And sure enough, tucked up in a back corner at the Drunken Sailor looking incredibly suspicious, it's Darcy. Tired, but cleaner than he last saw her. It's probably absurd how nervous she was feeling, but... well, they needed to talk, even more than they'd needed to prior to the mission. Maybe the alcohol would make her less nervous. It was meant to do that.
Dutch Courage and all that, or whatever it is the kids call it these days.
Izzy gathers himself, feeling much the same, and appears at the table fifteen minute or so later. He still doesn't trust the elevators so it takes a bit longer with all those stairs. That and he's had to change. His only decent shirt is fucked so here he is in Tommy fucking Bahama. In public. At long last. Horrible.
"Sour," sweet puts her teeth on edge. Darcy doesn't point out the shirt, figuring he's sore enough about it as it is. Even if she admired him for tearing up a piece of home in the name of helping someone who'd tried to kill him. Complicated man. Maybe her mistake was in thinking she had him figured out.
Izzy nods and leaves her for the bar, orders, and comes back with a small black tray of shots. Excessive, maybe, but this is a tasting. And it's something to do. And think about. He would do just about anything if it meant not having to think about what just happened.
"Right." Izzy sits and lets his fingers hover over the little groupings he's had made for them.
"This is rum, sweeter side of the scale but it's just about all I know how to drink. This is whiskey, this is vodka, this is gin, and this is tequila. All of'em are gonna burn the fuck outta your throat and they all taste like shit until you're used to them, so just take a little."
Darcy nods, taking the shot glass with the rum in it and... look she's still trying to impress him in spite of everything, so she downs the shot.
Immediate instant regret, she grimaces and he was right, it fucking burns, all she can taste is rubbing alcohol- sweet? Fucking sweet? This is what he thinks sweet is? It's awful. It's a mix of willpower and the fact that eating a ghost is nearly as bad that means she doesn't gag.
"Okay- not doing that again. Jesus Christ- you do this on purpose? Like, for fun?"
Izzy resists the urge to laugh, though his lip does quirk. So much for sipping.
"You do it on purpose to get drunk."
But not...always the case. Izzy's first instinct is to explain the link to sailing. The guy just can't turn off, can he.
"Fresh water doesn't keep on a vessel, but alcohol does. There's a balance of thin rum to water called grog. Isn't great, but it keeps you from dying of thirst. Keeps the men happy."
Izzy points to the tequila.
"That one has a trick. S'what the salt'n lime are for. Lime makes all of these more palatable, actually."
Right. He links it back to sailing and thus links it back to the whole damn reason for this talk. He's still talking as if she's going to end up a pirate, even if he's not meaning to.
Darcy takes the gin next, and it's medicinal and bitter, but... kind of nice? The herby flavour makes the rubbing alcohol taste less awful, and she has to grimace a little less through it.
"And getting drunk is genuinely worth this? Because it is fucking awful."
It's just his natural way of things. All he knows. Hard to talk about things you don't know about, ehn.
Izzy weighs his answer with a small, verbal shrug.
"Yeah, seems to be the case. Drink for fun, drink to forget, drink to let go or be social. Given this evening I'd say the goal would be to forget."
And Darcy is two shots in. Izzy elects for the other shot of rum and drinks it like water. He doesn't like having his guard down but... fuck it. He's earned this, hasn't he? He just sat witness to the death of his only plan of escape from this hell ship.
"I don't know about forgetting," the two shots in quick succession have made her feel a little lightheaded. She drags her thumbnail back and forth over the lip of the shot glass, humming low.
"Back on the island, it wasn't me crying. I think it was the same thing that made Skulduggery start screaming. Probably the same thing that made Jenny..."
Izzy remains as defensive and closed off as ever. Darcy rests an elbow on her leg and then her chin in her palm, trying to keep herself steady, bracing herself.
"You were wrong. You didn't deserve me hitting you."
Darcy finishes off the last of the gin in her glass.
"I miss you. I miss training with you and I've missed you looking out for me. But I can't do that shit again. If that's what happens when I let you down or whatever, then I can't. I can't do it, Izzy."
There are ways a person needs to behave when you live in in the kind of world Izzy does. There are rules and regulations, there are games, there are intricate little rituals to the life is navigated. They aren't always good rules, but they're rules all same.
Sometimes, especially when his grip on the world is pulled from under his feet, those rules are broken. This world runs differently and he knows it, but the progress is fragile and the moment something happens, he is instantly transported back home where losing control meant certain death.
He thinks back on their fight and what prompted it, and likens it to the hundreds of the little daggers in his back from a life of manipulative, dramatic captains. Of begging for information, of begging to be let into a plan, or begging to be made effective in his station. Izzy Hands was known for being three things: loyal, dangerous, and effective. when one of those things is called into question or he's blocked out of it, his stability careens off it's axis and he reacts blindly and with anger. It was never Darcy's responsibility to bring Izzy into the fold, it was Stede or Edward who should have done that. Neither of them knew, so the thought to tell the new guy something important fell through the cracks and when it all came out for airing, Izzy felt the rug pull hard enough to fall. Darcy took the brunt of it because that's who MurderBot sent him towards. It wasn't her fault. It was never her fault. He made her pay for it anyway.
It was wrong and it sits heavily in his chest. It has for weeks.
Izzy swallows, opens his mouth to speak, and closes it again.
Another beat goes by and he is silent, not for lack of want, but for lack of words to transpose his mess of emotion into something coherent.
"It won't happen again," he manages and wets his lips. Suddenly his throat is dry. This was a mistake. He hasn't prepared to have this conversation. Three times he'd tried to do this and failed and now it's been thrust upon him. Go fucking figure that is so fucking standard.
(Maybe it's the only way anything gets done.)
"I... said things I regret. None of them were real. I was angry n'... it wasn't your fault. You have been nothing but loyal and reliable and...I don't know. Fucking...impeccable, actually. But you didn't deserve that. And I came to hurt you. By design. And I am truly sorry, Darcy."
Turns out alcohol doesn't numb feelings like everything she's absorbed has told her. The same unthinkable unspeakable mass of anger and grief stays, and she notices herself get angry when he says it won't happen again. An old festering anger still around from the fight like something left at the back of a cupboard.
"How do I know it won't?" she asks, her voice tight, "how do I know it won't happen again when there's worse consequences? That you won't just fucking maroon me somewhere?"
Because there's the rub. She's been allegedly perfect, and it still has not been enough. Which means either she hasn't been perfect, or Izzy is unworthy of her. This was an awful idea- she's not going to cry obviously, but god it's a lot.
"I still want you around, I just... I can't be in a position to disappoint you again. No more pirate queen shit."
That’s the route out of this, is it. Izzy isn’t sure what’s worse, his disappointment in the loss of a legend or the self loathing that follows when he realises that’s what he thought of first.
So fucking pathetic.
But if she wants freedom from the weight of that future…why want him around at all. All he’s ever done is dangle a thrilling future and attempt to grind her down to see her spring back stronger. That’s how it works. That’s how legends are made. How Blackbeard was made. Oh god.
Darcy isn’t Edward. Izzy can not make Darcy into Edward.
Fucking hell, that’s what he’d been doing, isn’t it. The thoughts are so very visible as they work across his face.
“Alright then. If you’re sure.”
He skips the second gin for the tequila. No salt. No lime.
Darcy can't stomach the feeling of drinking more. Is she sure? Yes. She was sure when she told Stede she was quitting and then he reaffirmed his care for her and ruined it. She was sure she was okay with how things were going with Skulduggery and herself up until he affirmed he was willing to try the father figure thing for her. Darcy knows what she is. Knows she's hard work and thorny and probably not worth the effort. But it had meant a lot when Stede and Skulduggery had been willing to fight for her.
Izzy accepts it quietly and she restrains the urge to punch him again. Really has to flex her fist for a moment. There's no way in her mind to ask for what she wants here. She can't even nail it down for herself.
She slumps her face on the table now. Pushes the remaining shot glasses away with a finger. Her face feels weirdly uncharacteristically warm. It's unpleasant.
"What now?" she asks, a mirror of the conversation in the car.
He doesn’t fight her for it at all. Does he want to under all his self realised horror? Yeah, of course. She could be a giant amongst men if she wanted but that clearly isn’t her dream. Maybe it never was. He’s pushed her too hard and too far, already.
He’s realised that forcing her to do anything doesn’t work.
He is tired. He can not chart her life.
He has always been able to settle for scraps.
Izzy receives the leftover shots and pulls them closer, albeit absently to occupy his hands. He does not see the irony.
“I’d like to resume our training, if you’d be open to it. If it doesn’t encroach your independence.”
"Mm. I've been going half nuts without someone to train with. And... I can tell I've been slipping. This lady- new arrival, we had a duel at the fight club and she... nearly fucking killed me."
Darcy rubs absently at a fresh scar on the back of her neck.
Darcy jolts a little at the sudden forcefulness, lifting her head up off the table to look at him.
"Erin, her name was. She's got a... blindfold."
Darcy may have been pretty sure there was some magic shit going on there but admitting she got her ass kicked by a lady in a blindfold was going to sound ridiculous to Izzy. Probably.
"I'm fine. It was like... her proving she had the bigger dick or whatever. The punch hurt worse than the cut," and she worries the new scar on the back of her neck with her thumb.
"I'm dealing with it. Or- I will anyway. I told her I'd think about her offer."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
I will retire to the Salton Sea, at the age of 23
is the offer for you to teach me how to drink still on the table?no subject
Offer stands.
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are any of the bars any better than any of the others or should i just pick oneShe's hoping this is just... usual Izzy terseness. In a way she's kind of missed it.
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...jenny's brothers?A very brief pause.
i didnti just talked with someone about her before the mission and we noticed the bar thing
i only just put two and two together before you get mad
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I'm not mad.
I'm glad you know.
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see you when you get here thenAnd sure enough, tucked up in a back corner at the Drunken Sailor looking incredibly suspicious, it's Darcy. Tired, but cleaner than he last saw her. It's probably absurd how nervous she was feeling, but... well, they needed to talk, even more than they'd needed to prior to the mission. Maybe the alcohol would make her less nervous. It was meant to do that.
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Izzy gathers himself, feeling much the same, and appears at the table fifteen minute or so later. He still doesn't trust the elevators so it takes a bit longer with all those stairs. That and he's had to change. His only decent shirt is fucked so here he is in Tommy fucking Bahama. In public. At long last. Horrible.
"Do you prefer sweet or sour?"
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Izzy nods and leaves her for the bar, orders, and comes back with a small black tray of shots. Excessive, maybe, but this is a tasting. And it's something to do. And think about. He would do just about anything if it meant not having to think about what just happened.
"Right." Izzy sits and lets his fingers hover over the little groupings he's had made for them.
"This is rum, sweeter side of the scale but it's just about all I know how to drink. This is whiskey, this is vodka, this is gin, and this is tequila. All of'em are gonna burn the fuck outta your throat and they all taste like shit until you're used to them, so just take a little."
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Immediate instant regret, she grimaces and he was right, it fucking burns, all she can taste is rubbing alcohol- sweet? Fucking sweet? This is what he thinks sweet is? It's awful. It's a mix of willpower and the fact that eating a ghost is nearly as bad that means she doesn't gag.
"Okay- not doing that again. Jesus Christ- you do this on purpose? Like, for fun?"
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"You do it on purpose to get drunk."
But not...always the case. Izzy's first instinct is to explain the link to sailing. The guy just can't turn off, can he.
"Fresh water doesn't keep on a vessel, but alcohol does. There's a balance of thin rum to water called grog. Isn't great, but it keeps you from dying of thirst. Keeps the men happy."
Izzy points to the tequila.
"That one has a trick. S'what the salt'n lime are for. Lime makes all of these more palatable, actually."
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Darcy takes the gin next, and it's medicinal and bitter, but... kind of nice? The herby flavour makes the rubbing alcohol taste less awful, and she has to grimace a little less through it.
"And getting drunk is genuinely worth this? Because it is fucking awful."
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Izzy weighs his answer with a small, verbal shrug.
"Yeah, seems to be the case. Drink for fun, drink to forget, drink to let go or be social. Given this evening I'd say the goal would be to forget."
And Darcy is two shots in. Izzy elects for the other shot of rum and drinks it like water. He doesn't like having his guard down but... fuck it. He's earned this, hasn't he? He just sat witness to the death of his only plan of escape from this hell ship.
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"Back on the island, it wasn't me crying. I think it was the same thing that made Skulduggery start screaming. Probably the same thing that made Jenny..."
You know.
"Thanks for not letting me fall on my face."
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Izzy nods.
It makes sense, in any case. The sudden water works didn't seem like Darcy in hindsight. He doesn't know how he made it out of there intact.
He clears his throat. Gratitude, huh.
"Yes, well," he says and straightens up a little. Praise is still praise. "We got through it."
I never would have left you behind, he means.
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"You were wrong. You didn't deserve me hitting you."
Darcy finishes off the last of the gin in her glass.
"I miss you. I miss training with you and I've missed you looking out for me. But I can't do that shit again. If that's what happens when I let you down or whatever, then I can't. I can't do it, Izzy."
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Sometimes, especially when his grip on the world is pulled from under his feet, those rules are broken. This world runs differently and he knows it, but the progress is fragile and the moment something happens, he is instantly transported back home where losing control meant certain death.
He thinks back on their fight and what prompted it, and likens it to the hundreds of the little daggers in his back from a life of manipulative, dramatic captains. Of begging for information, of begging to be let into a plan, or begging to be made effective in his station. Izzy Hands was known for being three things: loyal, dangerous, and effective. when one of those things is called into question or he's blocked out of it, his stability careens off it's axis and he reacts blindly and with anger. It was never Darcy's responsibility to bring Izzy into the fold, it was Stede or Edward who should have done that. Neither of them knew, so the thought to tell the new guy something important fell through the cracks and when it all came out for airing, Izzy felt the rug pull hard enough to fall. Darcy took the brunt of it because that's who MurderBot sent him towards. It wasn't her fault. It was never her fault. He made her pay for it anyway.
It was wrong and it sits heavily in his chest. It has for weeks.
Izzy swallows, opens his mouth to speak, and closes it again.
Another beat goes by and he is silent, not for lack of want, but for lack of words to transpose his mess of emotion into something coherent.
"It won't happen again," he manages and wets his lips. Suddenly his throat is dry. This was a mistake. He hasn't prepared to have this conversation. Three times he'd tried to do this and failed and now it's been thrust upon him. Go fucking figure that is so fucking standard.
(Maybe it's the only way anything gets done.)
"I... said things I regret. None of them were real. I was angry n'... it wasn't your fault. You have been nothing but loyal and reliable and...I don't know. Fucking...impeccable, actually. But you didn't deserve that. And I came to hurt you. By design. And I am truly sorry, Darcy."
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"How do I know it won't?" she asks, her voice tight, "how do I know it won't happen again when there's worse consequences? That you won't just fucking maroon me somewhere?"
Because there's the rub. She's been allegedly perfect, and it still has not been enough. Which means either she hasn't been perfect, or Izzy is unworthy of her. This was an awful idea- she's not going to cry obviously, but god it's a lot.
"I still want you around, I just... I can't be in a position to disappoint you again. No more pirate queen shit."
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That’s the route out of this, is it. Izzy isn’t sure what’s worse, his disappointment in the loss of a legend or the self loathing that follows when he realises that’s what he thought of first.
So fucking pathetic.
But if she wants freedom from the weight of that future…why want him around at all. All he’s ever done is dangle a thrilling future and attempt to grind her down to see her spring back stronger. That’s how it works. That’s how legends are made. How Blackbeard was made. Oh god.
Darcy isn’t Edward. Izzy can not make Darcy into Edward.
Fucking hell, that’s what he’d been doing, isn’t it. The thoughts are so very visible as they work across his face.
“Alright then. If you’re sure.”
He skips the second gin for the tequila. No salt. No lime.
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Izzy accepts it quietly and she restrains the urge to punch him again. Really has to flex her fist for a moment. There's no way in her mind to ask for what she wants here. She can't even nail it down for herself.
She slumps her face on the table now. Pushes the remaining shot glasses away with a finger. Her face feels weirdly uncharacteristically warm. It's unpleasant.
"What now?" she asks, a mirror of the conversation in the car.
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He’s realised that forcing her to do anything doesn’t work.
He is tired. He can not chart her life.
He has always been able to settle for scraps.
Izzy receives the leftover shots and pulls them closer, albeit absently to occupy his hands. He does not see the irony.
“I’d like to resume our training, if you’d be open to it. If it doesn’t encroach your independence.”
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Darcy rubs absently at a fresh scar on the back of her neck.
"Offered to teach me, afterwards."
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Said in the immediate and without any hesitation. Who’s this new bitch, she’s dead.
“Who is she?”
And belatedly but far more importantly,
“Are you alright?”
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"Erin, her name was. She's got a... blindfold."
Darcy may have been pretty sure there was some magic shit going on there but admitting she got her ass kicked by a lady in a blindfold was going to sound ridiculous to Izzy. Probably.
"I'm fine. It was like... her proving she had the bigger dick or whatever. The punch hurt worse than the cut," and she worries the new scar on the back of her neck with her thumb.
"I'm dealing with it. Or- I will anyway. I told her I'd think about her offer."
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