Beaufort gritted his teeth, still trying to shake that confrontational air out of his head, but unable to do so. It was something about being in...relative rags and having a sword at his disposal, and possibly that messed up accent, which made him feel like the coarsest of the French Navy, or worse, the Foreign Legion. "Who can blame me, when she's got a pathetic excuse for l'anglais as an 'usband. Hardly much fight in it." He found his hand reaching for his sword too, and the part of him which was still trying to make sense of all this desperately wanted to go 'STOP. RIGHT. NOW.' but his hand was closing around the handle and he pulled it out quickly, "I'd like to see ye fight for 'er for once. She worth that to ye, or are ye more prepared to fight o'er sommat more trivial, rosbif."
And yet, there were still insults from his time clearly thrown in there. The linguist in Beaufort's head was nearly as confused as the politician who couldn't believe there was a sword in his hand. Especially as he really had no idea how to use one.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2008-09-20 01:41 am (UTC)And yet, there were still insults from his time clearly thrown in there. The linguist in Beaufort's head was nearly as confused as the politician who couldn't believe there was a sword in his hand. Especially as he really had no idea how to use one.