“How do ye go about pronouncing that?” Deacon asks after a long silence “Than-di-we? Right?” he asks a rather educated man but the correct pronunciation escaped the limitations of his mouth. Although this was first interaction the doctor felt…well like a doctor should even to pirates, friendly, solid, unflappable by a person’s origin or creed. He pressed his hands together before stuffing them into the pockets of his pants continuing with the weather as the major topic of conversation. “I’ll be sure to enjoy the sun wail I can lass, how are ye so certain that there be a storm brewing?” he asks wondering about this strange painted woman’s methods of deduction.<br/><br/>Depending on her answer he was already sure this woman seemed waited as a cook, keen observation was a cornerstone of a medical practice and predicting weather through observation was a rather apt comparison test.  “Ye know, anyone can cook though, it takes a special breed to be prediction the weather, shows ye have yourself a talent of observation I think” he says  leaning against one of the  ships arm rails and enjoying the sun probably just as much as this painted woman. Deacon eyed the rest of the crew, men and women he would eventually need to get to know and bring into the fold, he was their doctor and even with his reputation he took that seriously unless…..one was un-deserving of being healed.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>