“Purloined?” Phyri protested, just as playfully. “Rescued, I should say.” Whoever the old boat did belong to, she was rather on her last legs. And as this man had offered her a hand, Porphyria supposed she might find herself at liberty to fix the poor little barque up, give her a new lease of life. (And a permanent levitation charm, possibly.)
“And if I were to acquire her in that spirit,” she said, having already decided to magic the rowboat back home to Ireland, illogical and worthless as her treasure was (she might have bought herself ten boats in rather better wear for pittance), “...I hope I might trust you to keep my secret from the old fisherman?” She stooped to pick up her shoes and regarded Mr. Fisk with a dark solemness, wondering quite where he stood on casual boat-thievery. For the boat’s own good, of course.
“And if I were to acquire her in that spirit,” she said, having already decided to magic the rowboat back home to Ireland, illogical and worthless as her treasure was (she might have bought herself ten boats in rather better wear for pittance), “...I hope I might trust you to keep my secret from the old fisherman?” She stooped to pick up her shoes and regarded Mr. Fisk with a dark solemness, wondering quite where he stood on casual boat-thievery. For the boat’s own good, of course.
a sublime set by Lady! <3