A Reunion Starter for @smokedanced
“My family is here now, at sea.
My family is here now, at sea.
My family is here now, at sea.
My family is here now, at sea.
My family is here now, at sea.”
He’d said it first months ago, when this has all started, before Ed. Before everything. But it seemed more potent now, as it echoed in Stedes head, over and over, keeping rhythm with the oars of the little dinghy that he was, probably foolhardily, on his second day of rowing out into open waters.
My family is here now, at sea.
It was finally true. Barbados was behind him. He’d done the only thing his family back there had ever wanted of him, died and left them all his money, and the family who wanted him, who cared about him and was waiting for him, they were out there, somewhere on his ship, waiting for him. And so he rowed on, no matter how his arms ached. His palms blistered, burst, and bled. The sun made a red painful stripe of the back of his neck and hands. But still he rowed. Rough waters nearly capsized him, and still he rowed, oars beating over and over in time.
My family is here now, at sea.
My family is here now, at sea.
Till at least, after nearly three days of rowing with no rest, he put to port at Nassau. The republic of pirates. The best possible place to find the whereabouts of his lost crew….and Ed.
Stede was actively trying not to think of him. Of the way he must have felt when Stede didn’t turn up on that dock……and of the way his lips had felt against Stedes only a few hours before. Of his belly laugh. His mischievous grin. His glorious hair. He could think about Ed forever, but he needed to get things done. He needed to find them all. And he needed to explain himself. Ed would understand, if he could just explain, he told himself over and over again. Ed would understand. They loved each other. Ed wanted him. He’d understand.
The Republic of pirates had either entirely forgotten the Gentleman Pirate and the slight social miscalculations he’d made on his last visit, or he was unrecognizable without his flashy suits, because he was able to stride straight past Spanish Jackie into her establishment without her giving him a second look. And it only took a little asking around about his former crew and ship for him to find a lead, given freely from an older drunk with a crooked, leering grin.
“Yeah….I heard something about a crew traveling with Blackbeard on some right fancy ship. But I heard it ain’t ended so well.”
Stedes heart was beating in his throat as he nodded for the rather pungent older fellow to continue. “Yeah….bunch of the gits ended up having to be rescued by a schooner my mate was on. Something about a desert island and near cannibalism? Not sure. But theres a mad scott at the pub up the street frequently screaming about it.”
The words were barely out of the man’s mouth before Stede was standing up and dashing out, shouting insufficient thanks over his shoulder. And true to the old mans word, a voice was carrying halfway down the street from a pub a few doors down. A very familiar voice.
“Buttons!” Stede exclaimed with joy, bursting through the door. And there stood the Mad Scott in question, standing on a table, arms flung wide mid declaration, was his former first mate. Seated at the table beneath him were Oluwande, Roach, Wee John, and the Swede, and sitting on the floor cradling a pint was Black Pete.
Their mouths all fell open.
Buttons got his wits about him first.
“Be ye a ghost? A spirit?” He asked, wild eyed, leaning little away from the approaching Stede. That took Stede back a step.
“What? No…why would I be a ghost?”
It was Roach who replied.
“We thought you were dead man. Like super dead….why else would …..” he trailed off and their shocked faces all fell. Stede was blatantly confused. But thankfully Oluwande jumped in, smoothing things over in that way Stede often wished he could but never quite managed to do.
“Well, I, for one, am extremely glad you’re alive Captain.” He said, scooting his chair over to make room and gesturing for Stede to take a seat at the head of the table. “And I am glad you’re back.”
The wider crew echoed his statement, drawing their captain in with an unmatched warmth.
Yes. His family was here indeed.
They wasted no time in asking what had happened to him and he briefly related his tale. The academy. Ed’s plan to run away. Not the…personal bits…but most of it. The horrid Badminton brother. Barbados. Doug. How he finally figured out where he belonged and fuckeryed himself to freedom. Then finally asked the more important question that had been burning on the tip of his tongue; “But what happened to all of you? Where’s the ship?”
Their tale was surprising to say the least. Ed’s depression was understandable. He must have thought that Stede had abandoned him…..but marooning the crew? Kidnapping Jim and Frenchie and Lucius? It didn’t seem right at all. Like someone else….
“Izzy.” He deliclared darkly. “It must be all Izzy’s doing!” He surmised at the end of their tale. They looked back and forth between eachother, a bit confused.
“It was the Hands man that abandoned us on that little island…” Came the swede’s timid singsong after a fashion.
“And Izzy the spewer has tried to basically kidnap Blackbeard away before …” Black Pete chimed in.
“That little rat man was talking for Captain Ed a lot!” Roach added.
“Then that settles it!” Stede declared, standing up abruptly. “We need to go rescue our ship and our men back from Izzy hands!”
And so it was decided. Of course, they needed a boat first. But that turned out to be less trouble than they thought, as the owner of that particular pub was practically willing to pay them to ensure that Buttons never stood naked on tables hexing his patrons again, and that little money was enough to, with some creative bargaining on Oluwande part, and some blatant threats on Roach and Wee John’s, secure them a small craft. She wasn’t much to look at, and frankly what was left of the crew were barely able to all lie down on the deck at the same time, but she floated and had sails, and that was all that mattered. So off they went.
It wasn’t hard to find the Revenge again. Her reputation preceeded her, and there was a wake of destruction left in her wake, with stories of a new, short bearded, terrible Blackbeard at her helm.
Izzy, the crew of the Revenge’s Revenge, as they’d lovingly named their little sloop, concluded. It must be that vile Izzy hands. Stede practically vibrated with worry as he sat in what passed for the crows nest every spare moment, scanning the horizon for the familiar sight of his floating home. He could only imagine what that horrid little man was doing to his beloved crewmembers….and his beloved Ed. So he threw himself into working the boat. He coiled rope and rigged sails and scrubbed and toiled with the rest of them. He even slept on the deck, not that there was another option on the little rig, but still. If the crew was a little worried about the way their once prissy Captain seemed to have abandoned his sense of self in the dogged pursuit of the rest of their crew, they said nothing. It was a worry they all shared.
And then, finally, they saw Blackbeard’s flag on the horizon. It was the middle of the night, and Stede couldn’t sleep, so he climbed the mast with his spyglass and took to his customary watch. He wasn’t up there a moment when he spotted it, flapping in the light of the full moon, and he practically fell out of the rigging in his eagerness to tell everyone.
“Now.” He said, as they discussed their approach. “We don’t know what state everything is going to be in, so I think its best if we handle this gently. Any ideas?”
“Storm them and shoot that fucker Izzy in the face?” Suggested Black Pete.
“Blow him up?” Added Roach.
“Set him on fire?” Wee John contributed.
“Welp….not exactly what I was looking for but thank you for the contributions.” Sighed their Captain reluctantly.
It was Buttons who actually spotted their approach. There was a single rope left dangling over the side of the ship, trailing in the water in their wake. One man could swim silently up to the ship, climb the rope, and surriptitiously survey the situation aboard the ship then come back and report on how to proceed. It was, by far, the most sensible idea.
Everyone volunteered for the job, but in the end it was decided that Stede would go.
“It was my fuckup, guys. I was your captain and I failed you. This should be my risk to take.” He said….but he was also the only competent swimmer among them, having learned at boarding school. There was more than a few moments of doubt about whether their soft Captain was up to the task….but something about him had changed. It only took one look at his unkempt windswept hair and bandaged, scabbed hands to see that. So he stripped down to his shirt and trousers and made the swim to his beloved ship.
It was quiet on deck. There was a lookout facing the opposite way from the direction he’d climbed up, but everyone else seemed to be asleep below, so he allowed himself a moment to just commune with his beautiful boat. Oh it felt good to touch her again. To lay hands on her perfectly polished planks of high quality wood, and to see her decks shine in the moonlight. Someone had made some cosmetic additions in the form of unsightly spikes and black paint, but that would be easy to rectify. And he needed to replace the figurehead anyhow.
And there, standing in the moonlight, back on his beloved ship, confident in his impending rescue of his crew and vibrating with the prospect of seeing Ed again, he tipped his face towards the glowing full moon and finally allowed himself to truly smile and murmur with joy words he’d once murmured with panic upon that very same spot;
“My family is here now, at sea.”
He doesn’t sleep much, nowadays. Always too restless; lying down just makes his heart pound faster, makes him want to throw things. When he does sleep, it’s often after he’s been crying himself dry, collapsing in exhaustion. Or when he drinks himself to sleep. Izzy has to, periodically, storm his cabin and physically force him awake, though more often he simply barely shuts his eyes for an hour or two, restless.
It’s one of those restless nights, and Ed is pacing, a knife in hand, occassionally stabbing a wall, an empty shelf, a table. He feels better when he moves, when he gets himself out of his head.
Daytime’s easier, at least when there’s some action. He takes his crew on raids more often than healthy, with less planning than a good captain should do. But he’s done with the fuckeries. He wants to kill with his own two hands, up close, not to be some fucking ghost. He’s flesh and bone, they’re flesh and bone, and he wants to be torn apart as much as he wants to tear them apart.
Wants to feel something physical to get the fuck out of his head.
It’s better than being Edward, he tells himself. It was never going to work out; he’s been Blackbeard for a much bigger part of his life than he’s ever been just Ed. Best to do what he knows, kick it up a notch or two. It’s what people expect of him, anyway.
If he’s not Blackbeard, there’s nothing left to him. Edward is nothing but pain.
The biggest difference to who he was as Blackbeard before is that he doesn’t outsource the killing, anymore. No, he’s got a taste of it, now, even if it kind of feels like running, feels like something ominous is chasing him, right at his heels, and he has to keep running, keep getting away from whatever it is, lest it catch him. It’s not that different, he tells himself. He’s killed before, just not directly, up close. It’s not that different. It’s better this way. Living up to his reputation.
He should thank Stede Bonnet for forcing him to reach his full potential.
Ed has tried so hard to get rid of everything that could possibly remind him of his heartbreak, yet no matter how perfectly he empties the Revenge of Stede’s things, Ed thinks about him every single day.
But he can’t let himself… It’s safer to make it all into anger. He’s Blackbeard. He doesn’t have a heart anyone can break.
He takes out that anger on the people he slaughters, sometimes takes it out on Izzy, too, but as for Bonnet’s old crew… for the most part, he pretends Jim and Frenchie are not there at all. Lets Izzy handle them, trusts his first mate to make sure there’s no mutiny brewing. Yet even though he’s more cold than he is cruel as a captain, he can tell they fear him now.
He thinks even Izzy fears him, now.
Brooding in his own misery, dressed in his leathers, his eyes and beard made up in their usual charcoal even in the middle of the night, Ed assumes it’s Izzy he hears the footsteps of outside his cabin. Irritated ⸺ because it’s the middle of the night, it’s his time to be alone, unobserved ⸺ he strides to yank open the door before there even is a knock. ❝ The fuck do you want⸺ ❞
He falls silent when he realises it’s not Izzy at all.
For a moment, everything inside Ed falters at the sight of him. For a moment, but only for a moment, it’s almost as the mask he’s so carefully put on and never let go of crumbles into dust from the sheer turmoil of emotion he’s overcome with. But no… no. It’s glued on too deep, that mask, it’s become what he is, become all he is.
And it’s Blackbeard, not Edward, who yanks Stede Bonnet into the room and pins him to the wall, an arm rought at his throat, a knife pressing against his gut, not quite hard enough to injure… yet.
❝ Tell me, ❞ he says, voice low, dangerous, cold, ❝ how many men have you come across, that’ve invaded my ship, and lived to talk about it? ❞
areudirty
prguitarman
discoholicmusic
stormborns
ellievsbear
gamechangershow
2087
