Jacopo. It had been a long time since anyone called him that. Been a long time since anyone said nice to meet you, too. The weirdest thing was that she sounded genuine.
That could be a lie, though. Jacopo thought most people probably lied, especially when they appeared to be nice to him. But then, but then… she looked impressed, when he listed his languages. Having any sort of academic ability wasn’t something you bragged about in prison – indeed, the prison system had a way of taking talents and removing confidence in them. Society’s view of the criminal mind was that it was weak at best, lacking in basic intelligence, common sense, and/or fundamental morals. If you heard people calling you an idiotic scumbag enough times, that’s what you started to believe of yourself. When the woman said impressive, it relit a fire in Jacopo which had been stone cold since his trial. That was the first compliment he had received in years.
And the way she said it, too – with those playful but sincere green eyes, the little quirk of her eyebrow which backed up her surprise. Jacopo didn’t even take offence that she’d been surprised to find he had some intelligence. He felt like telling her that he knew how to swim, too. And he could navigate an integrated library system quicker than Sherlock Holmes could solve a murder mystery. Would that impress her?
He didn’t. Instead, he just held out his hand for the paper, which she placed cheerfully into. Jacopo glared at it, concentrating on the messy scrawl for about half a second before she scooted over nearer to him. Suddenly, it was difficult to focus. All he was aware of was her knee touching his, and the feeling of the air moving gently near his face as she breathed. He was probably imagining that last one, to be fair.
‘Come on, Agani,’ he gave himself a mental kick. ‘Concentrate on the damn paper.’
Her words helped to refocus him, a little. The woman might be a royal guard, but Jacopo was – had been – a Divine Scribe, and was highly trained in the art of deciphering crap handwriting. He grunted – a positive grunt – at her comments and reeled off the rest of the document’s text with a few hesitations here and there where he had to pause to try and figure out a specific word or phrase. Then he made the mistake of glancing up when she spoke, and lost his train of thought when she grinned, her green eyes lighting up with a glint of mischief. Jacopo covered his hesitation with a scowl.
“Who are you when you’re at home, then?” He grumbled. “Or should I just call you ‘captain’?”
There was no lightened tone, no smirk, no gleaming eyes – no indication at all that he had actually made a joke.
“Me too,” he grunted after a minute or so – about working in the castle, not about moving here a year ago with a charge. “Gardener.”
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