Nico’s nose twitched in the wind of Mako’s passing and his eyes followed him out of the room.
He had no desire to captain. He did, however, have some idea of who he would be able to benefit from them being captain. He was calculating, thinking, planning, when-
The words caught Nico off guard, shifting his attention entirely. His impassive face finally split into a pensive and deep frown. The brazen push for … what, building relationships? was so lacking in subtlety that it was repulsive. The question, the goal, was so clearly forced - so what was the motivation?
Not realizing he’d been staring intently at Tharos, his eyes flicked to the sword man - not to be confused with the sword boy, a thought that caused a brief flicker of a grin to flash across Nico’s face (you need to watch your facial expressions in this group, Nico).
He had to admit, he made a striking figure. Grizzled and experienced, both of which were clear purely in his appearance. Dangerous too, but not in the same unsettling way as some others here, but at least in a much more real sense. Nico’s eyes traced the unfortunate limbs. Rook was likely the most competent for the job. And he had made a good argument already.
Now, how to disarm him?
… No pun intended.
His mouth twisted into a rakish grin, so close to being genuine as to be indistinguishable from that quality. He cleared his throat, but remained sitting. A certain … unimpressed light seeped into his expression, slightly appraising - designed to unsettle, to cause self doubt and second guessing.
Maybe he was about to make a dangerous enemy.
“Pardon me, sir.” He used the honorific, to imply seniority - in more ways than one - but not acknowledge captainship, “But perhaps … perhaps there are more qualifications than experience. After all, every ruler had advisors. Do those advisors, then, deserve to rule?” An avenue out for Rook, for later. “I would argue that our leader should have an entirely different quality… the ability to lead.” The implication of incompetence was less subtle than he had first intended. Enemies were being made. “Count Coal was once a great seafarer. My previous captain spoke of him with fear.” A fabrication. “But that was a score of years ago. Where, then, have you been all this time?” Nico grimaced inwardly. He felt true sympathy for what he was to say next, whether it had the effect he intended or not.
He stood, his posture that of a gentleman, his hand resting on his cane. He was no longer smiling.
“And furthermore,” His eyes slid to the table, briefly, and then back to Rook’s eyes, to indicate he was getting to the true point of his words, “there’s the matter of … presentability. If you’ll pardon my saying, as I mean no offense … You don’t appear to be in the best of health.” He paused for effect, his eyes tracing up and down the man, his scraggly beard, grimy hair, his sharp frame. He hoped other eyes in the room would follow. He grimaced pityingly, but did his best to make it seem unintentional - as though intrusive thoughts had seeped outwards. He wiped it from his face quickly, to complete the flourish.