ninetoes | Open Post

There was a time aboard The Revenge where breakfast was eaten at a white-clothed table, marmalade jars were plentiful, and excessively wasteful cakes were served for no real purpose. Those days were over. What was left onboard the ship they'd have to pray to whatever god would answer them that they could trade for gunpowder or the proper equipment to make an actual living as a pirate. Blackbeard's flag may not be taken as seriously given the rumors that surely were heard around the sea- the once dreaded and famed Blackbeard had signed his life away to serve the King.

Edward kicks at a bag of dry goods as he looks over their current stock. The liquor should stay, he'd need at least a bottle a day to keep him from feeling things anymore, and that was the goal.

"Fingerling potatoes..." he scoffs, digging a hand into one sack of provisions, plucking a small oblong spud from the pile and flicking it at his first mate. "Funny. Looks more like toes."

Ever since the incident with the barnacles, there has been an all-out war on the ship Revenge.

It involves Lucius figuring out exactly how to make Izzy’s life as miserable as possible.

Sure, Lucius doesn’t necessarily have to put in that much effort, as just being in the Revenge seems to be a special hell for Izzy in the first place. But Lucius is a crafty little bitch, and it’s so much more FUN to put in the extra effort.

The first part of the plan was to figure out where Izzy was sleeping most nights (one of the guest cabins), then which wall his bed was against (Starboard as it turns out), followed by figuring out which room had an adjoining wall with it (the ball room). The next part he had to rope Pete in on, but the man was started to look at Lucius like he’d do anything the younger man asked him to, bless his heart. So that wasn’t too much of a chore.

Then, the plan just involved waiting until Izzy had gone to sleep, pulling Pete out from whatever he was in the middle of, and having fantastically loud sex up against the wall adjoining Izzy’s room.

So far is was working beautifully.

[ Stede stands with his hands on his hips, surveying the market in Port au Prince. It's a beautiful day. Perfect, really. It would be more perfect if it weren't for the company, but Ed had asked him to do this, specifically, trusted him with this, and if that means he has to be here with Mr. Hands, so be it. He'll make the best of this, despite his companion's sour attitude.

He looks back at Mr. Hands with a smile ]

Now, clearly that vendor was a bust. I really thought they ought to have a pineapple! I had no idea they were out of season. Do you think that Ed will take candied pineapple?

Lucius Spriggs finds that he actually rather likes London. It's loud, messy, mean, and very overt. Precious few people here have bothered to try and trap him in the sort of lies and traps that his parents and employers had, and even fewer of them are interested in knowing him or what he's up to at any given time of the day. His clothes still look fine enough that he's mistaken for a page fairly regularly. He delivers other mens' mail on occasion, if he's picked the letters from a pocket alongside a wallet or a snuffbox. That's always a lark because it causes immediate chaos and earns him a quick, legitimate tip for the delivery.

Unfortunately, if he means to keep up this facade, he will require more sets of clothes ere long. His face and hair are innocuous, plain enough, but a page in tatty attire is likely to draw the eyes of the law and he would really rather avoid them. So, with his ill gotten gains and an assortment of pricey little pieces of silver to fence, he heads first to the shops to find a decent tailor. That little endeavor sets him back the better portion of his saved monies but there's not much for that. After that, he heads to the market in the street, where he might be able to buy food for the week, or any little things that catch his fancy. If he's lucky, he can use the little stolen silver baubles on him to barter, if not, he will have to head to the docks to find the less discerning crowd.

It's here, meandering the market, that he finds the most delightful things. A fur here, a perfume there, and then right in the center of the stalls, in the shadow of an overhead awning, he finds a handsome man with a bolt of plain navy cloth that feels so familiar it stops him in his tracks. It's terribly rude to drag his fingers over cloth but he's dressed nicely enough, looks proper enough, that nobody has had the wherewithal to stop him. Good luck too because this bolt on this man's table feels precisely like the cloth of his mother's dresses. If he hadn't been touching it, he would have passed right by.

It's stupid. It's absurd. He can't sew. He doesn't need this. He would have to stash it under his bed in his rented room and just watch it molder away.

"How much for this one?" Lucius asks, feigning casual interest and can't quite get his fingers to leave the raw edge of the bolt alone.

It's so much fabric. It will cost him a leg, he's sure of it. He has to have it. The man behind the stall is handsome, dark hair with a dark mustache and a neatly shaped beard with only thin flecks of grey. Lucius doesn't have to try to fake his polite smile.

Israel Hands, a man of 18 years and some days, has been a sailor in His Majesty's Navy since he was a boy. Born a merchant and raised on the docks, he was fascinated by the stately crafts which carried their goods from the colonies. Clever, good with commands and his letters and numbers, Israel followed his father's every move. He learned early how to keep stock and determine worth. He learned how to hiss and snarl at passers by with sticky fingers. He learned the value of coin, and spent his summers accompanying the long trips by narrowboat to London where they traded.

It was a fine life. A good life. A little boring, but it was a good purpose, and one he was glad to have. His family was respectable and proper, he had an education and thirst, they could afford food and their home and fine sets of tailored clothing. This life was a privilege but not so high that it came with the shackles of aristocracy. Some day, he knew the business would be his, and with it he might rule that little shipping dock, toting strong lumber, tobacco, fur, and cloth.

What he never expected, or knew to expect at the tender age of fourteen, was the idea that his father was only human. And humans make mistakes. Overnight, it seemed, his life dissolved in the wake of tax fraud and arson. The details were foggy but the fire was very hot, and he almost died that night, saved only by his mother's lady's maid who had roused and grabbed him out. He'd heard arguing and the frantic whinny of horses, but they left out the back of the house and kept running.

He'd tried to go back, screamed and fought her, but she grabbed him tight and held him there, hiding deep in the dark, thick leaves of a lilac. The flames grew so bright and hot that the whole area went warm, and together they sobbed in silence, knowing there was nothing to be done.

By morning, wet from dew and covered in ash, his home and parents were gone. His life was gone.

Too scared to investigate, and having no idea what to do, Emma had taken her young master, now charge, to the village and sobbed to the vicar. He is just a boy.

A small conference was held, and it was decided that there was nothing that could be done to fix the home or pass on the fortune. His father was not the banking sort as it turned out, and all their worldly worth had burned away.

Destitute and ragged, with nothing but his night clothes, Israel, Izzy as she called him - everybody did save his father- and Emma laid a small bunch of posies on the doorstep of the charred shell, and said their goodbyes. He could not pay for gravestones and there were no bodies to bury. Nothing at all survived.

Emma did what she could, she really did, but there was no longer a future for Izzy in Liverpool and without willing relations to take him in there were two options: the poor house or the navy.

Izzy chose the navy.

They took him, gladly, and he was enlisted to The HMS Rose. First as a cabin boy, but his interest in the ship and aptitude quickly moved him into that of a powder monkey and rigging hand. Small and keen sighted, it wasn't unusual for Izzy to be up in the sails where it was more dangerous for the grown men, and his youth and thirst to prove himself pushed back common sense and fear of danger.

Over the years they saw their fair share of battles and glory and beautiful ports, often sailing to the colonies or the warm Caribbean full of exotic treats he had only ever heard about from other merchants. He learned exotic fruits and hard work hand in hand, but the navy was not kind. His captain was even less so. He ran his crew into the ground with an iron fist, obedience and retribution in equal measures. It made sense to Izzy at first, because the brutality was all he knew and it worked so very well. He worked and he worked hard, earning his swallow and the crest of their ship into his skin like a rightful sailor, good as any of them despite his age and size. But the older he got the more he came to hate it. Stories and shanties of their king and country, who knew nothing of a life at sea or real toil. Their king who's hand in Liverpool would do nothing for him when he lost everything, who hadn't the faintest idea. All of this blood and gold for a king who couldn't, and wouldn't, give two shits that they risked their lives every single day, it became a burden.

The call of freedom became loud. Very loud. By the time they docked in Curaçao to resupply only to set out on yet another pointless mission, Israel Hands knew he was done. He had found love there, and made a promise, but like all good things in his short life, he had to say goodbye to that as well. They sailed back to the colonies, trading off their goods to another ship headed back to England, and headed for Nassau where they would spend three days.

Finally, opportunity presented itself.

It was dangerous to be there, a naval ship docking far to avoid the dreaded Republic of Pirates. Stupid really, but the captain's orders were the captain's orders, and given the first leap of freedom, Izzy packed his few belongings, and headed straight for the dangerous side of New Providence island to find anything that meant he would never have to board The Rose again, stopping only to knick a single glove from the back pocket of a passing merchant which he slipped over his tattooed hand and vowed to never remove if he could make this work.

Which is how, of course, he finds his way now, wandering through the seedy streets rife with crime, drink, and the smell of freedom. There's coin in his pocket, and he intends to find a place to drink, or a promising looking crew to approach, but in reality he ends up down the docks inspecting each vessel he comes across from the safety of land. Most are small and scruffy, but some have real promise. The Ranger, in all it's gleaming, heavily armed glory, sits pride of place and Izzy can not look away as he's perched sitting on a sidelong barrel in the only set of civilian clothes he owns. Far too worn and a bit snug, but he has always been small and so the high cuffs of his trousers don't mean much. the only thing worth anything at all, if finding out who captains the glorious beast and not leaving until he has secured a tenure.

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Coffee Shop AU (Metaphorical)

When We Were Young | For Edward | treading_water