Not many people defied Jacopo; most took one look at him and decided to keep well out of his way. His scowl deepened when the woman glared back at him and made it evident, through her tone, words, and body language, that she wasn't going to let him stop her from collecting her papers.
In spite of his appearance, Jacopo was an administrator, not a fighter – he was all bark and no bite, largely because his confrontations never got to the point where he needed to bite. The bark was enough. Faced with a situation where the bark didn't work, however, he was a little lost for how to proceed, and it showed. He grumbled under his breath in Italian as she walked across his garden, and stomped his foot once or twice, but he didn't chase her off or start yelling again. If the yelling didn't work, what was he supposed to do now?
A distraction came swiftly in the form of the otter – presumably the woman's familiar – who scrambled up the steps and started sniffing his feet. Jacopo resisted the overwhelming urge to kick the furry monster in the face, and satisfied himself instead by baring his teeth and making a loud, wordless noise at the little creature, which was something between a roar and a snarl. Seemingly unperturbed, the otter pounced on one of the papers as it blew gently over Jacopo's boots. He looked up to throw the woman an outraged comment, but stopped himself for the second time in as many minutes. Now that she was closer, he could see she was about the same age as he was, with similar olive-toned skin and course, black hair. Her pale green eyes looked more tired than angry up close, but there was a definite fire to them. Maybe she was Italian. Jacopo hoped not. He'd said some pretty rude things in that language under his breath.
'Hang on,' he thought furiously, 'since when do I care what anyone hears me say?'
“Yeah, well - ” he started in the face of her apology, but stopped. Again. This time he wasn't sure what made him pause, until he replayed the words in his head and realised – she was a captain. Of an army, presumably. Jacopo's expression gained a hint of grudging respect while his mind worked overtime to process this new information. According to his burnt file, the only army on this island was the king's, which meant there was a good chance this woman worked at the castle. She'd probably be more useful as a friend than a foe. Or, at least, as close to a friend as Jacopo ever got with anyone. “Well,” he grumbled, “then you better come in and sort them out.”
His glare didn't soften as he said it, and he didn't hold the door open for her or smile or make any other inviting gesture – instead, he just turned and stomped back inside the house, leaving the front door swinging. It was about as welcoming as Jacopo could be. He didn't offer her any drink or refreshment, and just thudded back into his living room and flung himself grumpily back into his chair. There was another chair and a coffee table for Birch to sort her paperwork, if she followed him. |