Re: The Deck, toward the Bridge
Expertly, Tarzan flipped the knife around so that the blade pointed outward, good for stabbing, disemboweling, and other dinner-related pursuits. Once she backed away he stopped threatening her breast and throat, but he did not immediately put the knife away. Many jungle creatures were good at duplicity, and she had so many moving parts that he suspected her brain pan held enough cunning to be deadly if he let his guard down. One of his intense eyes watched her shift her weight from hip to hip, and he was too strongly reminded of Sabor to force his muscles to entirely relax.
He did not force it, trusting in his instincts, since at present they were all he had on the strange dead ship. He was not worried about death in the way that perhaps he should be, and if the oiled muscles and striking reactions had allowed it, he might have had leisure to reflect on what would happen to him if someone decided that the sparkle on his neck was worth challenging him. None of the jungle creatures had ever shown the slightest interest in the sparkle, except perhaps the parrots and monkeys, but only for diversion's sake. They learned quickly to avoid coming in Tarzan's reach.
"Mine," he repeated, calmer now. "Tand-kree wo-ul-Tarzan." It was mostly grunts, and he accompanied the instruction with another threatening brandish of his blade, making the don't touch my things very clear.
He crouched a little deeper on the railing and tilted an ear toward the distant music and sounds of conversation. He made an effort at the speech of men, his sharp features twisting in annoyance at the necessity. "Who you?" he asked bluntly. He couldn't muster up worry or fear about Being Tarzan, but he could be irritated about it. He poked the blade in her direction, demanding. "What you?" She had to be something. "Me Tarzan, you-" Another poke at the air between them.