So long as it was a favor that came with no strings, no suggested requirements, no deal attached to it, Rosalie could deal with him fulfilling her request on a more personal and a less businesslike manner. She nodded once, considering his expression and going just a little flushed around the edges. She wasn't quite sure why it was embarrassing, or why his agreement left her flustered, and she wasn't in enough of an introspective mood to go exploring those emotions.

Instead she focused on the other half: the advance, how much he'd give her up front. Not a snappy reply but a slow one, careful. "For the sake of good relations, let's start by clearing up that four concord debt. Get that off the table, less of an elephant in the room. Beyond that..."

Rosalie blew out a breath, eyes twitching to one worn cuff of her shirt, considering the weight of the swords at her hip. "We could call it a solid seven, one month up front, or we could put the cost at however much it might take to outfit me, make me presentable, and get me some weapons that are actually weighted to my hand."

She looked up at him again, and now she smiled. Behind the green of her eyes was an ember of something excited. She could protest, but she was also looking forward to this. "I'll leave the choice up to you."

"Seven minus four? Or just seven?" Corwynn purred tauntingly, mocking a willingness to barter when he probably didn't care either way, one blond eyebrow reaching for matching curls above his weathered forehead. Fishing in his vest for his wallet, his eyes straying purposefully from Rosalie's pleasingly excited expression to the tabletop, the gunman nodded at the box, "I can't venture to say if outfitting you would make you any more presentable than getting you out of your clothing, but I can admit that when I said running into you was convenient, I meant it."

Ten rather surprisingly fresh birds stacked themselves on the table (two month's advance, minus that silly debt that seemed so important), the blond galdor's smile broadening wolfishly, "There's your clocking elephant ..."

"As for something weighted to your hand, well," he lingered briefly, purposefully on the box before looking up at the passive, blue eyes full of more than just mischief, "you should open that—if only so you can't say I never gave you anything. That would be a shame."

Rosalie let her fingers settle down onto box, one of her eyebrows twitching up in a manner that was sarcastic but sarcastic in a friendly way, instead of a hurtful one. There was still an edge of something thoughtful about it, calculating, working her way toward a decision.

"...negotiable. Why not compromise and make it ten-minus-four?" But this was accompanied with a twitch of a smile and then Rosalie gave in, leaning forward to flick the catch on the box and delicately open the lid. No wondering about what it contained -- she was too pragmatic for that. She'd just look.

Corwynn wasn't kidding. The carved wooden box, once opened, contained what could only be considered a gift that was most obviously meant for no one else but Rosalie. Polished and bright even in the purposefully dull light of the Dove was a pistol of pale wood and intricately carved metal, complete with a small bird in flight underneath the flint mechanism. It was small, but not too small, very likely well suited to the size of her hand without even a second thought.

"It's not loaded." The blond galdor offered smugly, a warm grin spread carelessly across his weathered, aristocratic features. There was no real hint of expectation in his tone or on his face; he seemed satisfied enough by her curiosity. Sliding his hand away from the tabletop, he left seven coins.

"Yet."

There was a breathless pause, a moment of fuzzy confusion on Rosalie's face, her head tilted to the side and green eyes gone hazy as they slid over the shape of the weapon in its box. She'd been entertaining the idea of a firearm, yes, but much in the way one considered someday buying a house: distantly daydreaming, and wondering at how to get into the position to be able to do so. Even the shattered gun was still in a box in her closet, ruined or no, whether or not it was likely to misfire on her...

"...I was thinking more along the lines of swords..." But, her voice said, this served. Even if it drew her one step deeper into Corwynn's trenches, and one step farther from the straight-and-narrow. Her fingertips settled against the bird in flight, perhaps an acknowledgment. This was a piece of work, whether he'd hunted it down or had it made.

"...don't even know how to fire the thing." Rosalie cleared her throat and shot a look up at him, rolling her shoulders and leaning back again. Fingers went not to the coin but to her hair; a little too long, sliding into her eyes, not quite so presentable as she'd like, just this moment.

"Sharp objects have never been my area of expertise. I'm sure you can afford to arm yourself as you please." Corwynn smirked at the passive, unwilling to conceal the satisfaction on his face, adding with sarcastic self-depreciation, "There's only a handful of things I'm particularly good at ... but putting together a firearm that works for the one intended to use it is just a small section of my skill set. There's a young man I know from the markets, deaf as a wall, really, but he can carve just about anything. Handy engraver, that one. The rest of that work sort of happens in my ... er ... spare time."

The gunman chuckled and shrugged, roguishly watching Rosalie as if he thought he should be taking notes on her composure, "I've got a feeling lessons could be arranged, if that's what you're asking ... A long afternoon of practice should be enough for you to get the hang of things, but it takes some time to perfect on your own."

He got his moment: then Rosalie blinked up at him, met his eyes, and made an almost rude little noise at his smug expression. It broke the spell, maybe, and drove her back toward herself certainly. Instead of fawning over the gun, she now reached out to snag the seven concords without comment or question and slide them down into her purse. She took care in double-knotting its strings, and tucking it in under her coat. Didn't trust the crowd, in the Dove.

"Are you offering, then? And isn't this...I mean, no one will..." Comment? Question? Recognize it? Rosalie cleared her throat and delicately closed the lid over her new gun.

"Because I've never armed anyone else here in the Harbor?" That definitely bordered on the bragging, bold lack of humility clinging to his words, "Not all of those with my weapons are on the same side anymore, so, really, it won't clocking matter in the end. Perhaps it will give you and the rest of them something to talk about. I'll never know what you say behind my back ..."

The blond snickered tauntingly, broad grin far from threatening. He looked past the passive, finally managing to catch attention of someone, anyone, willing to serve. Shifting his gaze back to Rosalie, he added, "You know where I live. I don't mind free lessons every once and a while." Corwynn chuckled, coy invitation clear.

Then the rather disinterested, slightly flustered waitress arrived with unspoken expectation. It was early, yet, and the witch still looked terribly tired. Maybe she'd worked all night before. Whatever the case, she sort of lolled her head to one side and managed hoarsely, "What can I getcha ..." It wasn't even a question, but the flicker of recognition of the galdor brought a hint of a forced smile across her face.

"Usual for me and whatever the lady wants." The gunman answered with a wave of his less-whole hand, still visibly amused.

"Something in the pot? Stew?" Rosalie shrugged up at the girl, the last of her flustered edge fading away into a slight frown. Trying to read the not-quite-believable smile that danced around the edges of her mouth when she looked at Corwynn and certainly not fond of the expression. It was simpering, she thought. Definitely simpering. The kind of woman who'd work to loosen his purse strings....

"Stew'd be fine. And beer." She didn't mean to be curt, not really, but the woman was in the way. And annoying in a way that made Rosalie's shoulders prickle. Not fond at all.

"Just don't bring your long face back to my table, either." The gunman chided, skirting along the edge of his typical, almost expected flirtatiousness.

The waitress sort of nodded, lingering with a suddenly warmed curiosity that was most likely not in her favor with the entire table, eying the galdor and then the passive before wandering away with a sort of half-grunt, half-smile over their respective orders. It was none of her business, really ...

Corwynn smirked, more watching Rosalie than keeping an eye on the witch wandering away, "So, I might have some spare time," he offered, arching an eyebrow and tilting his head at an inquiring angle towards her, adjusting the angle of his feet on the tabletop. His tone turned a little more taunting than coy, "Unless you'd rather find someone else, of course."

Rosalie's eyes followed the girl back to the bar, narrowed a little, still touched with uncomfortable annoyance. She passed it off as mere frustration with human and wicks, with the general low-down populace of Old Rose, an almost impossible hunger to get out of the harbor. With her arms folding over her chest and a short little noise, she raised her eyebrows and looked back to Corwynn.

"When? Today?" A bit too brusque: she didn't mean to spread her general world-annoyance onto him, and drew in a careful breath to swallow it down. Trying to retract her claws, and regather her composure. "When's the ship getting in?"

"Whenever. I'm mostly waiting for things to fall into place, so I have an unusually open schedule ..."

Corwynn didn't sound particularly pleased; he wasn't very good at waiting around. The gunman tended to get himself in trouble when he was too bored, at least, on most occasions. Too many occasions.

A hand strayed to his chin and he counted some days in his mind. He still had to guarantee that they'd be hiring crew members, but that was easy enough once the ship came to port as long as the highwayman was available. Rolling his shoulders in a casual shrug, he offered, "You've probably got a week. It depends on Loshis weather, really ... and whether or not the information I've gotten is reliable. I'm pretty sure it is, but it pays to be cautious."

"...then let me eat something, and we'll go shooting." One of her hands crept out again to snag the box and pull it in closer toward her side of the table. Rosalie didn't quite lean on it, didn't quite wrap and arm around it to protect it from a resnatch, or from prying eyes, but she did seem to angle herself toward it...

"You just tell me where." This held a more amused note, her shoulders sliding up in a shrug and one corner of her mouth tilted up. That light of excitement was still behind the green of her eyes.

The blonde grinned with only a hint of suggestiveness to his tone, "Well, considering the current complexity of our ... relationship, it'd be best if I kept you away from where the rest of the Brothers practice and safely tucked out of sight. You can decide whether or not that's unfortunate, I suppose."

He chuckled, "I've got plenty of beach for you to lose bullets into if you miss. It's also private enough property that we should be left to ourselves. Even if it persists on raining, I've got somewhere covered ..." Corwynn paused, given his knowledge for what he admired as Rosalie's penchant for trouble, he teased with a wave of his hand,

"Then again, there's always the streets."

"As much fun as it would be to go on a rampage through the streets of Old Rose..." She quirked a little smile at him and shook her head again, leaning back and folding hands across her stomach. There was some of that light mood clinging to her, either genuinely flattered or appreciative of the present, even if she'd never come out and say it...

"The beach sounds better. I assume your neighbors are used to the noise?" This last was wry, her eyes sliding away in search of the girl. Hopefully, she was ladling out something fresh, instead of working to resurrect yesterday's special -- but Rosalie would take it either way.

There was a pause, brief but obvious, where the blond seemed to consider for a moment whether or not the last comment was meant to be ... oh, surely it was. He snorted and rolled his eyes, finally giving into a warm laugh, "Neighbors? Gods, I don't have any ... unless Wavorly counts, and I'm clocking sure he's used to all the ..." he chuckled again, "noise, as you say. Then again, it depends on the kind of noise you're—"

There was a swish of fabric and the faint brush of a field as the waitress returned, unceremoniously plunking a two mugs on the table in front of their respective owners, tray balanced in the other hand, steaming with stew and a hunk of less than soft looking bread on a battered wooden tray.

"Yer orders." She grunted, this time without even trying to smile, though a hint of idle curiosity hung in her tone, "Enjoy."

Corwynn had neither ordered food nor ale, but apparently the waitress had decided that was his usual for the evening. She was, unbeknownst to her, definitely lowering her tip potential with each passing moment. As if she caught a whiff of this silent knowledge, she huffed and slunk away as quickly as she appeared.

"Well, surprise for me." Smirked the gunman, only a little perturbed, though the stew didn't look terrible and eating was not entirely a bad thing when one was hungry. He eyed the spoon for potential dirtiness before leveling it at Rosalie,

"Rampaging these streets may sound like a good idea, but, really, it's just very messy in the end. It's not as worth it as it sounds ... not that I'd know." He grinned.

"I imagine it's easier when you haven't been branded, too." There was just a pause, and Rosalie twitched him a slightly cooler smile; not retreating totally, not yet, thankfully. She snagged the larger piece of bread and dropped into her stew, in its entirety. That should soften it to edible, at the very least.

"I could start with cans, though, I think." Rosalie turned her own spoon around between her fingers, shrugging at him with her eyebrows raised, before she went digging for a piece of meat. "Or whatever it might be.

Corwynn grunted chidingly, shaking his head as he poked curiously at his food, "It's not like you flash it around or anything."

It wasn't that he hadn't eaten here before so much as he was unsure about the sincerity of their waitress. Deciding that the stew and the bread were safe enough for consumption, he looked up briefly, spoon loaded and waiting as he continued quietly, "Look, at least you're not in a blue Brunnhold uniform, either, scrubbing floors for a bunch of spoiled students. You can't have that much to complain about here in the Harbor when you're living outside those red walls—other than clocking stupid employers and the occasional bit of fear."

His tone was surprisingly warm, bordering on the sympathetic, but certainly not quite that far over the line. If anything, it revealed the extent of his understanding of life as a passive ... which was obviously very little.

A bite or two later, the older galdor shrugged, deciding the bread was indeed better as soaked as possible. Grinning a little over his mug, he added, "Cans are a good start. We certainly won't get around to any living targets today, I'm sure."

Rosalie shrugged off his consolations, mouth thankfully full of a generously sized bite of stew and eyes turned down in search of what she hoped and assumed was a mushy carrot. The best for him; he wouldn't have listened to a snapped reply anyway, and with green eyes turned down to her stew, she could contemplate practicing her shooting with him as the target...

She made just a soft noise, instead, chewing and finally shooting a look up onto Corwynn's face. Rather startling, sometimes, how clueless he was. Had to be voluntary. "...is it a crash course?" She swallowed first, at least, licking her lips, "I mean, you think I'm going to need the thing on the ship?"

"You've got at least a week!" The galdor retorted after waiting to finish his mouthful with obvious impatience, incredulous.

Oh gods, yes, was ignorance voluntary. As far as he was concerned, everyone was free enough in the Harbor, including in some ways himself. Wondering anything beyond that was thinking too clocking much, "You're welcome to practice more than once. No need for a crash course, really ... though, I'll be leaving town for a few days soon. I hope to be back before your ship arrives."

Corwynn smirked, glancing briefly at the box before looking down into his stew, tone of voice turning almost childishly coy, "I figured you'd want that on the ship. It's got a further reach than a blade." He was taunting to see if her question was a hint of ingratitude or something else, "If it's not something you think you'll need at all ... well, I suppose you can leave it behind somewhere."

Rosalie finally blinked back up at him, and twitched just a hint of a smile; teasing, maybe, certainly amused, and almost certainly at his expense. Had she made him jump a little? That was new. And fun. Her response was one quick shrug, rolling, her eyes still too bright and spoon making a slow circuit of her stew, working the bread in deeper.

"Will it take a week? I mean, it's a pistol, the great equalizer." Prodding another carrot, Rosalie settled elbows on the table and tipped her head, watching him. She was teasing. Probably. "You point it at what you want to shoot and it falls down. It doesn't sound all that complicated."

"It shouldn't take long at all ... it's hardly complicated." His tone was far from self-depreciating. He could say the same for any number of weapons—bladed ones included. Anyone could stab something until it died, couldn't they? The gunman added coyly, "It'll only take a week if you have no talent ..." Corwynn snickered, finally bothering to rescue his drowning bread, "... which is entirely possible."

Pausing to chew, his expression made it apparent that he wasn't certain that he'd really improved upon the texture of the stale but now-soggy substance. Definitely not. With a smirk, he added, "Anyone can wave a gun around. Anyone can probably shoot something. But not everyone can do such things exceptionally well."

The blond galdor didn't wait for a retort, grinning a little, "With a pistol, really, it's the care of the weapon that tends to make the difference in the long run, regardless of your aim. Knowing how to keep it up saves more than just your ass, really."

"Which is why the dockmaster's exploded." That smile flickered again, flashed in a less-than-nice, satisfied manner. Rosalie raised her eyebrows in two quick twitches, meaningful, as she bit the carrot off the fork and went fishing for now-soggy bread. He might have looked at the food with an air of uncertainty, but Rosalie dug in without hesitation.

"It's fine. I doubt I'll have much trouble." Maybe she spoke around the tail-end of her bite of food, thoughtlessly carrying through, tearing off another piece. It wasn't arrogant, exactly; just self-confident, comfortable. Rosalie was well aware of her limits, but also her ability. "I've always had something of a knack with weapons."

"No. His pistol was clocking junk. There's a difference ..." He reprimanded with a laugh, shaking his head as if it would further some point about craftsmanship without actually talking about it. Nothing exciting in that line of conversation.

Certainly Rosalie had to defend herself, and not simply because of her gender. Even if Corwynn had a limited understanding of the consequences of her birthright, he was confident only those who'd chosen to stand up for themselves by whatever means they could were actually able to enjoy even limited freedom as a passive. In theory, at least.

"Sharp objects? Canons?" The galdor grinned, something mischievous but distant, chuckling a little, obviously taunting her, "Unexpected moments of Truth? Hoping to add to your repertoire, are you?"

"Oh, the bloody canons..." Something about that had pinched her expression, made her twitch, shoveling a large piece of bread into her mouth so that she wouldn't have to finish the rest of that idea. Rosalie shook her head as she leaned back, stretching her legs out under the table. Her feet bumped against his, thoughtlessly, and she didn't comment or apologize.

Chewing her way through the food took her a long few moments, and the brightness of her expression faded some, in that time. Left her quieter and more serious, shrugging at him. "...I'm good at what I do. Not a bad thing. We'll practice, and figure out how much work I really need."