The poor little nightshade hits Izzy’s arm and falls to the floor with a thump, the impact of which being enough to make the man stop and cast his captain a long suffering side eye. It’s annoying as fuck but in the same breath (and being an acknowledgement of The Return To How Things Should Be) the funniest thing he’s heard in a while.
Stocktake is well below them but sometimes- and this feels all the more poignant at the moment- you just have to do things yourself if you want them done right.
And in any case Izzy will never complain about time spent with Edward away from the gaggle of morons above deck. This time, even counting potatoes and pomelo, is sacred.
That sanctity has been raked across the coals and spat on these past many weeks. So this stupid joke, the act that commands it in the first place, and the blissful departure of the human Punch and Judy doll- all of it is carefully lifting those battered bits of whatever remains and breathing life back into the embers.
They’re small embers, but they’re there. And to Izzy they’re more dazzling than all the stars in the night sky.
He’s quiet for a beat, considering the pomelo in his hands. It’s the size of a cannonball and has a good heft to it. Push come to shove it might do some damage were he to throw it with all his might.
A snort. He puts the fruit back in its barrel and turns, shifting his weight to lean against it and give his aching foot a break.
Ed’s laughing. That’s good. Psychotic but good. Feels like old times. Keeps a man sharp. Terrified. Efficient.
“You sound hungry. Three month’s supplies in here. Three and a fortnight if we chuck over the fatty up top. Does this mean you’ve decided our heading?”
no subject
Stocktake is well below them but sometimes- and this feels all the more poignant at the moment- you just have to do things yourself if you want them done right.
And in any case Izzy will never complain about time spent with Edward away from the gaggle of morons above deck. This time, even counting potatoes and pomelo, is sacred.
That sanctity has been raked across the coals and spat on these past many weeks. So this stupid joke, the act that commands it in the first place, and the blissful departure of the human Punch and Judy doll- all of it is carefully lifting those battered bits of whatever remains and breathing life back into the embers.
They’re small embers, but they’re there. And to Izzy they’re more dazzling than all the stars in the night sky.
He’s quiet for a beat, considering the pomelo in his hands. It’s the size of a cannonball and has a good heft to it. Push come to shove it might do some damage were he to throw it with all his might.
A snort. He puts the fruit back in its barrel and turns, shifting his weight to lean against it and give his aching foot a break.
Ed’s laughing. That’s good. Psychotic but good. Feels like old times. Keeps a man sharp. Terrified. Efficient.
“You sound hungry. Three month’s supplies in here. Three and a fortnight if we chuck over the fatty up top. Does this mean you’ve decided our heading?”