#AND WE'VE BEEN JOKING ABOUT GETTING THE ENTERPRISE. JOKING. OR AT LEAST I THOUGHT SO

[mothmans-cumrag]

HEY QUICK QUESTION DID I MENTION MY DAD WAS CRAZY?

BC HE GOT ME FUCKING THE REAL ACTUAL PLAYMOBIL ENTERPRISE FOR MY BIRTHDAY AND WTF FIRST OF ALL THAT WAS LIKE 500€ AND SECONDLY AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH

[honorhearted]

"Our parties can get a bit spirited, I'm afraid," John said, explaining away Benjamin's injury -- or at least, what he'd been told. "I can't believe Mr. Eddleston's elbow just flew up like that!"

"Oh, he certainly had a reason," Benjamin replied, sparing Emma a wry glance. "He gets most spirited about his Plott Hound."

"You were serious about the hogs? I thought you merely had a strange sense of humor."

Despite Emma's prior rancor, there was clear amusement -- perhaps scorn? -- in her eyes. Unruffled, Benjamin asked, "And what's so surprising about raising livestock? We all need to eat, do we not?"

Her query was expected, and already one that John, himself, had asked. What did surprise him, however, was Emma's sympathy towards the soldiers -- perhaps all solders, given her commentary.

Reassembling his features into a passive smile, Benjamin replied, "As many as it takes. At the start, I thought we could begin with forty. If more are needed, I have several hoglets being raised as we speak."

Emma straightened in her seat. "Forgive me, Mister Bolton, but my father knows my stance on the matters regarding the war. My mother was from the British Isles, so people tend to think we're loyalists. But, in reality, my family is the only thing I aim to be loyal to."

Benjamin blinked at her, intrigued to find his suspicions confirmed. "As any honorable daughter should be," he reassured. "I, too, am merely lending my aid for the sake of family and friends and country -- because truly, how am I to know if the men abroad are honorable, decent men whose lives are worth the sacrifice? I'm merely abiding by the desires of my own family."

Emma shrugged. "That is to say, yes, the hog trade could be useful, but there might be better investments yet to come."

Benjamin tightened his hands. "Such as? In this day and age, I'm afraid that waiting around for better opportunities isn't quite the luxury we once had."

She inquired about his textiles then, and with a snort -- God, she was good -- he coolly allowed, "Not the Caribbean, if that's what you're implying. I do not build my wealth upon the backs of slaves for my enterprise. Everyone involved is local, and of my own choosing, though we've sent off for a fair amount of trade along the English Channel."

When Emma leaned towards him, challenging him in her demeanor, Benjamin subconsciously found himself doing the same. "As of last year, we upgraded to looms," he said. "Some of my traders and employees -- the older ones, naturally -- are more dead-set in their ways and stick to the roller print method, but they're so quick and efficient that I wouldn't dare ask them to change."

At present, everything seemed like a game to this woman. The tragic fact remained that he rather liked what they were playing, so he was in no hurry to recant.

Before Benjamin could offer more information, a servant stepped lightly into the room, then bent over to whisper something into John's ear, who straightened with a look of delight.

"Ah, it would see Mr. Willoughsby is here with details on our latest endeavor!" he exclaimed. "Excuse me a moment, won't you? I'll return shortly, Mr. Bolton, but please: continue engaging my daughter in our plans. Perhaps you'll make an admirer of her yet!"

The two men exited the room, and then Benjamin and Emma were left in silence. His stiff posture instantly softened into a huff. "Did I pass your test?" he asked. "Or are you going to make yet another pig joke, and then ask for my entire genealogy? Seeing how our two families are going to be joined very soon, of course."

He allowed a smirk, relaying to her that he had not changed his mind about his earlier intentions, no matter how false they truly were.

"Thank you." She replied curtly, refusing to even look in his direction while accepting his compliment. Without moving her gaze towards him, she volleyed an attempted compliment back. "Your face seems to be healing well."

Given our stimulating talk last night, I'd been hoping we might run into one another again. Emma bristled at how casually he spoke of their encounter. Her fingers curled into fists and, to quell the trembling in her bones, she kept her gaze on her father. She would not let him rile her up again. He had come very close to winning last night and Emma refused to give up the ghost this time.

"Daddy, you're beginning to sound like Aunt Caro. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were the one who spent three months abroad." She joked, but the smile didn't quite reach her eyes. Although Emma had never known her mother, John Dunster had always been doting towards his only child. She never doubted her purpose nor her worth--or at least she didn't most of the time, in different company-- but she wasn't used to him doing so in front of others. In London, it had made sense for her aunt and uncle to introduce her with such high praises. They were trying to attract attention then, but here? Attention from Mister Bolton was the last thing Emma desired.

"You were serious about the hogs?" Despite her determination to avoid engaging with the enemy, Emma couldn't help but shoot him an amused albeit irritated glance. "I thought you merely had a strange sense of humor."

As Bolton continued, Emma turned her attention away from her father's guest, listening to him as her eyes remained glued to her lap.

"And how many hogs do you propose for such a trade? I admit, I'm not entirely sold on the idea of continuing to fund atrocities, but," She sighed. "The poor soldiers do not deserve to suffer for the Crown's misgivings. Whatever side he's on, no man deserves to starve fighting someone else's battles." As though she'd forgotten with whose company she was in, Emma raised her eyes and flushed.

"Forgive me, Mister Bolton, but my father knows my stance on the matters regarding the war. My mother was from the British Isles, so people tend to think we're loyalists. But, in reality," Sparing a glance to her father, Emma continued. "My family is the only thing I aim to be loyal to." After a moment, Emma finally turned to face Bolton, an inquisitive look on her face. "That is to say, yes, the hog trade could be useful, but there might be better investments yet to come.

"As for textiles, may I ask, where exactly do you get your resources from, Mister Bolton? Where do you collect your materials and from where do you source your dyes? Do you produce the textiles domestically, or do you rely on importation? And do you still employ the use of a roller printing for quality, or have you adapted to the use of the power looms to increase production?" Leaning forward, Emma tilted her head, mildly taunting yet sincere in her questioning. "I am eager to hear more about the details, if you don't mind terribly."