Lucius stays in place a moment, lingers as he catches his breath, and eventually has the wherewithal to lower Izzy's leg. He slips out of the man beneath him with that slip and the sigh that follows that turns indulgent. Lucius stretches, like a cat in a sunbeam, as he draws himself back up to standing. His back gives a satisfying pop which just...puts a little bit of icing on the whole evening.
Izzy is sprawled out, panting, and absolutely debauched. Lucius lets that image sink in a moment and then steps back. It's a quick walk to the washroom for a rag--and he can even use hot water. It cools a bit by the time he makes it back to the bed, but it's still the better side of warm. Rather than passing it off to him, Lucius drops down on the bed next to him, bouncing the whole mattress in the process. Once he's made himself comfortable, Lucius drops the washrag on his chest.
"I assume my reputation is in the clear?" Lucius prompts with a comfortable sort of smugness.
Having given a groan when Lucius pulled out, Izzy fell silent as he attempted to gather himself in the brief moment he was alone.
Now joined again (oof, why jostling, for what reason why) and presented with a warm cloth, he snorts at the quip and paws a tired hand to clean himself up. Nearly gave himself a facial, wouldn’t that have been embarrassing.
“For now,” by which he means an absolute, resounding yes. Drunk, Well Fucked Izzy, also isn’t above ruling out a next time.
It’s his turn to get up. To go and clear himself out, but he doesn’t want to. Not yet. There’s something terribly nice that curls in his belly and murmurs about being used and filthy.
Izzy's begrudging agreement is the highest possible praise and Lucius luxuriates in it. Izzy wipes his chest down lazily and Lucius watches him with hooded eyes. It is so far past his bedtime that, frankly, he's shocked he's not delirious with it. The fucking definitely gave him a boost of adrenaline but that is wearing thin and there's a comfortable sort of cotton fluff bearing down on his conscious thoughts.
"Good," Lucius says and idly picks a hand up to push some of Izzy's disheveled hair out of his face. He tries not to be too tender about it, but he's a tender sort.
"If it's ever in doubt, just send me a message," he says and, despite himself, just ends up staring at Izzy fondly.
“I’ll bear it in mind,” he murmurs and allows the touch as he works, dropping the cloth over the side of his bed without a care. Another problem for Tomorrow Izzy.
He still needs to get up.
Not gonna.
Instead, he settles down right where he is, aware that he’s being watched after a moment at which point he looks back from the corner of his eye. If there’s anything more intimate to say, he leaves it silent.
There’s a long beat before Izzy speaks. He, too, is exhausted, and sobriety is looming closer as dawn threatens to break in the coming hours.
“Get some sleep, Lucius.”
Not quite a soft, pillowy please stay, but it isn’t an order to leave, either.
He'd been wondering if he'd be kicked out after, if he'd really considered it, he would be surprised at the implicit invite. Later, he will be flummoxed, but right now he is just happy he doesn't have to get back up and put on trousers. Tragically, he does have to get up to haul the blanket out from under them. He does and, once he has it, just flops on the bed again and pulls it over both of them.
They've clumsily admitted to mutual regard, named themselves friends, fucked, and now they're draped perpendicular across a soft, comfy mattress, exhausted. This is the perfect end to a day. Lucius may shift closer as he drapes the duvet over both of them. It's not quite cuddling but not quite anything else--as much tenderness as he thinks Izzy will tolerate--and then lets out a comfortable sigh as he curls up.
It’s been a long time he’s shared a bunk and even longer since he’s curled up with other crew mates. Once upon a time any old barrel or heap of rope had done. A hammock if he was lucky. Working his way up the the luxury of a bed, even a thin, unforgiving one was a hard earned treat. This bed is absolute majesty in comparison. And despite being unused to sharing now, there’s something nice about drifting off to the breathing and weight of someone beside him - trusting completely that the person won’t stab and loot him in his sleep. Things have really come a long way.
And he sleeps well. Really well. Despite the dregs of a hangover when he wakes to the noise of a note being stuffed under his door, Izzy feels energised as he grunts and rolls out of bed.
It’s late morning but it’s also unlikely anyone has missed him. Edward doesn’t require nearly as much attention here, not that Izzy likes this development, and he trains with Darcy in the afternoons. His mornings are his own.
Izzy stretches, carding his hands through his hair before scratching his chest, padding naked to the door after a small detour to the bathroom.
He knows the writing on the page immediately and prepares himself for a fresh new hell as he turns and finds there is already one waiting. In his bed. Lucius Spriggs is in his fucking bed and-
“Oh my god.” Small but gruff.
Then he remembers. In great, vivid detail, why Lucius is in his bed.
Lucius stirs a bit when Izzy gets up but, honestly, you can't be a grunt on a ship without being able to sleep through a little jostling. (A lot of jostling.) He'd like to say the noise of the washroom and Izzy's exclamation woke him, but really, it was the cold creeping in through the blankets Izzy had just carelessly tossed away.
Lucius, suddenly and unhappily awoken to no duvet in an air conditioned room, makes a groggy noise of displeasure and gropes for the missing covers. He doesn't find them and waking up to properly manage the task means, well, waking up. He blinks blearily at the bed next to him--the open space is person sized. Then he blinks around the room, disoriented by the angle he fell asleep at--and wouldn't you know it, there's Israel Hands.
In his birthday suit.
Not a bad suit, all in all, and--oh--oh right! Lucius doesn't have a crisis, here, his sleepy face shifts with recognition and a broad grin spreads over it.
"Good morning," he purrs and shifts so he is reclined on his side, half posing. The position's inherent cuteness is complicated, for better and worse, by his sleepy inability to wrangle his long limbs and the mussed quality of his hair.
It’s very cute and for that reason also deeply upsetting.
This is his life now, is it.
It is. It is his life. Because last night they decided to be mates again before falling into bed where Lucius fucked his lights out. And it was good. It was very good.
Flush crawls over Izzy’s cheeks and down his neck and shoulders. Feeling extremely exposed, he slips on his dressing down, white and fluffy and obviously embroidered with the ship’s logo on the chest.
Not like Lucius hasn’t seen, not like modesty means much, but it’s the principle of the matter, shut up.
“Fuck off,” it doesn’t come out nearly as scathing as he feels it should have. Good morning to you, too.
God, they’re not going to talk about this, are they? Is this a thing? He’ll have to think about it later. Alone.
Moving right along. Whooosah.
Izzy takes a breath and turns the letter over in his hands as he moves towards the kettle. Like it’s just some domestic morning or Lucius came early to their daily scrum.
Very early.
The strength of him. The way he’d folded Izzy nearly in two. The confidence of his hand around Izzy’s cock, stroking in time with the thrust of his hips- enough! Enough.
Try to be normal about this, Isreal. For the love of god.
“Post came.” He holds up the letter as he fills the kettle and sets it, then moves to do the tea.
Being told to fuck off in lieu of a morning greeting, that's par for the course, but the idea that Izzy gets post? That jars Lucius out of his sleepy cute smugness and has him moving to sit up properly. He could not give a whit about being nude, particularly not when his clothing is pool gear that is only probably dry and filled with chlorine.
He groans as he sits up and plants his feet on the floor and, after a thought, drags the crumpled duvet with him, wrapping it around his shoulders. It does nothing to provide modesty, but it does keep his back warm.
"Why do you get post? Who is sending you letters?"
“Because I’m very popular,” Izzy answers deadpan without missing a beat.
The extremely flowery way in which his name is scrawled across the front is the clear and obvious hand of their most mutual cause of…let’s go with strife. Stede Bonnet.
Leaning against the dresser, Izzy opens and reads the letter, holding it back a bit so he can see. As he does, his face drops more and more and more, brow furrowing. It is not a good letter.
He closes his eyes and takes a breath.
It does not contain a single sentence to feel good about.
Even at a distance, Lucius recognizes that extremely loopy calligraphy. That, however, does nothing to alleviate his confusion. He pads over toward the water heater--burbling alongside them cheerfully--and, if Izzy doesn't move it, will crane and try to read it upside down.
"What in the world does the Captain want with you at this hour?" Lucius asks and then, after a beat, it occurs to him that he has no idea what hour it actually is. He glances back at the curtains, still drawn. It's light out. Fuck.
No, fuck off, this isn’t for you. He holds the letter away and shoos Lucius to deal with the tea. Be helpful if you’re here.
“Quarter to ten,” Izzy does answer, though. Not because he wants to, but it’s reflex and he’d glanced at the clock when he got up. They have had, maximum, five, six hours sleep. A very late start in their line of work but not so late for others.
“He’s summoning me to an execution it looks like.”
Lucius pouts and rolls his eyes but slogs his way over to the hot water machine and the box of tea. He makes the tea idly and stays half turned, listening to Izzy as he elaborates. He caught the time and he hates everything about that, but there's nothing for it.
"Stede Bonnet is not going to execute you. It'd be lucky to end up a slight maiming," Lucius drawls, missing the point by a mile. He's still very tired and woke up two minutes ago, don't expect much out of him right away. "How come he sends you mail?"
“Because he’s a childish cunt and he’s obsessed with me,”
Where’s the lie.
But alas that’s not all of it. This isn’t a challenge to a duel or anything so easy. Izzy doesn’t think Stede would be able to execute him in a million years, but it isn’t Stede Izzy is worrying about.
“He’s also an idiot. And he’s arranged parlay between myself, himself, and the captain of this vessel. Today.”
He's not awake enough to even attempt mixing Izzy's tea for him, or even to mix his own--today is a straight tea sort of day, apparently. He blinks blearily and then has a moment of vague alarm. He drops the duvet (not the tea thankfully) and uses his free hand to pat where his pocket would be.
If he weren't, you know, nude.
After blearily groping his leg for a moment he huffs and moves to his discarded trunks. They get hitched on, finally restoring some of his modesty (hah), and he fishes his phone from the pocket. After a moment spent peering at it, he pulls something up and just holds it out, screen pointed at Izzy.
Oh. Those things. Izzy has one too. But with literally zero use for it or any idea how it works, it rests ignored in the drawer with a dead battery.
The sudden spring of action grabs his attention from his whirling thoughts and he takes the little thing, reading through the conversation. There is.. there is a lot of information here.
Lucius, who immediately wrapped both hands around his cuppa the moment Izzy took the phone, is currently about two inches from the top of that mug breathing in the sweet aroma of a caffeinated beverage. He blinks and looks at Izzy like he's asked the craziest thing he's ever heard and takes a long, deep drink. It's hot. He regrets his decision instantly, but it does render him a bit more awake.
"Oh--" He begrudgingly removes a hand from the warm side of the mug and waves it dismissively.
"Skulduggery sent them to me, that's him," Lucius explains between smaller sips of tea. "Really appreciate his dedication, right? Very good at investigating."
"Like a baby," Lucius says, which is an answer to the question Izzy did not ask. "He doesn't so the bed is aaaaall mine. Fantastic really. All he needs is the wardrobe and the bottom drawer. Wonderful roommate. Highly recommended. Can take people flying, even."
God this tea is so good. He is going to finish his and start in on another cup. He checks and yes, gloriously, there is enough water.
"Good job you don't have a roommate or this might be awkward, huh?"
“Yeah, he might drink all my fucking tea, then where would I be.”
Deadpan again, on beat for the second time. Look how on it he is when he’s had a good night. Even now crippled with existential dread about the future.
Speaking of tea, Izzy looks for his own after offering back the phone, also taking a moment to savour the warmth and aroma. Izzy keeps his room quite cold. Not for any other reason than he hasn’t worked out the air conditioning controls, but it is what it is. A hot cuppa in the morning can set most things right. So if he’s going to die, which is a distinct possibility, then at least he would have had this.
He can only hope that they aren’t about to have A Talk.
Lucius is a huge proponent of Talks, at least in the context of people he plans on fucking again, but he is not good with waking up. Izzy is spared a talk if only because words currently elude the scribe--the world is only tea. Tea and, once he bends down and reclaims the blanket he cast aside, his duvet cape. He stares idly into space and, after a minute or two of blessed, tea-drinking silence, looks at Izzy like he's just forgotten something.
"Oh right--hope you don't get executed. That would be rough. Please try not to stab the Captain. My Captain. The other one? Eh. Best judgment, yeah? When's it going to be?"
Izzy gives a middling ‘eh’ hand gesture in terms of stabbings. No promises. It depends on how the parlay goes and what he needs to do to win. Stede may think this is just a friendly chat but Izzy is under no illusions. Parlay is never, ever, just a chat.
“That might be the nicest thing you’ve said to me.”
Is it sarcastic, yes, but it’s also true. Oh the intricacies. Still, it is nice to have someone to talk to about this, especially seeing as he is apparently not allowed to involve Edward. Feels extremely wrong.
“Seven. At least it gives us some time to plan. Figure out how this came to head and figure out what leverage we have. If we have any at all.”
He isn’t convinced. Hell, Izzy doesn’t even know Hiram exists.
"He's magical right? So...if we do, it's probably weird," Lucius says as he cradles and sips his tea. He's waking up, more alert, but it's going slower than he's personally prefer.
"You want help planning?" Lucius offers casually--if the Captain's going to that, his day is basically free. It hasn't occurred to him that there's a very real possibility the Captain will die at this meeting...but that's mostly because, in Lucius's experience, people don't seem to have a lot of luck killing Stede Bonnet.
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Izzy is sprawled out, panting, and absolutely debauched. Lucius lets that image sink in a moment and then steps back. It's a quick walk to the washroom for a rag--and he can even use hot water. It cools a bit by the time he makes it back to the bed, but it's still the better side of warm. Rather than passing it off to him, Lucius drops down on the bed next to him, bouncing the whole mattress in the process. Once he's made himself comfortable, Lucius drops the washrag on his chest.
"I assume my reputation is in the clear?" Lucius prompts with a comfortable sort of smugness.
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Now joined again (oof, why jostling, for what reason why) and presented with a warm cloth, he snorts at the quip and paws a tired hand to clean himself up. Nearly gave himself a facial, wouldn’t that have been embarrassing.
“For now,” by which he means an absolute, resounding yes. Drunk, Well Fucked Izzy, also isn’t above ruling out a next time.
It’s his turn to get up. To go and clear himself out, but he doesn’t want to. Not yet. There’s something terribly nice that curls in his belly and murmurs about being used and filthy.
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"Good," Lucius says and idly picks a hand up to push some of Izzy's disheveled hair out of his face. He tries not to be too tender about it, but he's a tender sort.
"If it's ever in doubt, just send me a message," he says and, despite himself, just ends up staring at Izzy fondly.
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He still needs to get up.
Not gonna.
Instead, he settles down right where he is, aware that he’s being watched after a moment at which point he looks back from the corner of his eye. If there’s anything more intimate to say, he leaves it silent.
There’s a long beat before Izzy speaks. He, too, is exhausted, and sobriety is looming closer as dawn threatens to break in the coming hours.
“Get some sleep, Lucius.”
Not quite a soft, pillowy please stay, but it isn’t an order to leave, either.
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They've clumsily admitted to mutual regard, named themselves friends, fucked, and now they're draped perpendicular across a soft, comfy mattress, exhausted. This is the perfect end to a day. Lucius may shift closer as he drapes the duvet over both of them. It's not quite cuddling but not quite anything else--as much tenderness as he thinks Izzy will tolerate--and then lets out a comfortable sigh as he curls up.
"Night, Izzy," Lucius says and drifts.
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It’s been a long time he’s shared a bunk and even longer since he’s curled up with other crew mates. Once upon a time any old barrel or heap of rope had done. A hammock if he was lucky. Working his way up the the luxury of a bed, even a thin, unforgiving one was a hard earned treat. This bed is absolute majesty in comparison. And despite being unused to sharing now, there’s something nice about drifting off to the breathing and weight of someone beside him - trusting completely that the person won’t stab and loot him in his sleep. Things have really come a long way.
And he sleeps well. Really well. Despite the dregs of a hangover when he wakes to the noise of a note being stuffed under his door, Izzy feels energised as he grunts and rolls out of bed.
It’s late morning but it’s also unlikely anyone has missed him. Edward doesn’t require nearly as much attention here, not that Izzy likes this development, and he trains with Darcy in the afternoons. His mornings are his own.
Izzy stretches, carding his hands through his hair before scratching his chest, padding naked to the door after a small detour to the bathroom.
He knows the writing on the page immediately and prepares himself for a fresh new hell as he turns and finds there is already one waiting. In his bed. Lucius Spriggs is in his fucking bed and-
“Oh my god.” Small but gruff.
Then he remembers. In great, vivid detail, why Lucius is in his bed.
Oh no.
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Lucius, suddenly and unhappily awoken to no duvet in an air conditioned room, makes a groggy noise of displeasure and gropes for the missing covers. He doesn't find them and waking up to properly manage the task means, well, waking up. He blinks blearily at the bed next to him--the open space is person sized. Then he blinks around the room, disoriented by the angle he fell asleep at--and wouldn't you know it, there's Israel Hands.
In his birthday suit.
Not a bad suit, all in all, and--oh--oh right! Lucius doesn't have a crisis, here, his sleepy face shifts with recognition and a broad grin spreads over it.
"Good morning," he purrs and shifts so he is reclined on his side, half posing. The position's inherent cuteness is complicated, for better and worse, by his sleepy inability to wrangle his long limbs and the mussed quality of his hair.
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This is his life now, is it.
It is. It is his life. Because last night they decided to be mates again before falling into bed where Lucius fucked his lights out. And it was good. It was very good.
Flush crawls over Izzy’s cheeks and down his neck and shoulders. Feeling extremely exposed, he slips on his dressing down, white and fluffy and obviously embroidered with the ship’s logo on the chest.
Not like Lucius hasn’t seen, not like modesty means much, but it’s the principle of the matter, shut up.
“Fuck off,” it doesn’t come out nearly as scathing as he feels it should have. Good morning to you, too.
God, they’re not going to talk about this, are they? Is this a thing? He’ll have to think about it later. Alone.
Moving right along. Whooosah.
Izzy takes a breath and turns the letter over in his hands as he moves towards the kettle. Like it’s just some domestic morning or Lucius came early to their daily scrum.
Very early.
The strength of him. The way he’d folded Izzy nearly in two. The confidence of his hand around Izzy’s cock, stroking in time with the thrust of his hips- enough! Enough.
Try to be normal about this, Isreal. For the love of god.
“Post came.” He holds up the letter as he fills the kettle and sets it, then moves to do the tea.
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Being told to fuck off in lieu of a morning greeting, that's par for the course, but the idea that Izzy gets post? That jars Lucius out of his sleepy cute smugness and has him moving to sit up properly. He could not give a whit about being nude, particularly not when his clothing is pool gear that is only probably dry and filled with chlorine.
He groans as he sits up and plants his feet on the floor and, after a thought, drags the crumpled duvet with him, wrapping it around his shoulders. It does nothing to provide modesty, but it does keep his back warm.
"Why do you get post? Who is sending you letters?"
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The extremely flowery way in which his name is scrawled across the front is the clear and obvious hand of their most mutual cause of…let’s go with strife. Stede Bonnet.
Leaning against the dresser, Izzy opens and reads the letter, holding it back a bit so he can see. As he does, his face drops more and more and more, brow furrowing. It is not a good letter.
He closes his eyes and takes a breath.
It does not contain a single sentence to feel good about.
“Fuuuck,” he growls under his breath.
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"What in the world does the Captain want with you at this hour?" Lucius asks and then, after a beat, it occurs to him that he has no idea what hour it actually is. He glances back at the curtains, still drawn. It's light out. Fuck.
"Wait, what time is it?"
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“Quarter to ten,” Izzy does answer, though. Not because he wants to, but it’s reflex and he’d glanced at the clock when he got up. They have had, maximum, five, six hours sleep. A very late start in their line of work but not so late for others.
“He’s summoning me to an execution it looks like.”
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"Stede Bonnet is not going to execute you. It'd be lucky to end up a slight maiming," Lucius drawls, missing the point by a mile. He's still very tired and woke up two minutes ago, don't expect much out of him right away. "How come he sends you mail?"
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Where’s the lie.
But alas that’s not all of it. This isn’t a challenge to a duel or anything so easy. Izzy doesn’t think Stede would be able to execute him in a million years, but it isn’t Stede Izzy is worrying about.
“He’s also an idiot. And he’s arranged parlay between myself, himself, and the captain of this vessel. Today.”
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He's not awake enough to even attempt mixing Izzy's tea for him, or even to mix his own--today is a straight tea sort of day, apparently. He blinks blearily and then has a moment of vague alarm. He drops the duvet (not the tea thankfully) and uses his free hand to pat where his pocket would be.
If he weren't, you know, nude.
After blearily groping his leg for a moment he huffs and moves to his discarded trunks. They get hitched on, finally restoring some of his modesty (hah), and he fishes his phone from the pocket. After a moment spent peering at it, he pulls something up and just holds it out, screen pointed at Izzy.
"Here, scroll down."
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The sudden spring of action grabs his attention from his whirling thoughts and he takes the little thing, reading through the conversation. There is.. there is a lot of information here.
“Where did you get this?”
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"Uh...we all have one? Got it when we woke up."
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“Ay?…eh-“ a vague gesture. Drawer-Ish. He has one too. He doesn’t care. He has also clearly never used it.
“The messages, Lucius. The information.”
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"Skulduggery sent them to me, that's him," Lucius explains between smaller sips of tea. "Really appreciate his dedication, right? Very good at investigating."
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He reads the messages again. Yes, that makes more sense and also aligns with some information given to him by the very same.
“He does seem very in the know. Useful then you share a room, but how you get any sleep I will never know.”
He just. Wouldn’t be able to do that, he thinks.
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God this tea is so good. He is going to finish his and start in on another cup. He checks and yes, gloriously, there is enough water.
"Good job you don't have a roommate or this might be awkward, huh?"
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Deadpan again, on beat for the second time. Look how on it he is when he’s had a good night. Even now crippled with existential dread about the future.
Speaking of tea, Izzy looks for his own after offering back the phone, also taking a moment to savour the warmth and aroma. Izzy keeps his room quite cold. Not for any other reason than he hasn’t worked out the air conditioning controls, but it is what it is. A hot cuppa in the morning can set most things right. So if he’s going to die, which is a distinct possibility, then at least he would have had this.
He can only hope that they aren’t about to have A Talk.
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"Oh right--hope you don't get executed. That would be rough. Please try not to stab the Captain. My Captain. The other one? Eh. Best judgment, yeah? When's it going to be?"
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“That might be the nicest thing you’ve said to me.”
Is it sarcastic, yes, but it’s also true. Oh the intricacies. Still, it is nice to have someone to talk to about this, especially seeing as he is apparently not allowed to involve Edward. Feels extremely wrong.
“Seven. At least it gives us some time to plan. Figure out how this came to head and figure out what leverage we have. If we have any at all.”
He isn’t convinced. Hell, Izzy doesn’t even know Hiram exists.
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"You want help planning?" Lucius offers casually--if the Captain's going to that, his day is basically free. It hasn't occurred to him that there's a very real possibility the Captain will die at this meeting...but that's mostly because, in Lucius's experience, people don't seem to have a lot of luck killing Stede Bonnet.
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