Lucius almost feels guilty for his initial wariness as he picks up the banal white teacup. He would never have guessed that Izzy would pour him half, nor that he'd keep polite conversation while doing it. It's...shockingly normal, almost personable behavior for a man he was pretty sure would rather run him through than look at him. This whole situation is as unexpected as it is...kind of pleasant actually.
Weird.
"Sort of?" Lucius answers with a wishy-washy hand gesture. He blows on the cup of tea, gives it a second, and then takes a sip. It's actually quite good, he realizes with a jolt of surprise. He'd not ordered it from that place, but he might have to see what it's like cold with...all those sweet little snacky-add-ins.
"He's not really got one, not a formal one," Lucius explains and gestures idly as he does. "I do a lot of the jobs, keep track of rations, pay salaries, take dictation, but the other bits? The...tactical and sailing and crew morale and such? That's all other people. Buttons, Olu, Frenchie--I guess we don't have anybody here for it. Hm."
That's disconcerting and Lucius pulls a face before taking a healthier drink of his tea.
"I rather think he'd prefer to die," Lucius admits with a shrug and then realizes that conveys an idea that's not quite accurate. He shifts to hold his cup between both hands and peers at Izzy. Izzy who is waiting for his to cool, clearly. Smart.
"I mean I'm sure he's got it in him," Lucius clarifies. "Can't imagine him making a point with it, but he surprises me just as often as everyone else. Hard to call, really."
He glances pointedly at the cup.
"You...don't like Earl Grey? Or is it the lack of sugar and cream?" He doesn't sound sarcastic here, just curious, and feels another twinge of guilt. He could have filled a bag with those little cups and packets of extras. They had them, it just hadn't occurred to him in the moment.
Hate it, he should say. But he just can't quite bring himself to.
Izzy looks down at his cup. The scent is so fragrant and whimsical, how could he hate it?
He supposes the opinions on Bonnet are largely acceptable, though not entirely soothing. What he is certain of is, if there is something nefarious afoot, not!mate Spriggs is none the wiser. It would take a coward to send poison in this manner.
He doesn't hold Stede above that, but it would be extremely cruel.
"No," almost distracted. Izzy rests the cup on his gloved palm and rotates it to the right and back. There's almost no dregs in the bottom. It's an extremely clean pour.
"I prefer it black."
He lifts it to smell, breathing in with some small pleasure but searching for the earthy almond and floral vanilla of arsenic.
"How did Bonnet know this is my drink?"
It seems a level of keen attention to detail he wouldn't attribute to the Pirate Bluebell.
Lucius has never seen a man treat a cup of tea this way but, then again, every time he'd ever seen Izzy with one it had been in a tin mug that he'd made himself. Maybe he did this with every cup? Who knew.
"Uh...I don't think he did," Lucius admits and lifts his own cup to finish it. It gives him a moment to think of an excuse but, tragically, he's a terrible liar. There's nothing for it.
"The shirt was his...idea? More or less," Lucius explains. "The book and the tea were mine."
"Stede? No, no--I, no," Lucius answers quickly with a snort. He has trouble even wrapping his mind around the concept. First of all it was ungentlemanly behavior, so that put it right out, and second...he's not sure the idea of poison would even occur to him. Besides, where would he even get poison to put in tea--
Wait.
Hang the fuck on.
"Was that why you waited for me to finish?" Lucius asks, suddenly aghast.
Izzy had stood there while he made it because he wanted to be sure Lucius wasn't doing anything suspect? He poured him a cup--not out of the niceness of his fucking blackened little heart, but because he thought it was poisoned!? He thought Stede had poisoned it and wanted Lucius to test it first!? Yes, that makes much more sense, of course, but now he feels both incensed and like an idiot.
"Oh my god--" Lucius says and hops down from the dresser to just be furious for a moment. "--I cannot believe--you know what? Rude. Even for you."
Izzy’s brows pin high for a moment. Lucius is nothing if not animated.
And maybe he has a point.
Maybe he shouldn’t have said that.
But what’s more did that mean this guy was really just in here having a cup of tea with him? At five in the morning? To be friendly? With him??
Tea he had brought off his own back, with a book no less, to.. to what. Soften the curse of that shirt?
Izzy has to bend a little with the revelation. And yes, his assumption was rude. Paranoid. Maybe a little dramatic.
Not ideal.
“Was a bit, yeah.”
Another sip. He hears the outrage but stays passive and looks at the tea maker thing where he spies the two little cookies wrapped in plastic (what even is that) in and amongst the foreign tubes of what are apparently coffee.
Izzy snags one of them between his fingers, inspects it, and offers it to Lucius.
He's expecting dismissal, or sneering judgment, or even a baldfaced accusation of idiocy. Lucius is absolutely primed to throw any and all of that right back in Izzy's face. Instead, what he gets...is Izzy taking a sip and offering him...a shortbread cookie? Lucius reels but, then he continues and--
It's almost an apology?
"Uh--" Lucius starts dumbly and takes the little proferred cookie. It has a tiny ship debossed on it. Just like that Izzy has cut his legs out from under him (metaphorically).
"Alright," Lucius agrees, for lack of anything else to say. He takes a bite of the cookie and considers Izzy, his brow furrowed as he chews. When he swallows, he says:
"In all fairness, I should warn you: I did poison the book."
Not really idiocy if it's an point blank, accurate outrage. Lucius Spriggs is a stupid fucker but he isn't stupid.
This footing is new, though. Unsettling to say the least. For once- for once it is Lucius on the back foot is only for a second before he reels for a quip back.
Did-
Did Izzy just win this interaction? Does this set a measure of balance back into the competing ledgers? Fucking excellent!
Until of course the book comment and he knows it's a lie but oh you fucking brat. It's too early for this bullshit.
"Right-" shooing at the door. "-get out or I'll make ya fucking eat it. I will."
Fair. Lucius takes another bite of the cookie and nods as he heads for the door. He talks while chewing which is extremely rude but, on balance, not more rude than using someone to test for poison.
"Nice chat," he says. "Same time tomorrow?"
He does not want to be up at the same time tomorrow but he has his orders and...so many shirts. He gestures at the shirt on the dresser.
"The rest of them are less subdued, by the way, sorry, I just figured we ought to start off...neutral."
Lucius just keeps walking down the long, straight hallway that leads to all the other passenger rooms. He doesn't shout back because, honestly, it's 5am and that's super rude. Instead he waves at Izzy over his shoulder and wiggles his fingers as he does.
He had been dreading this but, what do you know? It looked like it was going to be a fun job after all. Tomorrow he was going to drop off something...orange and pink? Yes, orange and pink. He had a few of those.
Orange and pink like a fucking ham and cheese sandwich.
How is it those wiggling fingers are both such a threat and a symbol of normalcy.
Izzy tells himself to let it go. To go back inside and examine the shirt and book, both so fine in craftsmanship. How are these stitches so neat? How is the textile printed? And what of the book with such vivid colors forced into the paper skin. How? And how is the typesetting so neat? How is it all so fragile?
It's plenty to spend a day thinking about, with breaks between to explore and attempt to navigate the dining situation which he absolutely hates. Not that it isn't good, it is, but the variety and obscene richness of the food in conjunction with the sheer mass of it is deeply, deeply unsettling.
A simple supper then, taken alone out of habit and distrust.
And if anything there is the comfort of familiarity waiting for him in his room, a gift of Lucius fucking Spriggs.
The axis on which Izzy Hands lives his life has well and truly broken, sending him spinning into something new with no chart to navigate.
So is it bad, then, that he wakes early with purpose, if only to receive some kind of textile onslaught? Is it pathetic to look forward to? His masochism knows no bounds.
The knock today comes with more sass and resignation than the brief knocking the previous morning. This time there's no quiet retreat, it's more of an extremely banal challenge.
Lucius actually really hates the tempo of things on this ship. It's not the fault of any one particular thing, but it's weirdly hard to commit to faffing about with such a staggering multitude of neon lights and noise. Everything and nothing feels like work, time is an illusion. He can't quite seem to get the hang of when to go to sleep in this place and, thus, when to wake up.
He's been up for an hour or two already, as will be made evident whenever Izzy gets up and answers the door.
Lucius smells vaguely of chlorine, has on a truly hideous blue slogan t-shirt, and is carrying a travesty of color emblazoned on a very fine silk and cotton blend. It's got little carved shell buttons and a monogram for some reason. Lucius is also carrying a transparent plastic cup filled with a purplish slush that smells of bergamont. He has a second one.
Izzy answers, most decidedly still in his normal clothing.
Did he try on the Disney shirt? Yes. Will he die before he admits it? Also yes. The fabric felt very nice but it doesn't really fit the uniform. A little big. A little boxy. Unfitted where anyone could snag him in a fight. Even if it was his taste, it just isn't practical.
And wow there are just so many things happening when he greets Lucius with a curt nod. A shirt, okay, that was an anticipated threat. The cups, though, what the fuck is that in there.
Izzy furrows his brow. Why does it have ice, it's hot out? Why is it purple? Why is this happening. God but it smells nice and it's fascinating and ice on what will surely become a hot day would be such a luxury. Too many questions. All of them will sound stupid. Focus on the shirt then, which he takes to alleviate the load lest one of those witchcraft-level-drinks be spilled. Izzy inspects it and slows down as he backs up. My god this must be silk. The weave is exquisite. What a waste of precious cloth to paint it so garishly.
"He did," Lucius assures him with no hesitation whatsoever. He takes the space as Izzy backs up and sweeps into the room, dropping himself on the couch with a bounce. The other drink is set on the little coffee table and Lucius kicks up his feet and enjoys his own beverage. It has tapioca pearls in it but Izzy's does not, despite how tempting it is to watch the man choke a little.
"They're all bad," he adds after a beat and takes a sip of his drink. After some chewing and savoring--the Earl Grey was actually good in this. He wasn't sure a milked tea was going to be tolerable, but it was. Sweet as hell, though.
"Kind of fascinating, though, right? Just who wastes silk on something that piss ugly?"
It's a cheap shot but tell him he's wrong. Not even cheap, the shot is free.
Izzy watches the other for a moment, wondering when they got familiar enough for that sort of making himself at home became acceptable. They haven't. He is sure they haven't. Tut tut.
"Seems a crime, though. I'll never fuckin' wear this. He must know that, right?"
Asked as he comes vaguely in the same direction, it isn't so large a room that he can really go anywhere else, and sits on the edge of his bed. Maybe he can find out wherever these things come from and exchange it for something suitable.
"It's not even tailored. Do you sleep in this?"
The thought of Stede Bonnet sending him nightshirts is revolting.
His ease was intended to make Izzy mad but, apparently, that trick isn't going to work on the barge of the damned. The room isn't personal enough to qualify as invading his space, Lucius supposes, and so some of the fun of this is drained out of him. He pulls his feet back from their spot on the table and sits normally (comfortably) and looks just a little dischuffed.
"Me? Absolutely not, they actually have comfortable clothing in that nightmare maze," Lucius answers and gives the shirt a baneful look. He doesn't rise to the bait about Stede's wardrobe, though. He knows, he's the one who has to clean and repair it all. (He also knows that it's better than watching Stede Bonnet dress in the vacation wear aboard the ship. He's seen that and it was just awful.)
"As far as I know, the fabric is like the food here," Lucius explains and shakes his little drink. "It just...is something we can have. When it's free like that, why not make it a joke? Or...whatever the Captain thinks this is."
He gestures idly.
"If you flip it inside out they're usually white or black. Easy enough to take them apart for the materials and make something decent if you've got a mind to."
Oh the ease does bother him, but there's a lot of other equally attention grabbing things happening right now. He gives Lucius a look when he seems to give up and drag his feet off the table. You're disgusting.
"I'll bear that in mind."
He hasn't done much tailoring in a while and Ed's wardrobe needs very little upkeep in that way. It's mostly stitching up stab holes, driving needles through leather, and oiling the delicate little joint of his knee brace. Sometimes he swears that Ed chooses to dress like a vagrant on purpose. Other times he knows it is what is demanded of him as Blackbeard. But god you should see some of the stains he'd had to take a whump at.
Izzy looks over the shirt for another minute, marveling at the tight stitching and careful monogramming of a name that is not his. Free, huh. Free his ass.
The book Lucius gave him yesterday lays on the bedside table over Izzy's shoulder with a bit of coffee sachet used as a bookmark. He's about a third the way through. Under it is another small notebook and beside the stack lays a pen.
Right. So. What now.
This isn't awkward or anything.
Assuming correctly that the other drink is for him, he reaches in to take, inspect, sniff, and then sip. It is unlike anything he has ever had the (mis)fortune of tasting. It's amazing. Lucius can not know this.
"Plhadhf- what the fuck!? Is this- Is this meant to be tea?!"
Lucius, who is cheerfully drinking his own, is both glad and sad he didn't get one with pearls for Izzy. Then again, given his overt disgust, he might have actually stabbed him over it so...perhaps his caution was warranted.
He notices the awkwardness, of course, and is currently reveling in it. It's almost better than the hot tubs. But, he assumes, if he actually laughs at Izzy this game of his is up, so he keeps a tight lid on that.
"Definitely a departure," Lucius agrees but he seems unbothered. He chews the little pearls, swallows, and the stirs his drink with the absurdly thick, colorful straw jutting out of the top.
"It's...wait--" He looks up and gestures with one hand as he tries to remember how he had to order it. How had Darcy's little girlfriend put it?
"It's a: Milk Tea Slush, Earl Grey, With Tapioca Pearls and Extra Syrup," Lucius repeats dutifully. "Well, yours doesn't have the pearls, but you get the idea."
Yeah he got about three words out of that whole thing and god does he fuckin hate that.
What’s tapioca? Why are there pearls in tea that is obscene??
Izzy wrinkles his nose and takes another small sip as though he is so hard done by.
“Bleh.”
Though it sure takes him a moment to set it back on the table.
The awkwardness in the room is growing. It isn’t like he and Lucius have a rapport. What are they gonna do, lay around gossiping about their respective masters and how much they suck most of the time?
Hardly. (But wouldn’t that be so freeing good god imagine- no!).
He settles on watching his guest instead, not entirely welcome at all, and wondering how fast he might leave were Izzy to take that stupid coloured straw and put it up his stupid nose with a sharp jab.
“Right. I’m sick of you now. Do us a favor n’ piss off.”
"Lovely chat as always," Lucius fawns, as though Izzy hasn't just kicked him out five minutes after letting him in. He swings himself up from the seat and takes another long, annoying, straw-burbling drink off his slush, and then meanders toward the door.
"So tomorrow...cookies or tequila sunrises? I'm debating but I don't have a shirt that matches either," Lucius asks idly as he turns and leans on the wall by the door. The message is clear: he is going to keep doing this, regardless of Izzy's feelings about it.
Why? That is impossible to say.
He just is.
"Oh, maybe the aloe towels from the spa, those are a good morning treat," Lucius declares but mostly to himself.
"A black shirt and tequila straight," Izzy answers, as though he literally has any say in the matter. If Stede is going to force this on him the least he can do is pick something that won't go to waste.
Besides the point of the 'joke' he supposes, but a man can try.
"I do have a black one," Lucius muses thoughtfully at the door. He hauls it open and drums fingers on it as his other hand swirls his stupid frozen drink. That also gets a glance and he perks up. Izzy's already kicked him out, though, so he doesn't offer any other comment before meandering out the door.
The rest of the day passes uneventfully and, as predictable as clockwork, Lucius is back the next morning.
Today he's dressed in his own awful shirt. It's not unlike his usual striped shirt in cut, though given the raw edge on it he may have ensured that personally. Tragically, the shirt is not the same muted colors as his normal attire--this one is an excruciatingly bright purple with a clashing yellow and orange sunrise scene painted on the front of it. His linen trousers are replaced with awful matching (clashing?) cargo shorts and a pair of flippy-floppy-sandals are on his feet.
When Izzy opens the door, Lucius will toss him the folded black shirt he has in hand. It is an order of magnitude more tolerable than the rest of the shirts Stede had picked out for him. It's still hideous of course, the plants are printed across it in a garish, searing neon blue, but it's mostly black.
Unfortunately, today he can't stay and chat. He doesn't toss the bottle of colorful skull tequila at him, but it's a near thing.
"Back later, still not poisoned," Lucius tells him and dips out quickly.
If Izzy is still around in an hour, Lucius will return, dressed normally with a basket of folded laundry under one arm.
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no subject
Weird.
"Sort of?" Lucius answers with a wishy-washy hand gesture. He blows on the cup of tea, gives it a second, and then takes a sip. It's actually quite good, he realizes with a jolt of surprise. He'd not ordered it from that place, but he might have to see what it's like cold with...all those sweet little snacky-add-ins.
"He's not really got one, not a formal one," Lucius explains and gestures idly as he does. "I do a lot of the jobs, keep track of rations, pay salaries, take dictation, but the other bits? The...tactical and sailing and crew morale and such? That's all other people. Buttons, Olu, Frenchie--I guess we don't have anybody here for it. Hm."
That's disconcerting and Lucius pulls a face before taking a healthier drink of his tea.
"Bit of a problem that."
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"It is."
The information is helpful, in the way vague information can be, but this isn't the function for their little natter. Just a little...snacky-add-in.
"Would you say he has the capacity to kill, your boss? If it meant him making a point."
If death means nothing then who is to say it would not be a small and necessary sacrifice to put means to an end.
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"I mean I'm sure he's got it in him," Lucius clarifies. "Can't imagine him making a point with it, but he surprises me just as often as everyone else. Hard to call, really."
He glances pointedly at the cup.
"You...don't like Earl Grey? Or is it the lack of sugar and cream?" He doesn't sound sarcastic here, just curious, and feels another twinge of guilt. He could have filled a bag with those little cups and packets of extras. They had them, it just hadn't occurred to him in the moment.
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Izzy looks down at his cup. The scent is so fragrant and whimsical, how could he hate it?
He supposes the opinions on Bonnet are largely acceptable, though not entirely soothing. What he is certain of is, if there is something nefarious afoot, not!mate Spriggs is none the wiser. It would take a coward to send poison in this manner.
He doesn't hold Stede above that, but it would be extremely cruel.
"No," almost distracted. Izzy rests the cup on his gloved palm and rotates it to the right and back. There's almost no dregs in the bottom. It's an extremely clean pour.
"I prefer it black."
He lifts it to smell, breathing in with some small pleasure but searching for the earthy almond and floral vanilla of arsenic.
"How did Bonnet know this is my drink?"
It seems a level of keen attention to detail he wouldn't attribute to the Pirate Bluebell.
no subject
"Uh...I don't think he did," Lucius admits and lifts his own cup to finish it. It gives him a moment to think of an excuse but, tragically, he's a terrible liar. There's nothing for it.
"The shirt was his...idea? More or less," Lucius explains. "The book and the tea were mine."
no subject
In a single breath Izzy relaxes and raises the cup to his lips.
It's good, this tea. Clean. The water tastes clear, the notes of flavour deep, precise, and slightly theatrical.
Then, almost as an afterthought,
"That's a fuckin' relief, I thought he'd sent you here to poison me."
no subject
Wait.
Hang the fuck on.
"Was that why you waited for me to finish?" Lucius asks, suddenly aghast.
Izzy had stood there while he made it because he wanted to be sure Lucius wasn't doing anything suspect? He poured him a cup--not out of the niceness of his fucking blackened little heart, but because he thought it was poisoned!? He thought Stede had poisoned it and wanted Lucius to test it first!? Yes, that makes much more sense, of course, but now he feels both incensed and like an idiot.
"Oh my god--" Lucius says and hops down from the dresser to just be furious for a moment. "--I cannot believe--you know what? Rude. Even for you."
no subject
And maybe he has a point.
Maybe he shouldn’t have said that.
But what’s more did that mean this guy was really just in here having a cup of tea with him? At five in the morning? To be friendly? With him??
Tea he had brought off his own back, with a book no less, to.. to what. Soften the curse of that shirt?
Izzy has to bend a little with the revelation. And yes, his assumption was rude. Paranoid. Maybe a little dramatic.
Not ideal.
“Was a bit, yeah.”
Another sip. He hears the outrage but stays passive and looks at the tea maker thing where he spies the two little cookies wrapped in plastic (what even is that) in and amongst the foreign tubes of what are apparently coffee.
Izzy snags one of them between his fingers, inspects it, and offers it to Lucius.
“Call it an.. early morning lapse of judgment?”
no subject
It's almost an apology?
"Uh--" Lucius starts dumbly and takes the little proferred cookie. It has a tiny ship debossed on it. Just like that Izzy has cut his legs out from under him (metaphorically).
"Alright," Lucius agrees, for lack of anything else to say. He takes a bite of the cookie and considers Izzy, his brow furrowed as he chews. When he swallows, he says:
"In all fairness, I should warn you: I did poison the book."
He didn't but it's very bad.
no subject
This footing is new, though. Unsettling to say the least. For once- for once it is Lucius on the back foot is only for a second before he reels for a quip back.
Did-
Did Izzy just win this interaction? Does this set a measure of balance back into the competing ledgers? Fucking excellent!
Until of course the book comment and he knows it's a lie but oh you fucking brat. It's too early for this bullshit.
"Right-" shooing at the door. "-get out or I'll make ya fucking eat it. I will."
no subject
"Nice chat," he says. "Same time tomorrow?"
He does not want to be up at the same time tomorrow but he has his orders and...so many shirts. He gestures at the shirt on the dresser.
"The rest of them are less subdued, by the way, sorry, I just figured we ought to start off...neutral."
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"What do you mean the rest of them-"
Following Lucius. whether or not the man stops is entirely his own prerogative.
And even after Lucius begins down the hall-
"What do you mean the rest of them!??!"
no subject
He had been dreading this but, what do you know? It looked like it was going to be a fun job after all. Tomorrow he was going to drop off something...orange and pink? Yes, orange and pink. He had a few of those.
no subject
How is it those wiggling fingers are both such a threat and a symbol of normalcy.
Izzy tells himself to let it go. To go back inside and examine the shirt and book, both so fine in craftsmanship. How are these stitches so neat? How is the textile printed? And what of the book with such vivid colors forced into the paper skin. How? And how is the typesetting so neat? How is it all so fragile?
It's plenty to spend a day thinking about, with breaks between to explore and attempt to navigate the dining situation which he absolutely hates. Not that it isn't good, it is, but the variety and obscene richness of the food in conjunction with the sheer mass of it is deeply, deeply unsettling.
A simple supper then, taken alone out of habit and distrust.
And if anything there is the comfort of familiarity waiting for him in his room, a gift of Lucius fucking Spriggs.
The axis on which Izzy Hands lives his life has well and truly broken, sending him spinning into something new with no chart to navigate.
So is it bad, then, that he wakes early with purpose, if only to receive some kind of textile onslaught? Is it pathetic to look forward to? His masochism knows no bounds.
no subject
Lucius actually really hates the tempo of things on this ship. It's not the fault of any one particular thing, but it's weirdly hard to commit to faffing about with such a staggering multitude of neon lights and noise. Everything and nothing feels like work, time is an illusion. He can't quite seem to get the hang of when to go to sleep in this place and, thus, when to wake up.
He's been up for an hour or two already, as will be made evident whenever Izzy gets up and answers the door.
Lucius smells vaguely of chlorine, has on a truly hideous blue slogan t-shirt, and is carrying a travesty of color emblazoned on a very fine silk and cotton blend. It's got little carved shell buttons and a monogram for some reason. Lucius is also carrying a transparent plastic cup filled with a purplish slush that smells of bergamont. He has a second one.
no subject
Izzy answers, most decidedly still in his normal clothing.
Did he try on the Disney shirt? Yes. Will he die before he admits it? Also yes. The fabric felt very nice but it doesn't really fit the uniform. A little big. A little boxy. Unfitted where anyone could snag him in a fight. Even if it was his taste, it just isn't practical.
And wow there are just so many things happening when he greets Lucius with a curt nod. A shirt, okay, that was an anticipated threat. The cups, though, what the fuck is that in there.
Izzy furrows his brow. Why does it have ice, it's hot out? Why is it purple? Why is this happening. God but it smells nice and it's fascinating and ice on what will surely become a hot day would be such a luxury. Too many questions. All of them will sound stupid. Focus on the shirt then, which he takes to alleviate the load lest one of those witchcraft-level-drinks be spilled. Izzy inspects it and slows down as he backs up. My god this must be silk. The weave is exquisite. What a waste of precious cloth to paint it so garishly.
"Now, are you pickin' these out or is he?"
no subject
"They're all bad," he adds after a beat and takes a sip of his drink. After some chewing and savoring--the Earl Grey was actually good in this. He wasn't sure a milked tea was going to be tolerable, but it was. Sweet as hell, though.
"Kind of fascinating, though, right? Just who wastes silk on something that piss ugly?"
no subject
It's a cheap shot but tell him he's wrong. Not even cheap, the shot is free.
Izzy watches the other for a moment, wondering when they got familiar enough for that sort of making himself at home became acceptable. They haven't. He is sure they haven't. Tut tut.
"Seems a crime, though. I'll never fuckin' wear this. He must know that, right?"
Asked as he comes vaguely in the same direction, it isn't so large a room that he can really go anywhere else, and sits on the edge of his bed. Maybe he can find out wherever these things come from and exchange it for something suitable.
"It's not even tailored. Do you sleep in this?"
The thought of Stede Bonnet sending him nightshirts is revolting.
no subject
"Me? Absolutely not, they actually have comfortable clothing in that nightmare maze," Lucius answers and gives the shirt a baneful look. He doesn't rise to the bait about Stede's wardrobe, though. He knows, he's the one who has to clean and repair it all. (He also knows that it's better than watching Stede Bonnet dress in the vacation wear aboard the ship. He's seen that and it was just awful.)
"As far as I know, the fabric is like the food here," Lucius explains and shakes his little drink. "It just...is something we can have. When it's free like that, why not make it a joke? Or...whatever the Captain thinks this is."
He gestures idly.
"If you flip it inside out they're usually white or black. Easy enough to take them apart for the materials and make something decent if you've got a mind to."
no subject
"I'll bear that in mind."
He hasn't done much tailoring in a while and Ed's wardrobe needs very little upkeep in that way. It's mostly stitching up stab holes, driving needles through leather, and oiling the delicate little joint of his knee brace. Sometimes he swears that Ed chooses to dress like a vagrant on purpose. Other times he knows it is what is demanded of him as Blackbeard. But god you should see some of the stains he'd had to take a whump at.
Izzy looks over the shirt for another minute, marveling at the tight stitching and careful monogramming of a name that is not his. Free, huh. Free his ass.
The book Lucius gave him yesterday lays on the bedside table over Izzy's shoulder with a bit of coffee sachet used as a bookmark. He's about a third the way through. Under it is another small notebook and beside the stack lays a pen.
Right. So. What now.
This isn't awkward or anything.
Assuming correctly that the other drink is for him, he reaches in to take, inspect, sniff, and then sip. It is unlike anything he has ever had the (mis)fortune of tasting. It's amazing. Lucius can not know this.
"Plhadhf- what the fuck!? Is this- Is this meant to be tea?!"
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He notices the awkwardness, of course, and is currently reveling in it. It's almost better than the hot tubs. But, he assumes, if he actually laughs at Izzy this game of his is up, so he keeps a tight lid on that.
"Definitely a departure," Lucius agrees but he seems unbothered. He chews the little pearls, swallows, and the stirs his drink with the absurdly thick, colorful straw jutting out of the top.
"It's...wait--" He looks up and gestures with one hand as he tries to remember how he had to order it. How had Darcy's little girlfriend put it?
"It's a: Milk Tea Slush, Earl Grey, With Tapioca Pearls and Extra Syrup," Lucius repeats dutifully. "Well, yours doesn't have the pearls, but you get the idea."
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What’s tapioca? Why are there pearls in tea that is obscene??
Izzy wrinkles his nose and takes another small sip as though he is so hard done by.
“Bleh.”
Though it sure takes him a moment to set it back on the table.
The awkwardness in the room is growing. It isn’t like he and Lucius have a rapport. What are they gonna do, lay around gossiping about their respective masters and how much they suck most of the time?
Hardly. (But wouldn’t that be so freeing good god imagine- no!).
He settles on watching his guest instead, not entirely welcome at all, and wondering how fast he might leave were Izzy to take that stupid coloured straw and put it up his stupid nose with a sharp jab.
“Right. I’m sick of you now. Do us a favor n’ piss off.”
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"So tomorrow...cookies or tequila sunrises? I'm debating but I don't have a shirt that matches either," Lucius asks idly as he turns and leans on the wall by the door. The message is clear: he is going to keep doing this, regardless of Izzy's feelings about it.
Why? That is impossible to say.
He just is.
"Oh, maybe the aloe towels from the spa, those are a good morning treat," Lucius declares but mostly to himself.
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Besides the point of the 'joke' he supposes, but a man can try.
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The rest of the day passes uneventfully and, as predictable as clockwork, Lucius is back the next morning.
Today he's dressed in his own awful shirt. It's not unlike his usual striped shirt in cut, though given the raw edge on it he may have ensured that personally. Tragically, the shirt is not the same muted colors as his normal attire--this one is an excruciatingly bright purple with a clashing yellow and orange sunrise scene painted on the front of it. His linen trousers are replaced with awful matching (clashing?) cargo shorts and a pair of flippy-floppy-sandals are on his feet.
When Izzy opens the door, Lucius will toss him the folded black shirt he has in hand. It is an order of magnitude more tolerable than the rest of the shirts Stede had picked out for him. It's still hideous of course, the plants are printed across it in a garish, searing neon blue, but it's mostly black.
Unfortunately, today he can't stay and chat. He doesn't toss the bottle of colorful skull tequila at him, but it's a near thing.
"Back later, still not poisoned," Lucius tells him and dips out quickly.
If Izzy is still around in an hour, Lucius will return, dressed normally with a basket of folded laundry under one arm.
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