Edward Teach - Blackbeard (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
saltandpepperbeard) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
come_sailaway2022-04-26 10:39 pm
saltandpepperbeard) wrote in come_sailaway2022-04-26 10:39 pm
I swear by my tattoo
Who: Blackbeard (Edward Teach) and YOU!
What: An Existential Crisis
When: End of April, beginning of May
Where: Everywhere
Warnings: Language?
[i. Nautilus]
This ship--floating city, really--is absolutely fucking MASSIVE. After all that weird introduction to the place, Ed's been wandering above and below deck with a wide-eyed, slightly baffled, slightly-awed, slightly alarmed look as he took in the metal hull, the lack of sails and rigging, the way you barely felt the roll of the ocean.
He had climbed over the rails and banged on the hull, amazed at the durability and evenness of the exterior. He had walked the longest of the decks, one foot directly in front of the other in an attempt to map the sheer scale of this beast. He had yet to figure out how the damned thing was moving.
He had tried to get into the wheelhouse, but that went down like a lead cannonball.
It was both the most amazing and most frightening place he had been in a long-ass time.
"This is wild."
[ii. Blow me down and pick me up! She swapped me for a trout]
Scattered around him are various drinking glasses, most empty, some with their garnishes still garnishing. He's eaten all the cherries, though, if they had cherries. And any citrus garnishes have been finished to their rind. Doesn't seem too keen on mint garnishes however.
"They come in so many colors--did you know that? This one is green!" He picks up a glass and points at the obviously green contents. "And none of them even TASTE like rum. How do they--and look, they have these little--" Ed plucks a paper umbrella from one of the cocktails, going almost cross-eyed to look at the parasol pinched between his fingers. "These little umbrellas! Look at that. How do you think they make 'em so small?"
[iii. Strange Man of the Seas]
By the end of it, this man with a scraggly salt-and-pepper beard and long hair, dressed in leather like a biker, is just laying on the deck. Not on a deck chair, just flat on his back on the floor, staring up at the sky.
Ed is overwhelmed. The lights--there's not a single candle to be had but everything is all lit up, and the casino even has colored lights, like stained glass but...not. There's a sink where he can turn a tap and the water can be hot or cold at request. The possibility of ghosts are the least of his concerns.
"But how the fuck is it moving?"
[iv. pick your poison]
What: An Existential Crisis
When: End of April, beginning of May
Where: Everywhere
Warnings: Language?
[i. Nautilus]
This ship--floating city, really--is absolutely fucking MASSIVE. After all that weird introduction to the place, Ed's been wandering above and below deck with a wide-eyed, slightly baffled, slightly-awed, slightly alarmed look as he took in the metal hull, the lack of sails and rigging, the way you barely felt the roll of the ocean.
He had climbed over the rails and banged on the hull, amazed at the durability and evenness of the exterior. He had walked the longest of the decks, one foot directly in front of the other in an attempt to map the sheer scale of this beast. He had yet to figure out how the damned thing was moving.
He had tried to get into the wheelhouse, but that went down like a lead cannonball.
It was both the most amazing and most frightening place he had been in a long-ass time.
"This is wild."
[ii. Blow me down and pick me up! She swapped me for a trout]
Scattered around him are various drinking glasses, most empty, some with their garnishes still garnishing. He's eaten all the cherries, though, if they had cherries. And any citrus garnishes have been finished to their rind. Doesn't seem too keen on mint garnishes however.
"They come in so many colors--did you know that? This one is green!" He picks up a glass and points at the obviously green contents. "And none of them even TASTE like rum. How do they--and look, they have these little--" Ed plucks a paper umbrella from one of the cocktails, going almost cross-eyed to look at the parasol pinched between his fingers. "These little umbrellas! Look at that. How do you think they make 'em so small?"
[iii. Strange Man of the Seas]
By the end of it, this man with a scraggly salt-and-pepper beard and long hair, dressed in leather like a biker, is just laying on the deck. Not on a deck chair, just flat on his back on the floor, staring up at the sky.
Ed is overwhelmed. The lights--there's not a single candle to be had but everything is all lit up, and the casino even has colored lights, like stained glass but...not. There's a sink where he can turn a tap and the water can be hot or cold at request. The possibility of ghosts are the least of his concerns.
"But how the fuck is it moving?"
[iv. pick your poison]
no subject
Ah. He's getting philosophical. That's embarrassing. Watson flashes a quick grin.
"My apologies, you certainly don't want hear me prattle on so."
no subject
"Sure we could say something about who gets to write the history and keep our stories alive, but given that most of us--Stede aside--can't read or write, not much power to tell our stories, really. We're myths because people want us to be. They want Blackbeard to be Blackbeard," he shrugs, "and you've got to give the people what they want."
no subject
"What you need," he says, "is a biographer. Someone who will write down your story for you and share it with the world. At least there will be some version of the truth out there, then."
no subject
“Yeah, but how do I know they’re writing the right stuff? Hard to threaten someone properly when you can’t make sure they’re doing what you asked.”
no subject
And he's trying real hard to say that as innocently and politely as possible.
"That, or you learn your letters yourself. I mean, writing in itself is a skill that must be cultivated -- I've done a little of it myself, and it certainly takes some practice -- but you would be able to see for yourself, at least."
no subject
But learning them himself? Ed struggles enough with learning which fork he's supposed to use for which dish--he's not sure he's prepared for things like grammar and syntax and whatever else there is in the world of writing.
"Yeah, might just be enough to learn to read. Then at least I'd know what they're putting down. No nasty surprises."