A Captain's Work is Never Done

[touchofcashmere]

Who: Stede and You
What: Decompressing and catching up
When: Back half of August
Where: Drunken Sailor and Elsewhere
Warnings: None yet




The Usual Suspects

[Flyers have been taped up all over the ship, with a less fluid hand than usual and far less tape]

Traumatized? Need to decompress from recent events? Or just need someone to talk to to figure out what the hell is going on?

Come to The Drunken Sailor Mon-Fri 12-5 Sat 3-6.

Remember, you are not alone.

-Stede Bonnet


Crew Connection

[Through the back half of August, Stede will be checking in with the crew, giving them a wan smile and asking]

How are you doing? [he might not look like he's particularly doing well, but he's fine]


Burying the Hatchet

[at some point he'll leave a note in the bathroom, because where the hell else is he going to leave it? Asking Ossie to meet him at the Drunken Sailor any time around 10pm. Because they need to talk. Hopefully the man will show up sooner rather than later, but Stede is well prepared for him to be fashionably late]


Wildcard

Want to meet Stede elsewhere? Leave it here. He'll also be training on the sports deck, though looking tired, or reading in the library. Feel free to hit him up in either of those place.

Comments

The Usual Suspects

[busball]

Alright. Call him curious. He stares at the flyer for a moment. Does this place have a therapist? Not that he really finds himself terribly traumatized at the moment. Sure, he's dealt with a lot of stuff up till now, but he's pretty fine. Still. It's the guy with the great fashion and the birthday. They probably should check in and see how he's been since the whole throw up debacle.

He shows up around lunch and orders a drink, spotting Stede and walking over. "Do you always hang flyers up or is this just because of the recent death situations?" They're new. Definitely not aware that it's a regular thing yet.

[touchofcashmere]

Stede is still fashionable, at least from a early 18th century point of view, though the colors are a bit more somber. He does have a fine silk cravat though of muted gold that prevents the outfit from being funerary.

"Oh hello." He offers the man a faint smile as he approaches, looking up from the book he's reading. "Yes, usually. It helps- or at least I think so. Besides which I get to meet the people that slip onboard." And there seem so many of them lately.

"You're welcome to stop and chat if you like."

[ossie_oswald]

Stede is very, very fortunate that Ossie had left one of his combs in the bathroom, because otherwise he wasn't going to go near his assigned cabin if it was the last safe place on the damned ship. 'We need to talk' what bloody rot. What, did Bonnet finally have a change of heart about him because of the near-massacre? He'd better get used to those. But he supposed if the blighter wanted to talk, he'd have to be amenable. Be the bigger person. Embody the whole 'turning over new leaves' part of Spring, all that rubbish.

So Ossie shows up perfectly on time, in fact. In a simple grey suit, looking tired in expression only. His skin is still perfect and bereft of any bags under his eyes.

"What ho, Bonnet," he says dry enough to turn meat to jerky, "what's this about?" as he sits down beside him.

[touchofcashmere]

Ugh. He still doesn't like the man. He doesn't like his style. He doesn't like his accent. He doesn't like his approach. He doesn't like his presence or his cologne. But he is well used to rubbing elbows with people he doesn't like. And now is not the time for pride of any sort.

Time to get on his knees as they say. Metaphorically, of course.

"First of all, I'd like to say sincerely, that I apologize for calling your house creepy." Even if it was. "I'm afraid that we got off on the wrong foot. I haven't even had the time to thank you properly for the champagne." And, in fact, he had no idea where it was- which was just as well.

"I think you're a very generous man, sir. And Skulduggery vouches for you which means a lot in my book." Though the less said about that the better.

"So I do hope you'll do me the honor of maybe...starting over?" He offers his hand.

Crew Connection

[saltwaterlungs]

[ Darcy makes eye contact with Stede from where she's sitting in Sand Dollars for a grand total of five seconds before she gets up and attempts to vacate the premises. Not very quickly, he'll notice she's limping, but there's a very clear desire to be anywhere else but there. ]

[touchofcashmere]

[well it's just as well. If she doesn't want to talk she doesn't want to talk. And for all the words of family and crew- he wonders how much of it actually lasts at the end of the day.

He does notice she's limping, but will ask her about if she decides she wants to speak at all.]

I'll be in the Drunken Sailor if you need me.

[since Sand Dollars is no longer a place he feels comfortable. Afterwards he'll retire to his table at the drunken sailor with a book

Usual Suspects

[businessorlibation]

It's Tuesday at noon, and Johnny happens, happens to be at the Drunken Sailor. By pure coincidence, really. You know, just sort of...lingering. Loitering. Languishing over a basket of fries sprinkled with malt vinegar. He's not here for counseling, really. Really-really.

But he is here.

[touchofcashmere]

"Hello, Johnny." He's not going to presume what the young man is here for. But he could certainly use the company as he waits for someone to arrive.

"Care to join me? I'll buy you a round." A faint smirk.

The Usual Suspects

[pinballer]

Vance sees Stede put the flyers up, and he's curious enough to read them. Maybe it's for some free stuff. Or another fight.

...Nope. It's for talking. And who likes to talk about the things that have hurt them instead of just shoving it all down and taking it out on some unrelated party later? Not Vance, that's for sure. Instead, he takes a pen out of his pocket and starts to decorate one of the flyers with some rather lewd imagery. It's not too explicit, but only because Vance isn't much of an artist.

He snickers to himself as he continues to draw, not caring who might be around to catch him in the act.

[touchofcashmere]

He happens to wander by en route to his appointed spot and watches the young man with some interest. Little rogue. And not a very good artist either.

"I think you should work on your anatomy a little, but not a bad likeness... That's...some sort of parrot? And this is a very good set of eyes. Well done!"

the unusual suspects

[nyktifanis]

[ she's seen the flyers in place, read them too, and would question herself if there's anything bothering her or needing the assistance of other people. pollux doesn't think so, but it does offer up the chance of communication with someone she hasn't yet met, and so why not take advantage?

it's whatever day that's not filled up by his influx of customers, pollux will make her way to the druken sailor with a flyer in hand. she doesn't know what this person looks like, and so the best way to ask if to go up to any person — which might even be stede himself, or a random person so that stede can overhear, but whatever the outcome is— the paper is held up, and she points at the name. ]

Can you point me to this person's whereabouts? [ without looking down to reread the note, she already has his name at the forefront of her mind. ] Stede Bonnet is their name.

[touchofcashmere]

That is me. Hello. [a smile and he offers his hand] Stede Bonnet at your service, Miss...?

crew connection

[opheliac]

(stede will find jinx sitting at the lounge; hunching over with her arms and head on the table top. she lifts her head up to see who is speaking to her before resting it back down in her folded arms.)

Fine.

(and that's all he will get out of her for now. truly, what is there to say? a skeleton and the captain had a race, they both died so they got to live. but then some... weird thing happened with the captain then there were the undead. honestly, he lied saying that they got to live when a handful of the crewmates died regardless.)

[touchofcashmere]

Oh?

[he's not sure if he believes it but he won't press her on it now]

Well you seem awfully tired. Or perhaps sick? Can I get you something?

Crew Connection

[decohere]

She's carrying a hot chocolate in one hand and a half-eaten croissant in the other when Stede stops her, and she takes a moment to finish chewing before answering. "All things considered," Ava feels like she doesn't even have to elaborate on that. "Not too bad."

She seems less convinced about him, though. "How are you holding up?"

[touchofcashmere]

"Oh I'm perfectly fine. Can't complain." He looks a bit bruised here and there and a bit haggard as his sleeping hasn't been great but, he's fine and not at all traumatized.

"I heard you shot someone and can make it rain glass." He doesn't get it but he's somewhat proud. "Between that and driving off cliffs, it sounds like you had a little fun."

Usual Suspects

[theweakhavepurpose]

Pratt has legitimately made a list of everyone he has said insane shit to (or tried to attack) and is systematically trying to make things right with them. Stede is pretty high on the list because ho boy, he feels terrible about how close he got to stabbing him, even if he's pretty sure the man doesn't realize it. And Pratt's fractured memory isn't helping things by leaving out enough bits and pieces that he's not sure just how bad it got.

So yeah, he does want to chat about what the hell is going on.

"Uh, hey Captain." his tone unsure, is he supposed to call him Captain? Izzy wasn't specific and he never signed things to be on the crew anyway, he's not sure if he even is. Is Stede his Captain? Is Izzy? He doesn't know. Moving on. "How's things?"

Pratt is absolutely nailing this casual conversation. Gold star.

[touchofcashmere]

"Oh, hello." He smiles, glad to see the man. Crew or not, he's practically crew-in-law by the way he and Lucius were searching for each other's lost teeth. It's charming in a way.

"Things are fine." And as far as everyone is concerned, they are absolutely tip-top. "And things with you? Here..." He pats the chair opposite him. "Have a seat."

the usual suspects

[twelfthsong]

[By the time the Doctor sees the flyers, it's too late. He had wandered into the Drunken Sailor on a whim having only been here a couple of days (or was it weeks? Time ran odd in this cursed ship), and at this point he felt like he was pacing like some bored cat.

He sees the fliers plastered haphazardly, and then spots a man in 18th century dress that looks like he's waiting expectantly for people. Oh no. He considers turning around on his heel and looking for a drink elsewhere but he had come here for a drink and that's what he plans on doing. So he slides up onto the bar stool beside the man not making eye contact as the ghost bartender slides right up.]

No. Shut up. I'm not here to talk about feelings. 

[touchofcashmere]

[his voice hits like a punch. Or like the opposite of drinking something richly alcoholic that burns first and feels good after.

In this case, Stede is hit first by the unexpected warm rush of nostalgia and he misses the warm, slightly eccentric, a little bit terrifying at times presence of Buttons. Their accent is not the same of course, since Buttons often sounds like he's been ducked in a tub of Scots burr and has no intention of getting out, but it's close enough.

And then after the warmth has faded there's the bitterness of him being an absolute dick]

Well no one asked you to, did they? If you're going to be like that you can fuck right off. I'm not in the mood.

The Usual Suspects

[pineapplesalmon]

César isn't exactly sure why he's here, but he is. A lot happened. He thinks he's okay. But at the same time....

It's about mid-afternoon on Thursday when he walks in, giving Stede a soft smile as he walks over. "Good afternoon, Stede."

[touchofcashmere]

"Hello, César, nice to see you." He knows some of what happened because of what Johnny told him earlier, but he won't prompt or pry. He will let César tell him what he wishes.

"Have you tried the fish and chips here yet? Is it any good?"

the usual suspects

[goodweather]

[ What a fascinating flyer. What kind of guy puts out a poster like this, for something like that, in the kind of place where they are?

It's a question he'd love to have answered, and he's not lacking in free time, so he sweeps his hobbies off of the proverbial schedule table and schleps down to the Drunken Sailor, a place that Phil himself has often found comfort in, between the rustic-ish vibe and the bar. Whoever this "Stede Bonnet" is, he'd love to get a look at the man.

He turns into the bar. Yes, yes, don't mind the owl wings folded tightly against his back. Certainly don't mind how one seems much slimmer than the other. ]

Ah. You're the one who put up those flyers, are you?

[touchofcashmere]

Yes, indeed. I see you have wings there! Rather stylish! [he can't help but notice them after all, folded though they are] Are they functional?

Usual Suspects

[makemeasong]

[ Clara heads to the Drunken Sailor, knowing she should branch out and eat other places, but finding comfort in a place that feels like home. But she saw the flyers, and she liked Stede when she met him, so she goes anyway. Maybe she'll get a meat pie today instead of fish.

When she gets there, Clara hops up on a bar stool, a little early so that she can eat. But when she sees Stede as she finishes, she gives him a small wave and a smile. ]

Do you always open yourself up to conversations like this? [ She asks once he's close and is genuinely curious. ]

[touchofcashmere]

Oh, Hello Clara. [he is dressed today in normal attire, though a bit more on the somber side, with a dark blue frock coat and breeches, simple white silk cravat and dark blue buckle shoes though beaded with flowers. His waistcoat is of a more cheery blue, well, lighter anyway, and the buttons are mother of pearl that catch a certain iridescence in the light.

He hops up beside her, ordering a whiskey for himself]

Usually, yes. I find it's a good way to meet people- and everyone needs someone to unburden themselves to, don't you think? I don't mind being a willing ear. [in truth, he is a little tired with fading scratches and scrapes and bruises, something like the stripes of fingers across his neck- but he tries not to show it]

the usual suspects

[be_seeing_you]

[When he reads the name signed on the bottom of that flyer, he makes an ugly sound like a scoff and a laugh happening in the same breath. Stede? Trying to act as a therapist? He has some serious misgivings about that. But now his curiosity is aroused.

So, Monday, he decides to go have lunch at the Drunken Sailor, just to see this fiasco for himself. He's acting coy about it, taking his food to a table as if he's really only there by coincidence. But should Stede look his way, their eyes will meet in such a way as if Number 6 is daring the man to come make his pitch.]

[touchofcashmere]

[he sees the daring glance and there seems to be something guarded and cynical about the man's bearing. Or maybe it's just an after effect of their encounters.

In any case he is not here to be a carnival clown performing or the man's amusement, nor is he here to bend over backwards to draw whatever trauma is lurking under the man's skin up to the surface. He is trying to help that's all. If Mr. Smith cares to approach him, Stede will greet him with equanimity. But otherwise he can enjoy his meal and Stede will drink his damn whiskey in peace.]

the usual suspect crew member...

[light_mischief]

[Skulduggery sees the fliers well before he ever gets checked on, mostly because he's been staying away from his room and a little because he's actively avoiding Stede.

It's not Stede's fault, really! It's more to do with the whole... "Hiram" bit. He doesn't know if Izzy's told him anything about their conversation, nor does he know if anybody else has gotten the truth through to Stede. The only saving grace is Stede's obliviousness. (It has nothing to do with the fact that Stede literally called Skulduggery's romantic liaisons before he even realized it was happening. Not at all.)

Anyway, eventually, Skulduggery shows up at the Drunken Sailor around the time on one of the fliers. He's wearing his usual suit, looking perfectly put together and quite alive. The last time Stede saw him was probably when he went over the cliff, but Skulduggery doesn't seem remotely phased by that...]

Stede Bonnet. Still at it with the fliers, I see?

[touchofcashmere]

[Skulduggery's presence, as usual, fills Stede with enormously complicated feelings. Sadness, happiness in seeing him, the sense that the man is just playing along like a little game where Stede doesn't figure as much more then an amusing anecdote on the page.

But also just incredible awe. To sacrifice himself like that. It didn't matter that he was a skeleton. Death was death and pain was pain and to carry the burden- he was a great man and whatever Stede thought about him didn't really matter. It is like the voice of a mouse to the voice of a lion.

Anyway, the whole thing makes him shudder and he shoves the whole complicated mess to where he can't feel it and shrugs a little]

Someone has to. Might as well make myself useful. [and then, more gently]

And how are you, Skulduggery? I've...been thinking about you. A lot.

[he smiles a little] Do you have a moment to talk?

[closed]

[touchofcashmere]

At some point on the thirty-first, somewhat earlier in the evening, he creeps back to his room, peeking in the door.

"Edward? Are you here?" There is silence. He checks the bed and the bathroom but everything is still and quiet. He goes into his closet, staring inside for a moment before hanging up his frock coat and toeing off his shoes, putting them perfectly in line with the others.

Then he carefully shuts the door behind him, shutting himself in the dark. He slides down, resting his back against it, hugging his knees to his chest and resting his head on them. Tries to breathe through the sudden constriction of his throat like cold dead hands or grabbing them or the rough pull of a rope.

It is going to end horribly. All of it is going to shit. He thinks of the contracts that are all in his name that he can't hold onto and can't get rid of. That he can't tell the others about or why they have to sign new ones and how precise they have to be. That he can't even tell Ed about or Izzy about though the latter would want to know and tear his skin off that Ed couldn't tell him.

Or turn everyone against him which wasn't hard.

And one of them was Hiram's. Hiram who was the captain. Who had been the captain all this time. And he couldn't let anyone know he knew and couldn't let Hiram know he knew and only Rin had been kind enough to try and tell him. Skulduggery hadn't. Clarke hadn't. Darcy hadn't. John. None of them had.

Because he is a joke. A clown. The biggest idiot in the world and he has all of their lives on his hands. He buries his fingers in his hair.

You are a stupid, lily livered little rich boy, Father's voice echoes in his head. You had one job- stay married- and you couldn't even do that. Now everyone is going to suffer and die and it's going to be all your fault, Stede Bonnet.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. To everyone. For being not being enough of one thing and too much of another. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."