Theo furrowed his brow in concern but decided against pushing the issue. Instead he chose to sit down at his piano to play. While Neal worked his magic, Theo played his. He picked something soft and soulful to play, a piece that spoke of gentle hope. It was hardly fitting for the time of year but was less mournful than some of the things he had been playing of late. He kept his fingers light upon the keys so as to not derail the conversations around him. But with his back to Fletcher he was kept from staring at the man for better or for worse.

Was he sick? His coat still needed repairing or replacing now with the damaged warming charms upon it. Add the drinking and the having barely slept the night before and of course Fletcher had caught some nasty humor that sought to settle into his lungs and bones. He would have to remember later to order up some tea for drinking and herbs for burning to help the man fight it out of his system before it could take deeper root.

To the side, Edwina continued her lessons. She relaxed quickly in the other man's presence and seemed completely unbothered by the fact that her fiancé was not only right there but deaf to her advances. In fact she took Theo's bait easily and was soon making jokes and lightly touching Neal with a sense of companionship. She shoved his shoulder or tapped his hand, laughed too loud or too long and continuously leaned in towards him as if hanging on his every word. 

"Of course, Miss," Neal simpered. Ignoring Fletcher's coughing fit entirely, he slunk over to join her where she sat. He was careful to leave a respectful distance between them, but already Fletch could see the little signals that his kind knew to display: legs pointed towards her, head tilted the same direction, mirroring her expression. Good. The man was doing what he was paid for.

Fletch turned to Theo, still rather irritated about all that he'd seen the man do. "No, no, I'm fine, I'm fine. It's nothing. Probably just dust or the cold or something." He glanced reflexively at his sleeve, but once again there was nothing there, and his concern eased again. It occurred to him that he'd never told Theo about those dark years when he'd been on the verge of succumbing to a disease that was half his fault and half a fact of life. If it came back, would it be his fault again? Or was it just inevitable?

He shook himself mentally and tried to put it out of his mind. It wasn't back. There wasn't any blood. Any fatigue he'd experienced lately was more than likely from the excessive drinking. And the cough was a smoker's cough, and the cold had just made it worse as it always did. That was all. Still, he looked distant and preoccupied as he picked the book back up and resumed his inspection of the ship drawing. He wondered if he should tell the man. Maybe not now. Maybe some day.

"No, not at all. Why don't you come sit by me and I'll show you the letters. You...can read normally yes?"

Theo bit his tongue and closed his eyes for a moment to not have to process the conversation happening in front of him. When he reopened them it was to see all eyes on Fletcher and the man in the throes of another coughing fit.

"Are you...alright? Would you like some water?"

Neal shot an uneasy look at Fletcher as though he didn't realize what he'd actually signed up for until that moment. "Of course," he replied. "I've been told I'm a quick learner. That is, if it wouldn't be any trouble to you, Miss."

Fletch had returned his attention to the book and made a point of leaning back into the chaise and grunting as he settled in. At Theo's second jab, though, his eyebrow twitched and his eye flashed murderously. He scoffed, then remembered himself and tried to pass it off as a coughing fit. And then it really did turn into a coughing fit, and he shut the book altogether and leaned into his sleeve, holding a finger up as he did.

"Fuck," he mumbled, sniffling and resuming that same relaxed position. "Ugh. 'Pologies Miss. Sir. Dunno what came over me."

"I should hope so," he replied. "It is meant to be my main language. Now Mr. Truckett see that you learn well unlike Mr. Daw here. Lady Obower is practically a master at this point in her skills. It would be beneficial to me if my staff could actually communicate with me properly after all."

"Oh Teddy," she simpered, "wouldn't you rather keep it just our little thing?"

"And hurt poor Mr. Truckett's feelings? Of course not my dear. He looks like he's actually pay you plenty mind in his lessons unlike some people."

It took everything within Kaela not to bolt for the den and just never come out of the den ever again. Only thing stopping her from doing that was the fact she had no idea how to get back without Raxta. 
So she walked quietly next to Raxta, the quietest she had ever been. 
Mentally Kaela was kicking herself. Why'd she have to go and say that? 

In the distance, thunder could be heard rumbling through the clouds, and the wind was beginning to pick up, whistling through the tops of the trees.

They got back to Raxta's den. Whether it was because of the impending thunderstorm or because the sun had sunk low enough to cast the jungle into shadowy dusk, it was now quite dark. Occasional flashes of lightning could be seen through the dense jungle foliage, and Kaela uneasily muttered a curse at whichever god chose to gift the jungle with a storm. She hated, absolutely hated thunder. 
Kaela ducked inside of the den and stood near the entrance, waiting while Raxta retrieved clothes. 
"I...I can sleep outside"—a loud crash of thunder interrupted her sentence, and Kaela jumped, right into Raxta's arms.

Oh. The signing. 

He shouldn't have allowed it: that sick and burning jealousy. It's fake, he reminded himself. It's all fake. He tried to use his memories of Theo's touch as a ward against it, but even those didn't entirely keep him from glaring at the two. What was the man thinking, letting her in on this? Why'd he keep encouraging it? Never mind the hit they were taking to how useful a secret language could be right now. It shouldn't have been happening at all. Not with that ungrateful, two-faced brat.

By the time Theo had addressed him, Fletcher regarded the illustration of the cargo fluyt with intense and sour contempt. His eye slid off the page to rest on the nobleman. "Wouldn't know, sir. I've barely learned the basics. That's more your area of expertise, really." He lowered the book and glanced over at Neal. "Could be useful, though, ey?"

The man smiled, first at him, and then more broadly at Edwina. "Certainly. Consider this bodyguard your humble student, Miss Edwina."

"Aneisha has been doing it for years. Perhaps your guards should train in it," he teased lightly before turning to a blushing Edwina. "Your food my lady." Theo bowed and swept an arm as if it was him that had made and carried it all up making the woman giggle. 

"Thank you," she signed back making him smile wider and more genuine. He took a seat at a small table with her where they could sit and talk.

While the pair signed in silly conversation, his eyes could not help but watch as Neal moved about the room again before taking a seat near Fletcher. He could not watch long and instead focused on gently redirected Edwina's hands into the correct positions for the words she was trying to say. His touch lingered as he smiled tenderly at her. 

"You're improving. You could teach, Mr. Truckett at this rate, couldn't she Mr. Daw?"

Fletch scowled, realizing in that moment just what kind of torture he'd given Theo free reign to enact. He did want more of it, it was true. He'd meant that. He thought he'd never be able to get enough of Theo's attention, of Theo's cleverness, of Theo's teasing. But holy hell, it would test his resolve. "Yeah, I know it," he muttered beneath his breath. "I seen you like eggs."

He followed the nobleman back to the piano room, moving rather slowly with so much to balance. By the time he'd caught up and set the trays down, he had a newfound respect for what Aneisha could do. "Neish makes it look easy," he complained as he stepped away and flopped back down on the chaise. Along the way, he nabbed the same old sailing book that he'd been very much not reading. He still didn't intend to read it, but at least it gave him a reason to look as preoccupied as he now did.

"I don't know. I kind of like the idea of making my dearest wait. Something about suffering making the heart grow fonder? Oh or was that absence?"

He grinned impishly with a knowing smirk as he passed Fletcher and lead him out of the kitchen. "Do try to not scarf it all down though. I happen to like the eggs."