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Miss Borghild does not say anything in response to his hopelessly flimsy save, but puts on that seductive smirk that is open to interpretation. As the doctor adjusts his glasses yet again, she can't help but stare at that unnaturally large nose of his for a couple of seconds.

She follows the man up the ramp, huffing impatiently as they get their footing on the deck. Without any command from the man or statement from herself, she heads below deck to the source of the angered whinnying. Perhaps half a minute passes, and then the noise finally stops.

Another minute or so passes, and Miss Borghild returns to the deck holding with her non whip-filled hand a lead to a small, stocky, squarish horse. "This is Thor, quite possibly the finest Norwegian fjord I have ever managed to produce. He is, as his entire breed, naturally small in stature, but there is no doubt that he could carry you across this island and back."

There is a pause in her speech, and then she continues. "Though truly, Thor- pardon my interest in Norse mythology- would be his name as a beast, and since he is to become a man, his name shall henceforth be Runcible."

The woman again takes on her default look of disdain towards her surroundings as the doctor acknowledges the animal. "A pony, indeed... but not one that should be trifled with. Although they are normally well-tempered... but that's no matter, as long as that filthy noble who tried to purchase him doesn't have him." Oooh, spiteful, are we?

It was true that Miss Borghild is a woman, but she is not completely stupid like the vast majority of them. Thus, it is natural that she pick up on the name the surgeon has chosen. Arching a thin eyebrow, she responds, "Caligula... I suspect you are speaking of a certain ancient Roman emperor who appointed his horse as a senator? Perhaps you aren't entirely humorless, doctor." The emphasis on his title is obviously not out of respect.

Honestly, actually being complimented by a man who is obviously a misogynist (it was clear as day when the man finally discovered that she was a woman) catches Alva off guard a bit. She smirks widely, eyes crinkling slightly. "Ah, it's just something I learned from a book about ancient Rome." Making a noise of amusement, she continues, "The Romans were the epitome of madness- having holidays constantly, finding entertainment in men slaughtering each other, and worshipping a different god every other day..."

As Alphonse reaches out to touch the horse, he chuffs loudly and shakes his head, also stomping his front feet slightly. It evidently is as fond of Moreau as it is of anyone other than Miss Borghild herself.

Upon the suggestion of finally going to the stables, Alva merely nods. She begins to lead the horse back down the ramp- backwards so the eye contact would stop him from being spooked, with a posture that one could balance an egg on. The woman smirks faintly as she notes that if the ramp gives out or one of them misses a single step, she would surely die.

"Well, of course I can read," Alva responds as huffily as someone like her could. "It would be an atrocity if I were illiterate." Okay, at this point she just wants to see how far she can go until Moreau's head bursts. Honesty and sarcasm; a perfect match. Remembering his question almot too late, she finishes with "I have my own journal."

She returns the smirk at Alphonse's comment. "Ah, well, then I will teach him to be sociable in good time, rest assured," she says, flicking her cropwhip to emphasize the word 'teach'. "I must admit that I have not yet used my usual disciplinary methods on this one, which was clearly a dreadful mistake on my part."

The doctor's voice calling across Caligula makes him freeze for a split second, but not enough to cause any stumbling or worse- though the ramp groans agonizingly. Deciding it would be convenient, Alva accepts the offer. "You most likely aren't the type to look through a woman's things, so if you must oblige, go right ahead. I put everything I brought into one bag."

Alva leads to the horse to the only slightly safer dock, and returns his icy speech with a tilted sidelong glance. "Well, doctor, I never was one to follow expectations," she replies. "If you have any more simply because I am a woman, you should prepare yourself to be disappointed."

As much as she knew she would learn to abhor this man, she also knew that every conversation they would have would be extremely entertaining. For that, she releases a low chuckle- something that could be interpreted as a response to Alphonse's disgust at her carrying a cropwhip.

The laugh only becomes more genuine as Moreau expresses his abhorrence at the notion of looking through her things. "Oh, how you jump to such conclusions simply because I don't follow a few ridiculous social standards... I had no idea that a woman could frighten you so." It's obvious that she's not about to tell him where her suitcase is; he'll have to find it himself.

Depending on Alphonse's thoughts and expectations at this point, the luggage would either be extremely easy to find or all but completely overlooked- it is a tattered, practically shapeless old thing with lumps and bulges here and there that may hint at what it inside of it. There is also a larger (longer than wide) case next to that one, tapered at one end; it is not as heavy as it looks because it contains a cello and such an instrument is mostly air.

...Her time on the island would be miserable and entertaining, indeed. This man is clearly the biggest misogynist she has ever come across.

As Alphonse stomps around below deck, Alva takes it upon herself to lead the horse off of the driftwood dock and onto actual land- can't be too careful. Both pointed shoe and hoof immediately sink into the sand. It is new sensation that the woman clearly dislikes, as her lips thin and she steps back to the dock to wait for the man.

Seeing him clumber back with those cases is a very amusing sight, but she still practically slaps herself for her rare bout of forgetfulness. "Oh, my apologies," she says, actually sounding sincere for once. "I forgot that I brought the cello along- I wasn't planning to until the last minute, really. Here..." She walks quickly up to Alphonse and liberates him of the cello case, somehow holding it in the same hand as her whip; her hands are far from dainty. "Now you can take that rag-stick out of your mouth."

Caligula had not done any sort of wandering, thankfully (though Alva most likely knew he wouldn't) so the only real ordeal she has getting back to him is stepping in that horrid sand. "Shall we go on, then?"

Alva nods in confirmation. "You figured correctly, and I'm grateful for it. I've had this thing for years; it would be horrid if one of those sailors were to pawn it off." Shifting it in her hand a bit, she continues, "I do hope it didn't get banged around too much on the trip... and it's probably miserably out of tune by now..." Wow, a spiteful b***h who cares about the welfare of a musical instrument. Who would've thought?

"I agree," she responds. There is no need to be curt at right this moment, really- but it's still a shock to see her so complacent. She waits for Alphonse to begin leading the way, saying, "Rain is horrid... I honestly prefer snow over it. But perhaps that's because it rains often in England, and I abhorred that place."

Alva nods slowly in approval at the mention of the piano. "Both skills require dexterity... I suppose it would be a matter of preference," she says. After a short pause to collect a thought or two, she continues, "If there is one standard of society I follow, it's the importance of music in it. Everyone should know how to play an instrument, or at least sing... I more or taught myself the cello, and also know a bit of harpsichord- though it would be too much work to drag one of those things on a boat." She smirks at the thought. "Ah, but I ramble."

"It seems that we were both hindered from work in England, but for obviously different reasons. Though I agree on the part that many there are close-minded," Alva agrees. "One thing I could never understand is how people there can have a healthy stomach from eating three meals a day." She grimaces slightly.

She nods again as she sees the stable building, and begins to lead Caligula there- however, the wretched sand seems to disagree with her intent to walk. "Damn these ridiculous shoes!" she interjects frustratedly. "Honestly, I'll probably break an ankle in these things."