare them each a cup. "Eliot does have a rather developed sense of style," he muses as he plunks a teabag in each mug and pours hot water over them, "so that does seem like the sort of gift he would appreciate. As to whether it's romantic..." John cants his head briefly, then shakes it. "I'm of the opinion that nothing is inherently romantic, quite frankly. If that isn't your intention, then that isn't what it is." The alternative — that some otherwise neutral gestures are off-limits because someone, somewhere, might potentially get the wrong idea — is absurd.