youngcorsair-blog

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I’m actually on here today.  Would someone  like to do things with me?  That’d be nice.

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Pay heed of the morning red, they say,

That cries of blood in the night—

Of storm-gales in the placid sea, some say,

Or a Winter-fall o’ such a fright…

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Red Sky …

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 E v e n i n g   by Natanon Bunjong

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His gaze travels to the clouds, attempting to think of proper words to describe the difference. If you were to be a future captain, it would be good to be able to identify the signs of superstition  for certain things.  "Well, it's only got a difference in hue, really. The red is too vibrant; that's pretty much the only thing to tell."

Emma’s eyes raised to the sky, looking at the beautiful red. ”Are you sure? It looks like the same sunrise that happens every morning to me. How do you know that it’s different?”

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                                    ╔      Younger         ╗

                                          Killian Jones        

                                    ╚          AU              ╝

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"It's different than a regular sunrise, Emma.  It's brighter.  I don't think it's worth the risk.  Watch, we stay here  and by tomorrow morning we'll hear of a terrible storm on the waters.  It always happens."

"It’s just the sunrise, Killian. Have you never watched it before? It’s not a big deal, I’m sure we’ll be fine!”

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"You know what they say, right? Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning.  It'd be stupid to  get on that ship.  Even if the captain thinks it's a good idea. There'll be other ships, okay?"

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Bouncing on his feet, he finds himself nodding.  "It pays well, unless you're the other person."  Although he is only joking, it is a true factor-- depending on what it is the other has noticed.  "My pleasure," He states without thinking.  He could have turned her away, instructed her to find someone else who would do so-- because there are plenty who would even for a measly piece of silver, but many are untrustworthy; they'd turn someone in to the captain for the money he would offer.  "You're lucky you've managed to convince me, then.  The people who get on these ships are dastardly and slimy.  And I don't mean to brag, but I do have quite the knack for ships."  He looks at her hand, and as his manners would have it, took it and placed a quick peck against the back of it, not even thinking whether she'd be uncomfortable with the action or not (it is a force of habit, he finds, to kiss a ladies hand when it is offered).  "Jones," He drawls slowly.  "Killian Jones."

"It pays to be observant." Goldilocks replied, watching him expectantly. She could tell he was really thinking about it, which meant that he probably would not say no; which was a relief. It would be a lot easier to stow away with the help of someone who actually knew what they were doing. "Thanks. I appreciate it." Not that she was above stealing, but it was nice to not have to steal. "Don’t worry, everything will work out fine. I’m good at sneaking around and hiding. I just need someone who knows where to hide because I’m not very familiar with ships.” She paused, holding out her hand. “I’m Goldilocks. What’s your name?”

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He could deny the statement further, but it seems she already knows the truth.  "You're an observant one, aren't you?" Killian muses, shifting on his feet.  His lips press together as he stares at her, gaze flicking over her as he finds himself thinking what to do.  He is himself a stowaway-- technically speaking.  Usually, he never gets caught, but then again he is typically alone unless someone else had the grand idea of getting on the same ship.  With a deep sigh, he shakes his head.  "I don't want the silver.  If it's all you've got, then you'll need it if I can get you on one of these ships."  She would, after all, need some money for food or the likes-- less she wants to live a thieving life.  "But I can't make any promises, you are aware of that, correct?"

"Don’t play dumb with me. I know you hang around the docks a lot; I’ve seen you. I need your help stowing away on one of these ships. I know you can do it." Goldilocks replied, putting her hands on her hips. "I’ll give you a piece of silver if you help me. I know it’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got."

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"I don't know what you're talking about," Killian states, shaking his head as if to back up his response.  Truthfully, he didn't know what the other was spouting on about-- he hadn't done anything wrong, at least not for a while.

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"Sorry I'm so hard on you some times. I just worry that I'll lose you, too." //sorry he made me send it

"Brother, please," He tries to joke around, but his tone hints that he is being serious; a rare occasion for Killian.  He wishes he could dance around this topic like he can virtually any other, but sometimes that isn't the best for a situation.  "There is nothing in this world that could possibly take me from you."  Death, his brain suggests, but he pushes the thought aside.  Even if it was an inevitable fate-- the 'end game'-- it wouldn't be for many, many years.  "As your little brother, you are stuck with me for the rest of our lives."  Truthfully, he'd fight the creator of life itself to stay with his brother.  As the stubborn teenager that he is, he'd make sure to do what he has thought.  Even if he did get irritated that his brother acted more like an overly-concerned father at times, he could never wish harm to him-- or wish to be apart from him.  It was just a quirk of Liam's, he guessed, that he would accept him for.  He'll just blame the age he is for his attitude at different intervals.

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I read a thing and I'm like half asleep at my desk doing things, right, and all the sudden I'm wiping tears from my eyes and I'm just so emotional.  Literally the 'aw' that escaped my mouth was choked and I'm just like 'woah, aly; chill the fuck out'

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His apology dies on the tip of his tongue. He didn't see any true harm at asking the question; he was merely curious.  Too observant for his own good, perhaps, as it may have made her uncomfortable with his statement.  His explanation dances in his brain, attempting to make sense though the thoughts are jumbled and tangled in his head.  His eyes flick across her, and he has to restrain his hands from going up in a 'surrender' action.  "There's always a little of something to someone, I mean.  Whether it be a nervous tick or an expression of thought-- lost in it, no doubt--," He's floundering for the correct phrases, and finally he just stops himself, a single hand coming to scratch his cheek lightly in an almost flustered way.  "Or I just possibly read into things too much," He utters under his breath.

                  Even not paying attention, Emma knows that the voice was directed at her. She slowly looks up, raising a brow at the guy in front of her. It takes her a moment for to absorb his words, but when she does all the alarm bells go off in her head. Yes, of course she’s closed off. What, was she supposed to wear her heart on her sleeve? But how he’d so quickly figured that out was a mystery, one that she found a little unnerving. With an expression that clearly said ‘Who the hell asked you?’, she shot back a reply. “Excuse me?"

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His gaze flicked across her, attention solely on her rather than the other students in the class- or even the teacher. The lesson wouldn't be important for that day, anyway (he assumed, at least-- always the assumption he made.)  He took seconds for a laugh to become muffled by his palm after she spoke.  Yes, he knew that she surely was spending a lot of time and interest in the Shakespearean division in the drama class she takes [he only knew this from others in her class-- he would argue, though he knew this because he is surely focused on her in general], but he never knew to such an extent.  

He wastes no time in retorting, though he doesn't know the fancy language of the written Shakespeare decade.  At least he knows what she is translating to the romanticized classic English era.  "Surely better now that I have been graced with your shining beauty," He drawls, tilting his head as laughter escapes his lips.  Flirtations were his strong suit, and never did he grow embarrassed about the things that escapes his thoughts.  This instance is no different than any other.  

Yes, he is far from talented in the region of the dramatic arts, but at least he can somewhat understand what is being stated in the sort of drawl used in the past, when class was uttered by the shaping of words and formation of sentences [it still is, perhaps, but it is less beautiful when you only place a bunch of meaningless words together in hopes that it impresses another].

Amusement spread across her face at the title the other had spoken. Other times Emma could notice that he was more closed off and quiet despite having others, more popular people wishing and attempting to speak with him. But around herself, he was always more laid back and playful—- childish, even. Making as much of a mock-bow as she could while sitting in her seat, and directed it to the other in a ”formal” response to the title, planning to reply to the whole thing herself. Nothing better than a little bit of joking to make the morning to go faster, right? After all, who really needs to pay attention to class? “How art thou this wonderful morun, Knight Killian?" Instant regret and embarrassment came from the words she just spoke. Speaking before thinking was something she was a little too good at, and that came to be against her at the moment, at that silly, silly thing she’d just said. Maybe she needed to stop being so invested in Drama class, especially while covering Shakespeare.