#ashenheir

[ashenheir]

“From across the ocean, it is hard to know what the new world is. All I knew were the stories I was told; of monsters, and valiant men sworn to slay them.”

independent abigail ashe

promo template: interstellar @ deviantart - here!

[seascourge]

ABIGAIL ASHE.

“It wasn’t your fault, Abigail.” He says; but it falls on deafened ears of an already damaged child, clinging to the bars the male rests behind. Sneaking to the jail to see Flint had been a task in itself, but these bars were another obstacle. At first, Abigail had kicked, had pulled. A plank of loose wood had been pried and pried; giving way to absolutely nothing. The bars were rotten in places, this should have been easy! Instead, she finds herself worn and emotional, tears scoring the curl of porcelain cheeks with heated ferocity. They’re so blinding she had to blink them away too often to see, dirtied hands rubbing steel grease and rust onto her white skin as she fought to clear it away.

“It is my fault, Captain..” Her voice broken. A hauntingly echoed sound mimicking the first nightmare she’d ever had in the Captain’s presence. That night on the ship, in his quarters. Wrapped in a hammock all her own with Barlow - no, Hamilton - beside her. The woman she’d called her mother after the loss of her own was gone. A wound in her head taking her quickly from them; and here...the only family she’d had left locked behind bars. And it was all. Her. Fault. “If only I had stayed in London. If only I had stayed with Captain Vane.” Defeatedly, the toppled bag to rest against the cobblestone, slipping her fingers through the bars to reach for him.

“None of this would have happened.” The sob broke her voice and words in several places, a heavy sniffle following suit as the emotions caught up with the rest of her. “Mrs. Hamilton would never have met such a fate...you wouldn’t be facing people who mean to see you hang..” A rattled sob choked upward, curls falling to hide her broken features; dealing with her turmoil in the only way she knew. By release. “If only I’d stayed in London..If only I’d stayed, Captain...”

     “ No. ” Haunted by his loss, and despite witnessing the disrespect given to Miranda’s corpse, he cannot allow Abigail to suffer in believing she was at fault for this entire mess. His tone is firm, unwavering in spite of being locked away behind bars like a common criminal, and he meets her gaze, piercing, proud. A child won’t bear misgiving. That Abigail has even come to see him surprises him some, but he won’t allow her to notice, shifting in his cell and coming closer. Death is immediate and it will be unkind, perhaps he will be desecrated. Perhaps he will die angry, with regret, his spirit left behind to wander the seas, ghoulish and terrible. Perhaps he’s already become ghoulish, terrible, despite walking among men. But Abigail Ashe won’t see the worst of him. She was innocent. To bear the sins of her father is something Flint will not allow. 

     “ Don’t weep for me, Abigail. This has been a long time coming. ” He attempts at a gentle tone, but it is difficult for a man who’s known war and strife as well as he’s known breathing. His rough, calloused hand reaches through the bars for her, gripping her hand. “ If I hang, there will be repercussions. Severe ones. I’ll have the last laugh in death. But you will be safe. I’ve made arrangements. ” The sight of a woman’s tears always places him at a loss — he soothes her knuckles, before drawing back, weary and burdened with purpose. 

     “ There is more to life than loss. You’ll live a fulfilling one. You’ll find love and be happy, and you will grow and mature and see the world. There is promise, and there is hope. Don’t lose it. ” She is innocent. And he will not see her suffer for his own crimes, for the crimes of those who wish to see him dead. This day was meant to come, he’d prophesied his own fate a long while ago. Perhaps from the moment he’d decided to engage with Miranda and Thomas, fallible, as every man is. But Nassau would survive, others would see to it in his stead. “ You shouldn’t stay here long. ”

[thomashxmilton]

“ you are not your past ”

Thomas listened to Abigail, smiling softly at the young girl he said, “that’s a very kind sentiment, Miss Ashe. But unfortunately, someone in my position cannot escape that past, even if I tried.” 

[perfectmetaphore]

@ashenheir​ continued! 

Necessary? Did Mr. Silver not catch on to her love of tea from their talk that day? Brown orbs blinked up at the taller pirate in curious wonder, before glancing behind her to the array of stretched out tea pots and matching teacups set on the worn dining table of the old home. It had been sometime since the place had any repairs; and quiet frankly Abigail was not a skilled hand in manual labor. But, perhaps nine different teas for tasting was a bit....over the top. The pirate himself seemed overwhelmed with such an idea, though this was a typical afternoon in society for the young lady. Who constantly had to remind herself she was no longer in society.

“It’s...too much, isn’t it?” Abigail’s soft coo of a tone mellowed out between them, as her eyes returned up to the cook of the Man O’ War once more. For a moment there had been a flicker of worry flashing in them, not wanting to drive away a potential friend she could level with. They were having such a good time that afternoon after all. No thanks to the rough Captain with a natural intimidation score. “I thought since we were getting on well over tea..you might like to try the one’s I told you about. Of course...if you’re busy, Mr. Silver. I’ll understand.”

Curse him and his absolute lack of manners. So used to mock and provoke, less so in actual PLEASANT CONVERSATIONS, and this is a pleasant fucking conversation which he should at least TRY TO ENJOY. So when she speaks her worry, Silver simply shakes his head with a gentle laugh following. 

“I mean-- I did ask for it, sort of, I just didn’t expect the collection to be this... big. Not that it’s a bad thing, not really, I have nothing to do all day so please, do indulge me into the wondrous world of tea” 

He takes a seat, stares at the many varieties of brands before him. The tea sets were quite pretty as well, and he is certain his mother must have had some of those sets back way BACK WHEN. ‘ do not go there, john ‘ the voice speaks to him, low with warning. It’s a life long forgotten, WIPED UNDER A RUG, never to be found. 

[nolegacies]

Lost But Not Gone...

@ashenheir

Days. Weeks...

He’s lost count of the amount of times the sun has risen and set. Beat down upon him without relent. Yet pushing forward was all he could do. Push forward despite having lost himself among the tides. Lost to the whims of it. He’s no idea if he’s reached the trading route. No idea how far off course he might be. Consciousness coming in shorter and shorter bouts. He knows dying upon this raft in the middle of the ocean might very well be his fate. He had known it before leaving that god forsaken spit of dirt. But wasting upon the sea he loved (the only one that never turned their back upon him) verses fading with his feet sinking in the soil he bears...there had been no contest. So he’d salvaged what he could of the wreckage. Salvaged and built until something of use had formed. Until packed with as many supplies as he could gather and himself--he’d left that nightmare behind. Left in in lieu of another one far more familiar. Far more...comfortable all things considered.

But now?

Now perhaps in small ways he questions his own sanity. Fingers trailing in the current that rocks him like a mother might her child. Rocks him to sleep as it has always done on grander nights than this. And perhaps he pretends in his stupor that is what it is. A quiet evening years ago upon a proper ship that he’d learned to call home after another had been nothing but a living hell. The creak of its bones framing the wash of the waves against it instead of his skin. The forgiving canvas molded around him instead of the stiff water logged wood. The scent of rum and dried meat instead rotted plantains, withered coconuts. Slips backwards to songs sun in the galley and the ring of steal. When his brothers were his brothers. Before they had all turned upon him, at the word of the monster Billy Bones had so foolishly created. He’d been the cause of his own demise, in the end. Perhaps a thought that that is how it should be, all things considered. How he would want it. Done in by his own hand, and his own choice.

So by fate or by luck that another might find him. He will not be so aware of it when or if it comes. Will not hear the shouts and the calls. Will not feel the ocean spray as others dare his rescue. Will not process the weightlessness of being lifted once again from the doors of death, because the sea...the sea is not yet ready to swallow him whole. He still has a role to play. Willingly or otherwise.

[ffamran-archive]

@ashenheir

❝THE NETHICITE . . . What are you planning on using it for?❞ HE, TAKING HER HAND, walked with her to the shore’s edge; he did ENJOY her COMPANY, as most who knew her CLOSELY would ( albeit , Garamsythe taught him that she was UNKIND to most strangers . . .) , yet something STRANGE was amiss, and Balthier, well, he didn’t like being KEPT IN THE DARK on any matter that may concern him, and for him, ANYTHING concerning the damned NETHICITE was knowledge he wanted to know. Even if it was the PRINCESS, he would get the news he wanted. Ｂ✗ █║│︻デ═一