The place is huge, far bigger than the Guthrie estate-turned-opium-den-turned-Rackham's salon, and what's more is that everything's clean. That's the true cultural difference, as it were--that there's no sand, no heat, but everything is actually in a place annd undamaged.

Max seems to be living it up, in her own calm and restrained way, although Silver swears he sees just the tiniest bit of resentment. It's gone the moment the crowd around her, and she answers their questions calmly and honestly, not holding back. Silver isn't one for kids but he knows what he was like at that age, much-preferring honesty. Not that he's had that luxury.

Ah. That's what it is. Silver resents luxury, even if he doesn't resent Benedict. Currently, the other is a sight for sore eyes, despite the teasing--and mostly that had been to get a rise out of conservative Benedict without the others knowing.

He's pleased when the other sits next to him, even moreso when someone hands him tea, though what he really wants is rum. He feels awkward even holding a small cup like this, something that would have been traded for a song back in Nassau.

It's the small child that peers up at him, curious, that gets Silver's attention. The pirate king looks at the child--Gregory, it seems--and leans down so he's as eye level as he can be, looking the other dead in the eye.

"Are you quite sure you're prepared to hear tale?" He asks, and while he seems deathly serious, there's a glimmer of playfulness in the corner of his eyes, the way he seems to barely hiding a smile.

He does love to tell a good story, and what better audience then children?