come_sailaway | Camp Idunwanna

Fortunately, he knows most of his cabin-mates quite well. Or at least two of them well, one of them vaguely, and one not at all. But that does not stop him from clearing his throat and stepping into the center of the room, conscientious of the whistle about his neck and the badge of authority in his hand.

Nevermind that he is pale and sweating and shaking slightly. He's been like that all day.

"If I may have your attention, please. It would seem we are all in this together in an unknown situation where death may strike at any time swift and sudden and paint the walls with blood. It also very well may be that we will endure unspeakable agonies or tortures that mortal men have not yet devised- but in the end, we will do so together. So first. Let's see all here who are here. In other words, let's take attendance.

When I call your name, tell me your favorite color, your favorite bedtime snack or read, and one idea to make this hellhole a little more bearable."

He looks at his list.

"Skulduggery?"

Well, dissociating on the bus after finding himself in ugly shorts didn't do much to help the situation, but at least by the evening, Skulduggery has gotten over the immediate shock.

It's a summer camp. Which, he figures, means they're one or two nights away from a mass murder by a masked maniac. He wonders if maybe one of the passengers has been tagged to be it.

"Pants would be nice," he says. "Any color's fine. I don't eat or sleep, so." Shrug! He sounds apologetic, but not overly. Sorry not sorry he's got special dietary restrictions!

"That's a good answer. And mea cupla for not being more specific. But what I meant was out of the realm of the theoretical and more in the literal sense- one thing we can do to make this place better for us and the others sequestered here shortly to be massacred in a horrible blood bath?"

Skulduggery thinks about it for a moment. "I suppose if we follow horror movie rules... you should always be with somebody, never follow suspicious sounds in the woods, and never say 'I'll be right back.'" He shrugs. "That seems reasonable, I think. Assuming one of us isn't the potential masked maniac..."

"O-oh... really?" He hadn't thought of a masked maniac or suspicious sounds in the woods. If they were masked they could be anyone. Or multiple someones! Who knew what atrocities might be committed? It could even be him- who knew?

He's even paler now and feels a bit light headed as he takes this information down with a shaking hand that can barely right.

"Good thoughts there, good thoughts." They are all going to die. It is going to be a bloody misery. Oh god. Oh fuck.

"Thank you, Skulduggery..." He looks up again, calling the next name on his list. "What about you, John?"

"I mean, seconding the request for proper trousers," Watson says wryly. He reaches over and gives Stede's upper arm a reassuring squeeze; the man looks like he's going to faint. "But seriously, we need to stay calm and keep our wits about us. We are in this together, after all. We are allies, not enemies. And for all the 'teams' we've been put on, most of the others out there will also be allies."

He is going to believe that as hard as he can.

"I suppose I'm partial to a penny dreadful at bedtime," Watson adds with a shrug.

"Right. Calm. Very important." He writes that down too. It occurs to him that that is what a masked killer is likely to say- but he can forgive John from murdering him so long as it's quick and painless. But perhaps he's right too. Regardless of who the killer is, they are all allies and trapped together here.

"Perhaps we should find a way for us all to work together then, to bring a sense of cohesion and comraderie to the people here. I'm sure none of us are in it to win after all." And hopefully there would be no consequences for losing. "Penny Dreadful sounds lovely." He doesn't know what it is but it sounds like booze. "If you find some, perhaps we can all have some."

He takes a breath and lets it out before turning to their one female member. It makes things a bit awkward but they are all (presumably) gentleman here.

"Miss Effie, what about you?"

Effie hadn't even thought about the chances of being murdered by a masked psycho but of course she'll be thinking about that when she tries to sleep tonight. Other than that new fear she's settling in okay. She wishes she hadn't been separated from Haymitch but also can't complain about current company.

The icebreaker questions, at the very least, a welcome distraction from their impending deaths. "My favorite color is gold, and and I like a glass of wine before bed." She pauses a moment and then adds: "I third the request for pants, but I think we could spruce things up in here with some flowers or greenery." And upon further consideration: "Or maybe a booby trap? If we're worried about masked intruders?"

"Oh greenery, I like that. I enjoy the way you think." Who is going to gather the greenery, he's not sure, but that is what he has crew for. This place could use a good sprucing up.

"Also maybe some curtains to set around the bed for privacy. Rig up some blankets, perhaps? I don't know about you, but I do like a little enclosed space." It was very nice, very cozy. Though it might be awkward for those in top bunks.

"Booby traps..." He writes down her suggestion and then thinks. "Well, I'm not sure about that. We don't know if the murderer is going to be one of us or someone- or something outside. I don't know if I don't want to take the risk of accidentally harming one of us. I mean, we may...we..." he takes a deep breath, swallows, lets it out. "We may die....but we all should expect that to happen now and again and is it really worth bruised feelings when we'll have to live with each other in close quarters.

Unless you had some sort of non-lethal or injurious ideas in mind..."

Effie nods her agreement. Curtains would be nice.

Her eyes widen as he continues to really embrace the murderer idea. Effie has no plans of dying in this kind of outfit, thankyouverymuch. "Ah -" she begins, not particular sure if she should address the fact that he looks like he's progressively becoming more nervous about the whole thing. It seems sort of rude to draw attention to it.

"I was thinking more along the lines of an alarm system? Cans or something that makes noise so we'll know if someone tries to sneak in while we're asleep."

Of course that does no good if the murderer is one of them, but what are the chances of that?

"Good idea. Alarm system." He writes this down as well. "We'll have to figure something out. Maybe we can spread the idea to the entire camp. Everyone should be alerted if something untoward is happening."

And now... He flips a page and looks up.

"Mr... Ayato is it? I'm afraid I don't know you very well, but what is your take on this whole thing?"

Ayato himself has been politely listening to the others state their piece, seated comfortably on the edge of one of the bottom bunks with one ankle crossed over the other. It’s rather clear from his demeanor that he’s more than content to quietly hang back and let the others do all the discussing, though now that it’s his turn to speak up he clears his throat and folds his hands together across his lap.

“Given the circumstances, I do agree that it’s best to remain wary. However, from my own personal experience, too much anxiety is a sure fire way to draw undue attention, and thus paint a target upon one’s back. Therefore I second the motion to remain steadfast and maintain a veneer of calm.”

Much like a clear ocean laps gently against the sandy shore, he speaks as if he personally is unbothered by the potential threat above all their heads. He has always been the type to lead by example, and although he’s not in the position of leading at the moment, old habits die hard.

“This cabin, for example, is highly defensible. Barring the threat of someone approaching and setting the wood on fire, should we tend to the windows as miss Trinket has suggested, there is but one clear entrance in or out. We also are in the presence of mister Skullduggery, who by his own admission does not sleep. If he finds the notion agreeable, he could easily be our early warning sign should any sound of trouble approach.”

A pause there, and then a small smile curves one side of his lips slightly upwards as he adds on, “Also, I’ve been told blue as a color suits me best. When I find that sleep eludes me, winding down with a bit of tea and some calligraphy has always helped me settle enough for sleep to find me, and… Given all of us seem to be in agreement over the attire, I’m wondering if it might be prudent of us to craft our own pants, should anyone here have the sewing skills. I’m certain we can deal without a few more rolls of bed linen given we already intend to repurpose some for curtains.”

Edited 2022-06-12 04:18 (UTC)

Ayato seems like a sensible sort.

Anyway, Watson helpfully takes this moment to point out, "I fancy my stitching is quite good, though I haven't any notion about tailoring. Cloth is not what I usually stitch, after all, and it's been a little while since I had to darn my own socks. If someone did know about tailoring, I would certainly help assemble these theoretical trousers."

“I know how,” Effie offers brightly, happy to be of use. “It’s been some time since I’ve worked on anything but my own clothes, but you know what they say: it’s like riding a horse!”

She seems completely unaware of having mixed up two sayings and powers on: “I think we’ll all feel much more comfortable once properly dressed.”

"Ayato is right about me not sleeping. I'll keep an eye out for trouble." He's already planning on running into the woods at the next possible moment. "I think maybe my flippant remark was taken a bit too seriously, though -- there's not liable to be a murderer or anything like that."

See? He's trying to keep the peace.

"At least, not for the first few days."

Well... He was trying to keep the peace.

"The main thing to worry about is how much we play into the entire camp scenario. I've never been to a summer camp, so I'm sure I'll do terribly at it." If he sounds pleased about that, it's because he is. The whole point of him joining the excursion was to be bad at it. If you're looking for any conversation outside of "how does this benefit the captain and how do we keep that from happening," Skulduggery... probably is not your guy. At least, not for the next twelve hours or so.

Everyone is talking about sewing and pants and good ideas and it's wonderful, it really is, but Stede feels a little out of his depth. Possibly because even though Skulduggery and John are his crew, they are also his peers to some extent and it's a little disconcerting.

Alarms on the windows is a good idea, and he has no thoughts on the topic of trousers since he doesn't want to work Lucius too hard.

Except...

"I think it'll be impossible to do this badly if we don't know how it's supposed to go." He lets out a breath. "I think the most important thing remains to be looking out for each other. Make sure everyone is calm and...and maybe has a good time inspite of themselves. Even if we are horribly murdered... I mean... it-it might be something we just have to get used to eventually."

"If it helps... Personally, I have no intention to dying to anything just yet, and I'm rather well trained in the art of the blade." He holds his hand out and closes his fist around an intricate blue katana that materializes seemingly out of thin air and into his grip, holding it just long enough to make his point before it dissolves away into nothing once again.

"If it comes down to a fight, I can assist in protecting those of you who don't wish to have to engage, provided you do not use this promise to pit me against others when unnecessary."

"Oh that is very nice! What a neat trick!" It is a beautiful sword indeed and Stede trusts him while at the same time trying not to think of how that would feel in his liver.

"I think we should think of more than just ourselves, of course. Or this cabin. We are all, after all, of a certain age to consider the younger people on board or those that can't defend themselves. So really we ought to spread out and help who and where we can."

[you better start believing in ghost stories...]

Something or someone is outside in the darkness.

There's the quiet crunch of gravel as if a creature is nearing the cabin; if you're near the door or listening very, very closely, you might hear a low murmured "Fucking shit." Some scuffling (something brushed against his unfortunately newly-bare leg and nearly gave him a heart-attack. But no, it wasn't a snake. It was a motherfucking plant. Stupid shitty nature. It gets kicked a few times for its troubles).

The sound pauses just outside the cabin. It's followed down by the soft creak of footsteps on the wooden planks of the few stairs leading up to the cabin door. The footsteps stop.

The door knob wiggles.

There's a low huff.

And then a relatively polite knock for this hour.

Given the specifics of his work, Ayato has always been something of a late sleeper and an early riser. This has not changed given the camp setting, and he just so happens to have still been awake despite — or perhaps, because of — the sounds of his cabin mates in various states of their own restfulness.

Seated on his knees in the center of the wooden floorboards, he has a sheet draped about his shoulders in some semblance of a draping, robe-like coverage. On his lap sits his personal, intricately designed katana, which he has been idly cleaning and inspecting for a good fifteen minutes or so. Weapon upkeep is an important part of remaining vigilant, after all.

He would be in the process of sharpening it, if he did not want to disturb those of his bunk mates that we’re already in the throes of slumber.

His head lifts as he hears the noises outside in the forest around them. It’s dark in the cabin save for one single lit lantern near the back, and it provides just enough light for him to watch the jiggle of the doorknob.

He stands, sword in hand, and quietly crosses to the threshold so that he can unlatch the door and pull it open after the knock.

“It is rather late for a visit. How might I assist you?”

Ed had not expected one of the cabinmates. Somehow, when he played this over in his mind--and he had--it had been Stede answering the door in the dumb little uniform, maybe with a sleep mask pushed up into his hair. Now Ed's not really sure how to explain his presence or what he came here for. To make sure Stede's ok sounds ridiculously lame in his head, so he doesn't say that.

He looks at the sword which thankfully does not appear to have any blood on it--YET, dunno, he could have just interrupted this kid's plans to get the whole cabin to himself--looks at the kid who can't be much older than Lucius.

"Uh," Ed answers intelligently with a little shrug and head-toss. He's not familiar with the kid, and he's not sure he'll know Stede by name (willful ignorance to think Stede didn't have them all go round in a circle and do introductions, maybe even make nametags. He knows Stede, but he is choosing to not think about how ridiculous the trust exercises probably were), so he settles on a description. "Just looking for someone. Blond, nice hair, overly friendly." He points at the sword. "Promise I don't bite." Often.

The corners of Ayato’s mouth twitch upwards just the barest amount, amusement clear in his body language as he shifts to step back just enough to open the door for the other man to be able to see further inside the cabin.

He tosses the sword up, and it dissolves into a muted shower of glimmering sparks. Not far from his reach in the slightest, as he could simply summon it back into his grip once again with very little effort on his part. But, as the saying went: out of sight, out of mind.

“Your companion is asleep at the moment. You can step in to verify that my words convey the truth, if you like. Though I will have to request that you keep your voice down, so as to not disturb the others. Everyone is rather on edge, given the way the last outing went.”

Murder island leaves lasting effects on the mind, after all.

"Neat trick," he says quietly, as the sword sparkles into nonexistence. He's still looking at the space in the air and wondering how it's done when he steps over the threshold.

He'll chance it, you know, that the kid won't lop off his head as soon as he's in. Ed's walked into more threatening hives of scum and villainy, so he can take his chances with a kid with a sword.

A kid who, on second glance, looks somewhat familiar. Ed's usually decent with faces, though admittedly, he's been kind of busy the past--shit, how long have they been here? A month? Not a lot of time to go around making friends.

"Understandable," he agrees. Ed's not one to take off his shoes on any occasion, though he considers it for a moment. The white laced things are quiet enough, however, and he gets all of two steps into the cabin before spinning around and wagging at finger at the sword kid. "Wait a sec," he says with a slowly dawning grin. "I know you--you're the guy who shares my room."

The room Ed barely uses, but that's beside the point. Ships passing in the night, or something like that.

He moves to close the door up behind Ed, latching the lock and adjusting the blanket around his shoulders to lie better around him. “I know a few more as well, though I usually save them for more dire situations.”

He’s about to return to his spot on the center of the floor when there’s a finger pointing in his direction. A quiet laugh escapes him, and he clasps his hands behind his back with a small nod. “Correct. You can imagine, then, how little intention I have in harming your friend, considering you have unfettered access to where I rest my head each evening.”

He gives a small dip of said head in a slight approximation of a polite bow. “Kamisato Ayato, though you may refer to me as simply Ayato if it suits you. Although I must admit, I’m not entirely certain what you yourself prefer to answer to.” Ships in the night indeed.

"Hope it doesn't come to that, but I'd like to see what you've got up your sleeve."

Well, Ed's still going to trust him only about as far as he can throw him, but the kid has a point. Even if Ed has seen plenty of mutinies where unfettered access wasn't a deterrent, he'll cautiously hope the kid isn't going to hurt Stede or...any of the familiar faces who sleep in here, apparently.

What, did Stede just request half his crew in his cabin, or what?

"And don't you forget it." Not much as far as threats go, but yeah. He knows where you sleep, Ayato.

Ed kind of gives an awkward sort of nod, the closest he comes to a bow outside of mocking, and commits the name to memory this time. He's not sure exactly where such a name originates from, but it sounds very far away.

"Can call me Blackbeard. Or, I don't know--just Ed's fine." He goes to hook his thumbs in a belt that is definitely not there right now, and settles for his hands on his hips and a look around the cabin, settling finally on the floor. There wasn't...actually a plan past check in on Stede and Ed is regrettably not particularly great for quiet small talk--life of the party? Sure. One on one...uh. What the hell would Stede say?

"You fellas having fun yet?" Nailed it.

"A pleasure to officially make your acquaintance then, mister Blackbeard. Ed is short for... Edward, then? I presume? Perhaps if you are willing, sometime during this outing we can convene near the field, and you and I can spar together so that I might show you more of my skills first hand." It's not a threat, merely a genuine offer, and he does go about returning to his spot on the floor. Nearer to his own bunk now, as that is his own quiet little area of space.

"Why wouldn't we? I for one believe this place to be quite the recreational and gratifying experience." It's very clearly a deadpan, sarcastic remark this time, and he busies himself now with unclipping his Vision from the band of his shorts in order to buff and polish the gleaming metal casing. In a less dry tone, he continues, "You're welcome to stay the full evening here, if that is what you choose. However, if you feel the need to engage in small talk out of courtesy, rest assured that I am not overly fond of doing so either. You and I can simply remain in comfortable silence until either one - or both - of us fall into the arms of slumber, if you wish."

"Can leave off the mister," he mumbles out, somewhat distracted by the large quantity and quality of words coming from his clearly educated roommate. No wonder the kid's in Stede's cabin--they could probably talk together like this and not need a translator even once. And with that bit of eloquence from Ed, he's very glad to be spared the task of making small talk.

Gratifying. So far Ed's sharing living quarters with people he mostly doesn't know, biding his time until the Captain sounds the starting bell or whatever and signals the killing to begin. He's fully onboard with Ayato's sarcasm, even if he didn't experience the other island firsthand.

"With that attitude, you and me are going to get along great." Comfortable silence until they just pass out? Sounds like a terrific rooming experience, if a little bit of a boring one. They'll probably find things in common to actually talk about, if Ed ever bothers to use his room for its intended purpose. "But I'm just gonna check on Stede and then I'll be out of your hair. I'll hit you up for that spar if we survive 'til then."

With that, he crosses the room as quietly as possible, aware now also that he has an audience to whatever he and Stede might discuss, and he kneels beside his co-captain's bed--seeing Stede asleep when he's not nearly dying is a strange new wonder--before nudging his shoulder.

"Stede," he whispers. "Hey."

He is not sleeping well. He rarely sleeps well these days, but especially now his dreams are more plagued by nightmares than usual. Nightmares he can't escape from. That swirl in his brain and turn his insides to ice and repeat over and over.

The touch startles the hell out of him and he bolts upright with a strangled scream, hand clenching the butter knife he had filched from the mess hall and flicking it at his assailants throat.

"Kill me and you'll regret it!"

"Shhhh."

Ed tries to shush him, even going so far as to risk putting his hand over Stede's mouth (swear to god, mate, you bite my finger and I have to lose it like Lucius, I'm going to...). Hell, he attempts to direct the knife away since the blade doesn't look dangerous. It's more of a blunt stabbing sort of weapon, the kind of thing that'd require some force but could get the job done especially at something as soft as the neck.

It's a butter knife. He thinks he even remembers where to put it in a table arrangement.

"And yeah, I know I would. You'd never let me hear the end of it."

"Hmmph!" He panics at the hand over his mouth, but then Ed's voice slips warm out of the darkness and he relaxes again, allowing his hand to be pushed away and the butter knife falling to the bed. His heart is racing as if it's going to jump right out of his body.

Oh thank god, it's Ed. He reaches up and pulls that hand down.

"You scared the balls off me... God..." He's never going to settle down at this rate. And then another thought and he sits bolt upright.

"Did something happen? Is someone hurt? Has it started?" He gropes around blindly for the butter knife again but can't seem to find it.

He playfully glances under Stede's blanket somewhere around his hips as if checking if he did, in fact, scare the man's balls off.

"Nah. Your man on watch has you covered." He pushes gently on Stede's chest to urge him back down with soft shushing noises. Ed's knee is protesting to kneeling, so he rises up to sit on the edge of the bed. It reminds him of their first true meeting.

"I just--" Wanted to check on you, see if you needed anything from me. Needed to see you to make sure you were okay. "--stopped by to say hi."

Edited (Um auto correct I did mean a there, not e) 2022-06-13 18:36 (UTC)

He thinks Ed is checking for the butter knife as well- then is unsure what he was looking for as the man pushes him gently back down and then comes to sit beside him like a dark shadow, blocking most of the rest of the room.

It's comforting. Ed's presence usually is when they are getting along, and here in the dark, even when chaos might erupt at any moment, he can't help but be soothed. Coming to say 'hi' is a bit unusual, especially this late at night, but Stede isn't going to argue.

"Hello..." he murmurs and finds Ed's hand in the dark to loosely grasp his wrist in a comforting way. It's not holding hands exactly. It's just a gentle, congenial, friendly touch.

And then softer:

"Have you been having trouble sleeping?"

"Hey." He does like a gentle, congenial, friendly touch once in a while, he's discovered. Funny, life doesn't all have to be roughhousing and violence.

He's almost comforted to know Stede's in relatively ...good hands. Not safe hands, no one is safe from being murdered by friends, but Stede's cabin crew seem like a good enough bunch. Maybe when death starts, it won't be too brutal. Maybe they'll make it swift. Maybe. Nothing is really comforting, but seeing his friend alive and well and tucked into bed is as close as it comes in this world. In the dark, with the cabin behind him and only Stede in bed in front of him, he can almost pretend they're back on the Revenge.

Ed hums. "Hadn't really planned to sleep much." The phrase I'll rest when I'm dead comes to mind, but he won't say that aloud. Not to Stede. It won't be funny right now and would hit too close to a healing wound. "You?"

"I never sleep well anymore..." But it's said a bit sardonically. Really he has no one to blame but himself for it and his own lack of guts. If he were more of any sort of man he wouldn't have to contend with nightmares.

"But you can't get by on no sleep. That's not good for you. Here." He gives Ed's arm a tug. "Lie down and get some shut eye. I can watch over you." And maybe he wouldn't succeed in the doing so, but he would defend Ed with his life.

Ed knows what it's like to be haunted and pursued by nightmares. And even though he knew Stede struggled with that, hearing him say so is incredibly sad. Stede deserves better.

"I can," (get by on no sleep) he insists, but he comes dutifully when tugged, laying down over the blanket, shoes still on and all. Something cold and metal pokes him in the thigh and Ed fumbles down between them to fish up the butter knife with a look of annoyance at the thing. Once it's tucked under Stede's pillow for safe keeping, however much use it'll be, he allows himself to rest his head down next to Stede's on the edge of the pillow.

"You can take care of yourself is what you can do. It's bad enough without you running yourself ragged." He scoots over to give Ed more room. Not that there's much more room to give him.

"Take off your shoes too. Get comfortable." What he wanted was the saffron robe to tuck about Ed's shoulders, but the blanket would have to do once the shoe situation was taken care of. "Come on." And to prevent resistance, he'll sit up and attempt to take the strange shoes off himself. Not the first time he's taken shoes off reluctant feet though before now they had belonged to his children.

Edited 2022-06-14 03:38 (UTC)

Ed doesn't attempt to take too much more space, just enough to not fall right off the bed.

"'m comfortable," he grumbles, because random raids in the night have taught him to keep himself dressed and ready for a fight at all hours. Ed nearly kicks him when Stede fusses over the shoes, but he resists, swinging his feet off the bed to kick the damn shoes off instead. Fussy prick, he thought affectionately. Should the socks stay on? What were the taboos for that if you don't have shoes on-- Whatever, the socks also came off, and he tucked them into the shoes in little wadded up balls. Blackbeard did NOT fold things on principle.

Ok, he did fold Stede's nice things when necessary.

But not socks. Who fucking folds socks?

He situates himself back onto the bed properly, feeling awfully naked in the shorts and teeshirt, and very bare legs and feet, in a room with a handful of other people (one of whom is awake (Ayato)--two if he counts Stede also) and in a bed too small to be shared.

How the hell is he supposed to sleep?

Stede is happy regardless. Ed does have some very nice legs, bare as they are, they are regardless very long leading into lean hips- and a soft stomach which he can just see as the shirt rides up a little.

But then he is a polite host and looks away and is glad that it is too dark for anyone to see his face.

Then, because Ed is sleeping and not him, Stede slips his way from the blankets and gently lays them over Ed's form.

"There we are. Perfect. Now you just get some rest." And the sight of him bundled up with his hair spread on the pillow is-- oddly adorable.

Ed closes his eyes. This is stupid. He just came to check on Stede and now he's having a sleepover in cabin...whatever the fuck this one is. Cabin Stede and Friends. This is so dumb. Blackbeard would never be caught dead doing something so...so...ridiculous.

"Mate, you've got a man on watch duty. You can sleep, you know." If we die, we die.

See you in the morning, he thinks. Either here, or back on the ship, reviving from death. He scoots back just a smidge, purely for practical reasons, so as not to fall off the bed, and echoes their goodbye from the evening of the party.

"Night night."

"I promised." He can do at least this one thing. Even if it's foolish and useless which it now feels to be. He can't imagine how Izzy Hands would take this image, though he can't imagine not well.

Though it doesn't ultimately matter if Ed sleeps. Besides which... he doesn't particularly want to sleep right now. Too much of a coward to face the dreams, though that's all they are.

"Night night." He'll have to thank him somehow for this. And maybe apologize a little one day. Tell Ed the truth of it. But not soon. "Sweet dreams." And he'll sit himself up, leaning against the corner between the bed post and wall and watch - for all the good it does.

Sometime during the night, Ed rolls over, throws an arm over Stede's leg and uses his very nice thigh for a pillow. Nothing pornographic, nothing intense, just his bearded cheek resting on the very comfortable thigh of his friend.

Sadly, as asleep as he is right now, sleep is not necessarily a thing that lasts. If anything loud occurs, he'll be throwing off the blanket and up ready for a fight.

The suddenness of it startles Stede awake and he is immediately ashamed to have dropped off-- dozed more like. He blinks down at Ed, surprised to find him there, but-- it's lovely really. Aside from the fact that his beard is tickly, the weight of him and the warm push of his breath makes Stede feel...oddly content.

It doesn't help that he's beautiful too. The terrible and terrifying Blackbeard, utterly relaxed, eyelashes feathered on his cheek, face relaxed. Stede hesitates a moment, making sure no one ca see before he gently brushes some of that soft hair from his face- then softly combs his fingers through it.

It awakens in him a feeling he'll try his best to forget, a kind of longing as deep and wide as the sea.

If only he could do this forever.

Camp Idunwanna

First Day

That Evening-locked to Cabin-mates

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LATE night, around midnight or whatever - open to any of the cabin

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alright fine, now not a gagtag

<3