"You're going to get raped, if you space out like that."

The black-haired, grey eyed young man turned his head slightly to the side to stare at the busty, brunette standing over him with little interest and returned his gaze to the grungy floorboards above him. The loud, tasteless music that echoed from the Davy Jones tavern above, filtered through the slow-rotting wood down to them. "What is it, Clara? I'm on break," he said in a bored monotone, somehow talking around the almost finished cigarette in his mouth. He shifted a little bit on his makeshift bench - a barrel that had been stuffed with some god-awful smelling substance - and uncrossed his arms. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and crushed it beneath his boot. Then he rested his limbs in between his thighs and closed his eyes. The raucous on the streets as yet another fight broke out added to the terrible music and was giving him a headache, which made him irritable.

Clara bent over further to look at the young man more closely showing off very deep cleavage; her bright blue eyes narrowing, . "Kris? Are you feeling all right? You look kind've pale?" She placed her hand on his forehead to check his temperature. "You're warm."

"I might be high," he muttered. The young man opened one eye and reached up to rest his rough hand over her delicate one. "I see you're not working right now." He watched in amusement as the young woman's face took on a deep blush. He released her hand and unbuttoned his shirt a little. He stood up slowly and looked at her, gauging her reaction. His sheath clinked loudly against the barrel behind him as he adjusted his sword belt more to the side. His grey eyes were dark and suggestive.

The young woman swallowed and giggled, her blush growing deeper. She shook her head rapidly and took a step back. "N-no," she stammered, her eyes widening as the situation changed. "I was just here to get some more ale." She turned quickly and grabbed two medium-sized kegs beside him on the shelf. "J-just ale." She squeaked when he took her arm and pulled her closer. "W-wait, Kris. Wait, we can't -!" Her words were cut off by a deep, tobacco flavored kiss. Her protest melted into a pleasured moan.

The young man released her arm a moment later and stepped back, his disinterested expression returning to his face; grey eyes dulling in boredom. Pulling out his tobacco bag, he calmly proceeded to roll another cigarette. "Clara, be more aware. This isn't the city anymore. Laws are rules: easily made; easily broken," he murmured, placing the cigarette between his teeth. "Men like me are hard to find. You'd better be careful."

Clara swallowed, her blush deepening as embarrassment filled her. There was a loud crash above them and a roar of laughter. The brunette sighed. "You'd thinking after making such a haul, that crew'd lay low for a few days... I bet every ship in the navy's heading this way. Poor turtle..."

Kris waved his hand. "This turtle's fine. He's been through much worse than a few ships battling it out. They'll get what's comin' to them." The grey eyes watched as the young woman made her way hastily to the door, anxious to get away from the shadowy man.

Clara adjusted her hold on the kegs and paused to glance at him again. "By the way, Kris... It's... Men like you... That scare me the most," she whispered to the doorframe. Then she quickly left, shutting the door behind her.

The young man snorted and sat down on his barrel again, the unlit cigarette hanging loosely between his thin lips. He closed his eyes and sighed, leaning against the support beam that looked as though it could easily be destroyed. He briefly glanced around the tiny, wooden storeroom momentarily, taking in the tattered, weatherworn state of the wood planks and beams, before settling into a more comfortable position. After a long moment, he realized his cigarette was still not lit. He chuckled at himself as he pulled out his box of matches. A quick flick of his wrist and soon there was a tiny flame in front of him. He stared at the warm, potentially deadly energy, debating his intentions, then lit the cigarette and watched the match burn down to his fingers before blowing it out. He inhaled deeply, letting the heavy smoke fill his lungs. As he exhaled, he murmured, "Don't worry... I'm scared of myself, too."