Sabre’s cabin. She’s moved inside, the door closing behind her. DRAKE has removed his hat (if he still had it on), watching her warily. DRUM is likewise watching her, but with more genuine curiosity.
1. DRAKE: I’ve no truck with politics. Pirate or privateer sound
mighty akin to me.
2. DRAKE: But you saved our skins, and that buys a dram or two of
SABRE has moved closer to DRAKE, taking him in, and appreciating what she sees. Same manner as before, the grin even bigger. DRAKE and DRUM are watching her.
3. SABRE: ‘Ma’am’ blisters, Marshal, and I beg you not use it again.
4. SABRE: Captain, or m’Lady, or even Sabre, if you must, and Seneca
should we care to know each other better.
SABRE and DRAKE, face to face. He just doesn’t know what to make of her.
She’s grinning up at him.
DRUM is still taking it all in, mildly amused.
5. SABRE: Your badges tell of your office, but less of the men who
6. DRAKE: Miles Drake, Tanitin Marshal.
7. DRAKE: This here is my Deputy—
SABRE moving past DRAKE, surprising him slightly, as she approaches DRUM.
DRUM is watching her, his amusement mirroring hers.
8. SABRE: Who can surely speak for himself?
SABRE and DRUM looking at one another. DRUM has his gentle, private grin. SABRE is likewise meeting his gaze.
DRAKE, watching them. He’s less amused than they seem to be, to be sure.
1. DRAKE: He can, but like as not he won’t. He goes by Keyton Drum.
DRUM grinning at SABRE.
DRAKE looking at them.
2. SABRE: I see.
3. SABRE: Well, then…
On SABRE, the gleam in her eye.
4. SABRE: …which of you gentlemen has my key?