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."
The tick in Izzy’s jaw flares as it clenches a few times. Be cool. Be normal about this. Be super super normal about this and not at all a giant piss baby about losing his goal for the future and now also his protégé.
To some fucking (blind?) bird he’s never even heard of before.
Darcy is torturing him. That must be it. She’s playing chess.
Izzy crosses his arms over his chest, and when he speaks the strain is audible.
"She called me a pet murderer. That duelists were just... pet murderers for rich people. And I don't think I can be taught by someone who doesn't respect how I fight."
Huffs, "Oh and she said she wished my other teachers were here so she could 'send their balls flying out their mouths'. So look forward to that I guess."
Maybe Izzy should take a leaf out of Ed’s book for once. Maybe a good maiming would make him feel better about all the…everything. Erin, watch out. He’s gonna fuckin’ kill you. He flares with anger before pulling it tightly back against his chest. Not all that long ago Izzy was having a similar conversation with Edward about Stede Bonnet. What a mistake that had fucking been.
“She’d be dead before she got close enough.”
He was sort of looking forward to it now, actually.
..
“No, she doesn’t respect your skill or your craft. I’d be ripping her fucking head off if I were you. Manipulation pure and simple, completely unprofessional of a teacher.”
Darcy doesn't think she'll make drinking regularly a habit. It's like it's leeched both her nerves and her energy. She rests her face back down again, breathing out slow.
"Beer, wine and cider are easier to handle but they're sweeter," he says as he stands to get her a glass of water. Maybe some bar nuts or something. As per usual he went hard mode but.. maybe it was for the best. You aren't effective if you're drunk. He doesn't drink when he's working.
Edward does (did?) so Izzy can't (couldn't). At least back home. He doesn't know here, hasn't seen that lot for a while. He suspects nothing much has changed in doggy paradise.
"Thanks," Darcy takes the glass and forces herself upright enough to drink it, finishing the whole thing in an effort to try and feel less weird.
Her fingers tighten on the glass. It's hard not to mourn all the little acts of caretaking he did, knowing they're hinged on the roles they were playing. Not the overbearing parts, not the setting a course for her life parts, but the little acts of mothering like this. Speaking of,
"You pull up okay after everything yesterday though?"
No More Pirate Queen but still training sets them up for some kind of future failure Izzy does not want to attempt to parse out. Maybe he hopes Darcy will come to her senses and change her mind. Maybe he hopes he will and accept her decision.
He is not a man of hard boundaries when it comes to things like this. When it comes to people he’s chosen to put on a pedestal. When it comes to people he’s chosen to serve.
He isn’t ready to confront that, either.
“I’m fine.” Like it’s easy. It is, really. Izzy Hands is Always Fine. He has to be, there’s too much to deal with otherwise. He’s had to accept this situation of reality. He’s had to accept the insane, magic and people like Skulduggery fucking existing. He’s had to force himself to be able to converse with ghosts and wizards and faceless puppets and literal, actual gods.
Bringing up the mission is a relief, actually. It’s work. He can talk about work.
“Jenny-“ no. You should call a god by their true name, “-Guabancex is dead. For now.”
It's a good thing Darcy already had real moments of emotional connection and vulnerability with Dimitri earlier, because of course Izzy dodges the question.
"Kind of figured," she agrees with a small noise, "I'm... glad it was her and not one of us."
Just going to envision Izzy cutting his throat open in the same way and totally not stew on that for a bit.
Oh just like hoe he's thinking about Darcy doing the same thing now she's said it.
Thanks, asshole.
He tongues his teeth behind his lips.
"Yeah, though now I don't know if she'll be worth anything. She's a passenger same as us, now. What good's she in bargaining for freedom when she no longer has any."
It's something he wants, certainly. None of this daily interpersonal small fry shit, he needs action. Actual work.
"I've decided to stay close to her. See what happens. And someone has to keep an eye. God knows Skulduggery is busy enough and I have nothing else to do."
The same talking around each other that they usually do. Like nothing had changed really. They've circled back around to where they started, with her in Stede's pocket and a professional distance between them. Little breaches of their defenses had just ended up closing them up further. They know too much to be strangers and too little to be actually friends.
She sort of reaches for one of the shot glasses she pushed away as if just holding it was going to give her courage enough to speak.
"If you need my help with anything, I'll be there. That hasn't changed. I'm just... sorry I can't be what you want me to be. That's it."
He isn't expecting that one, and really he should have. She said it earlier in so many ways but to hear it like that..
Really, it just hurts. And now Izzy has to make a decision. Does he brush it off and carry on like he has his entire life? Or does he dare to dip a toe out from behind the wall of carefully, painfully maintained defense.
Thing is, it's exhausting, this dance. He's done it long enough that it's autopilot but...lately... it's just been so much. He's felt hollow in a way he can't quite sum and is, painfully, beginning to allow himself to think about why. Why is he so angry. Maybe it's the fact that every time he's ever shown weakness he'd been savaged to within an inch of his life. Maybe it was the fact that the only emotion to ever earn him any respect, was anger. But that doesn't work here, does it. That doesn't work anymore at all. And he aches so terribly.
Why does he care about Darcy LeJeune so fucking much.
Why is he allowing himself to care about anyone? Is it because Edward has moved on and left him behind? Is it because this world doesn't spin on the same axis of violence that his does? Or is it because he's changing.
He is changing. And it scares the absolute hell out of him.
But fear, as Edward has always said, is the most powerful emotion. And perhaps it's time for Izzy to harness that in himself instead of forcing it onto other people. People like Darcy.
"Darcy, I-"
he wets his lips.
"I just want you to be happy, yeah? You'd make a fine pirate, and you'd make a fine Blackbeard, of that I have no doubt. But it wasn't for me to put that on you. What I want, and I know you can be, is the greatest version of yourself. Whatever, or whomever that is."
She croaks. It's not true but it feels true in the moment. Useful yes, powerful maybe, anything else but... happy is for other people. Closer to the truth is-
"I don't know what I want. I don't know if I want anything."
"Yeah, that's kind of the rub, isn't it. That's what life is, unfortunately. You just keep doing what you're doing and suddenly you're old and everything is still the same and then you disappear. Only your back hurts. And you care less about what people think of you. And you still don't fucking know anything."
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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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To some fucking (blind?) bird he’s never even heard of before.
Darcy is torturing him. That must be it. She’s playing chess.
Izzy crosses his arms over his chest, and when he speaks the strain is audible.
“And…are you…actually considering her offer?”
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"I don't know. Probably not."
Still worrying over the scar.
"She called me a pet murderer. That duelists were just... pet murderers for rich people. And I don't think I can be taught by someone who doesn't respect how I fight."
Huffs, "Oh and she said she wished my other teachers were here so she could 'send their balls flying out their mouths'. So look forward to that I guess."
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“She’d be dead before she got close enough.”
He was sort of looking forward to it now, actually.
..
“No, she doesn’t respect your skill or your craft. I’d be ripping her fucking head off if I were you. Manipulation pure and simple, completely unprofessional of a teacher.”
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Darcy doesn't think she'll make drinking regularly a habit. It's like it's leeched both her nerves and her energy. She rests her face back down again, breathing out slow.
"I should probably get some water."
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Edward does (did?) so Izzy can't (couldn't). At least back home. He doesn't know here, hasn't seen that lot for a while. He suspects nothing much has changed in doggy paradise.
"Here, get this in you."
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Her fingers tighten on the glass. It's hard not to mourn all the little acts of caretaking he did, knowing they're hinged on the roles they were playing. Not the overbearing parts, not the setting a course for her life parts, but the little acts of mothering like this. Speaking of,
"You pull up okay after everything yesterday though?"
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He is not a man of hard boundaries when it comes to things like this. When it comes to people he’s chosen to put on a pedestal. When it comes to people he’s chosen to serve.
He isn’t ready to confront that, either.
“I’m fine.” Like it’s easy. It is, really. Izzy Hands is Always Fine. He has to be, there’s too much to deal with otherwise. He’s had to accept this situation of reality. He’s had to accept the insane, magic and people like Skulduggery fucking existing. He’s had to force himself to be able to converse with ghosts and wizards and faceless puppets and literal, actual gods.
Bringing up the mission is a relief, actually. It’s work. He can talk about work.
“Jenny-“ no. You should call a god by their true name, “-Guabancex is dead. For now.”
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"Kind of figured," she agrees with a small noise, "I'm... glad it was her and not one of us."
Just going to envision Izzy cutting his throat open in the same way and totally not stew on that for a bit.
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Thanks, asshole.
He tongues his teeth behind his lips.
"Yeah, though now I don't know if she'll be worth anything. She's a passenger same as us, now. What good's she in bargaining for freedom when she no longer has any."
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Aaaand Darcy's slumped back down again.
"All there is to do is keep... doing whatever this is, I think. Hope we make a breakthrough at some point. Keep training and... mm."
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It's something he wants, certainly. None of this daily interpersonal small fry shit, he needs action. Actual work.
"I've decided to stay close to her. See what happens. And someone has to keep an eye. God knows Skulduggery is busy enough and I have nothing else to do."
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If Ava didn't probably hate her by now she'd be thanking her for the little cushion against despair.
"It's probably a good idea. Don't get killed by her."
Even if it's temporary.
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A beat.
"Could probably use a little back up, though. If you know anyone."
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The same talking around each other that they usually do. Like nothing had changed really. They've circled back around to where they started, with her in Stede's pocket and a professional distance between them. Little breaches of their defenses had just ended up closing them up further. They know too much to be strangers and too little to be actually friends.
She sort of reaches for one of the shot glasses she pushed away as if just holding it was going to give her courage enough to speak.
"If you need my help with anything, I'll be there. That hasn't changed. I'm just... sorry I can't be what you want me to be. That's it."
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Really, it just hurts. And now Izzy has to make a decision. Does he brush it off and carry on like he has his entire life? Or does he dare to dip a toe out from behind the wall of carefully, painfully maintained defense.
Thing is, it's exhausting, this dance. He's done it long enough that it's autopilot but...lately... it's just been so much. He's felt hollow in a way he can't quite sum and is, painfully, beginning to allow himself to think about why. Why is he so angry. Maybe it's the fact that every time he's ever shown weakness he'd been savaged to within an inch of his life. Maybe it was the fact that the only emotion to ever earn him any respect, was anger. But that doesn't work here, does it. That doesn't work anymore at all. And he aches so terribly.
Why does he care about Darcy LeJeune so fucking much.
Why is he allowing himself to care about anyone? Is it because Edward has moved on and left him behind? Is it because this world doesn't spin on the same axis of violence that his does? Or is it because he's changing.
He is changing. And it scares the absolute hell out of him.
But fear, as Edward has always said, is the most powerful emotion. And perhaps it's time for Izzy to harness that in himself instead of forcing it onto other people. People like Darcy.
"Darcy, I-"
he wets his lips.
"I just want you to be happy, yeah? You'd make a fine pirate, and you'd make a fine Blackbeard, of that I have no doubt. But it wasn't for me to put that on you. What I want, and I know you can be, is the greatest version of yourself. Whatever, or whomever that is."
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She croaks. It's not true but it feels true in the moment. Useful yes, powerful maybe, anything else but... happy is for other people. Closer to the truth is-
"I don't know what I want. I don't know if I want anything."
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"Well in all fairness, you haven't had much of a chance to find out. Maybe that should be your purpose."
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If you get older, the Captain had said.
"I'll probably just... keep doing what I'm doing until I disappear. I think. Maybe if we get lucky and find a way out I'll work it out then."
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