The call to action pushes the tangles mess of conflicting feelings aside, and he leans back to give Edward space before following, albeit slowly.
He'll need time to recover his steps, but time stops for no man, and he won't complain. He's got a fresh(ish) bandage and the bleeding has stopped for the most part.
Rum is easily acquired, and while the details of work is still to come, the fact that they're doing something fans those embers in his belly a little brighter. He feels good with a purpose. With a plan. Even if it's just getting to the Captain's Quarters, delivering the bottle, and easing himself into a seat with a soft noise. He can work with this.
There's no sense in waiting for the hobbling first mate in the hall. Ed makes his way back to his quarters, giving himself the spare time to work out his emotions before Izzy is present. Things are different with Izzy, Ed can't feel freely without judgement, he's expected to be strong. He has to remember what that is like.
Moving through the eerily empty room, he pushes one of the chairs out from behind the table, settling down in it and kicking his feet up. By the time Izzy makes it there, Ed will be lighting his freshly-packed pipe as a means to keep his nerves settled.
"Sit down." he instructs without looking up, shaking the match off to the side until the flame disappears.
"How long can we realistically run on a skeleton crew before things become difficult?" he asks, not wasting time. Better to ease into this moment by focusing on the work, which there'd be plenty of, soon enough.
He considers the question for a beat as he opens the bottle of rum and pours two glasses. Edward's first (always), which he gives over before pouring his own.
A vessel never carries more crew than it needs to. There's never the space and feeding extra mouths is bad business. But Bonnet's crew was mainly comprised of layabouts and harlots, so it was running under powered long before they marooned most of them.
"Well," a sip. He'll give Bonnet this, the drink selection is decent.
"We could do with a carpenter and another gunner or two but assuming the lot we've kept pull any kind of weight we'll be fine for the foreseeable future. Maybe a sailmaker. I'm not sure that lad can sew as well as he says he can."
The glass doesn't sit for long before Edward is swiping it up to drink it. He'd have foregone the glass altogether, there was certainly no one aboard to pretend to be proper for.
"He'll learn to." he mutters into his glass. Frenchie managed to stitch up the flag to Ed's liking, which was good enough. And he seemed to fear them enough to not talk back, to do as he's told and do it quickly.
"Right. West, then." he sighs, the expedition not nearly as exciting to him as it might have once been. There's a moment of silence as he drinks more of the rum, contemplating.
"Can I ask you something?" he starts, not waiting for an answer to continue, "What do you want out of all of this?" Because this can't just be it. There has to be more to life than sailing back and forth and feeding people their toes.
Israel considers this for a moment as well. It's a question he's asked himself with increasing frequency the last long while. Honestly compels him, though.
"Freedom?"
A sip. There's guarded but worn emotion in his voice when he speaks next.
"I can't go back there."
England, he means.
The ring tied at his throat feels tighter than ever. The glove on his hand stuck like tar.
That word hangs in the air long enough for Ed to feel it begin to lay heavily over him. He grits his teeth, because it doesn't feel like freedom to him, not completely. Certainly he is living outside of law or order but there are still rules and expectations of him. Of who he's allowed to be.
"Neither of us can, can we?" he mutters, that much is true. He'd fled his duties as a soldier... he wouldn't be given that opportunity again. Next time he gets caught, he's dead for certain.
Ain't that always the way. Always a hair away from death. Always lurking around the next corner, the next job, the next risky docking to resupply. Izzy knows he'll have to be more alert than ever. Edward may seem like he has his head back in the game but he's hurting. And that makes him like a wild animal.
Unpredictable and extremely dangerous.
A sigh, looking to change the subject. There's no use being upset about ghosts.
Which is, of course, all that's waiting for him back in England and the only hope he'd have at the end of a hangman's noose.
"I don't know, why don't we do something fun. Let our hair down a little."
Yes, a great idea.
"Let's find ourselves a little ship and let loose. Kill 'em all and lock the helm towards land. Remind everyone who we are, ay? That'll cheer you up."
Fun is a relative term, but he'll hear his first mate out on this one. He turns, watching Izzy inquisitively as he explains himself. The idea of letting off some steam isn't so bad, but Ed wonders if he'll be expected to do the killing. He's only indirectly killed others since his father's death; technically fire or the ocean or his men had killed the others.
"Just like old times." he replies, trying to sound enthusiastic. He doesn't.
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no subject
The call to action pushes the tangles mess of conflicting feelings aside, and he leans back to give Edward space before following, albeit slowly.
He'll need time to recover his steps, but time stops for no man, and he won't complain. He's got a fresh(ish) bandage and the bleeding has stopped for the most part.
Rum is easily acquired, and while the details of work is still to come, the fact that they're doing something fans those embers in his belly a little brighter. He feels good with a purpose. With a plan. Even if it's just getting to the Captain's Quarters, delivering the bottle, and easing himself into a seat with a soft noise. He can work with this.
no subject
Moving through the eerily empty room, he pushes one of the chairs out from behind the table, settling down in it and kicking his feet up. By the time Izzy makes it there, Ed will be lighting his freshly-packed pipe as a means to keep his nerves settled.
"Sit down." he instructs without looking up, shaking the match off to the side until the flame disappears.
"How long can we realistically run on a skeleton crew before things become difficult?" he asks, not wasting time. Better to ease into this moment by focusing on the work, which there'd be plenty of, soon enough.
no subject
A vessel never carries more crew than it needs to. There's never the space and feeding extra mouths is bad business. But Bonnet's crew was mainly comprised of layabouts and harlots, so it was running under powered long before they marooned most of them.
"Well," a sip. He'll give Bonnet this, the drink selection is decent.
"We could do with a carpenter and another gunner or two but assuming the lot we've kept pull any kind of weight we'll be fine for the foreseeable future. Maybe a sailmaker. I'm not sure that lad can sew as well as he says he can."
no subject
"He'll learn to." he mutters into his glass. Frenchie managed to stitch up the flag to Ed's liking, which was good enough. And he seemed to fear them enough to not talk back, to do as he's told and do it quickly.
"Right. West, then." he sighs, the expedition not nearly as exciting to him as it might have once been. There's a moment of silence as he drinks more of the rum, contemplating.
"Can I ask you something?" he starts, not waiting for an answer to continue, "What do you want out of all of this?" Because this can't just be it. There has to be more to life than sailing back and forth and feeding people their toes.
no subject
"Freedom?"
A sip. There's guarded but worn emotion in his voice when he speaks next.
"I can't go back there."
England, he means.
The ring tied at his throat feels tighter than ever. The glove on his hand stuck like tar.
no subject
That word hangs in the air long enough for Ed to feel it begin to lay heavily over him. He grits his teeth, because it doesn't feel like freedom to him, not completely. Certainly he is living outside of law or order but there are still rules and expectations of him. Of who he's allowed to be.
"Neither of us can, can we?" he mutters, that much is true. He'd fled his duties as a soldier... he wouldn't be given that opportunity again. Next time he gets caught, he's dead for certain.
no subject
Unpredictable and extremely dangerous.
A sigh, looking to change the subject. There's no use being upset about ghosts.
Which is, of course, all that's waiting for him back in England and the only hope he'd have at the end of a hangman's noose.
"I don't know, why don't we do something fun. Let our hair down a little."
Yes, a great idea.
"Let's find ourselves a little ship and let loose. Kill 'em all and lock the helm towards land. Remind everyone who we are, ay? That'll cheer you up."
no subject
"Just like old times." he replies, trying to sound enthusiastic. He doesn't.