Lucius ignores the tipsy rudeness (ignores might not be the right word? Revels in is perhaps closer) and moves to pluck up the fancy little skull bottle. He can barely smell the alcohol wafting up which is either very promising or very foreboding--if Izzy's had a bit, though, it can't just be a bottle of novelty garbage, can it?
Lucius, who has absolutely no compunctions regarding putting his mouth on things that other people have, hoists the bottle and tales a drink directly from it. It goes down like water and, oh dear, he can feel the searing burn down his throat. This is dangerous.
"I have extremely good taste," Lucius crows as he lowers the bottle. He does not, but he is extremely lucky. Mostly.
But, Izzy has asked him something, hasn't he? He glances at the other man, proper Pirate Israel Hands, who is begrudgingly wearing a stupid shirt and looking a little too resigned as he sits on the edge of his fluffy, properly mattressed bed. He questions him about the torture and, really, Lucius might have expected that. He offers up the colorful skull for Izzy and goes to stand by him.
Lucius is bold but he's not about to drop onto Izzy's bed next to him.
"Well, last time, it was...divided?" Lucius says. He's not sure if he's told Izzy all this. He expects his first day was overshadowed with terror and awe, so perhaps it bears repeating.
"Half the ship went to an island, the other half was stuck here. The island folk were, apparently, forced to slaughter one another," Lucius explains and his gaze drifts upward as he tries his best not to recall the specifics. That apparently sticks out like a sore spot and he avoids prodding at it like he avoids actual work.
"Over here--you know all those little, those?" Lucius asks and gestures at the television. The ones in the rooms aren't little, not by any measure, but they looks similarly enough to the other screens scattered about the ship. Most of the others are just playing banal nonsense, ship news, slideshows of vacations or menus, that sort of thing.
"Every single one on the ship played...their deaths. In graphic detail we got to watch. Had to watch, really. Over and over and over. Everywhere. For days. They played...very chipper music behind it and had...funny sounds to accompany the--" He grimaces and a little shiver climbs up his spine. No he cannot remember this without more alcohol. Even with, just the description has him paling a bit.
no subject
Lucius, who has absolutely no compunctions regarding putting his mouth on things that other people have, hoists the bottle and tales a drink directly from it. It goes down like water and, oh dear, he can feel the searing burn down his throat. This is dangerous.
"I have extremely good taste," Lucius crows as he lowers the bottle. He does not, but he is extremely lucky. Mostly.
But, Izzy has asked him something, hasn't he? He glances at the other man, proper Pirate Israel Hands, who is begrudgingly wearing a stupid shirt and looking a little too resigned as he sits on the edge of his fluffy, properly mattressed bed. He questions him about the torture and, really, Lucius might have expected that. He offers up the colorful skull for Izzy and goes to stand by him.
Lucius is bold but he's not about to drop onto Izzy's bed next to him.
"Well, last time, it was...divided?" Lucius says. He's not sure if he's told Izzy all this. He expects his first day was overshadowed with terror and awe, so perhaps it bears repeating.
"Half the ship went to an island, the other half was stuck here. The island folk were, apparently, forced to slaughter one another," Lucius explains and his gaze drifts upward as he tries his best not to recall the specifics. That apparently sticks out like a sore spot and he avoids prodding at it like he avoids actual work.
"Over here--you know all those little, those?" Lucius asks and gestures at the television. The ones in the rooms aren't little, not by any measure, but they looks similarly enough to the other screens scattered about the ship. Most of the others are just playing banal nonsense, ship news, slideshows of vacations or menus, that sort of thing.
"Every single one on the ship played...their deaths. In graphic detail we got to watch. Had to watch, really. Over and over and over. Everywhere. For days. They played...very chipper music behind it and had...funny sounds to accompany the--" He grimaces and a little shiver climbs up his spine. No he cannot remember this without more alcohol. Even with, just the description has him paling a bit.