come_sailaway | We're wide awake now, our eyes are wide open. We're running this world, we keeping it turning

Hello.

[It shouldn't be endearing, but Stede's a damn puppydog even when he's talking about stabbing someone in the gut. Ed wants to be annoyed at him, but how can he be--even if the smack to his stab scars does sort of smart.]

I think you're drunk as a skunk, mate. And more likely to stab yourself than your opponent. Maybe tomorrow, huh? Get you some water and get you back to your bunk, so you're all rested up for a good stabbing. [He lightly punches Stede in the shoulder] We could have a go of it on the deck.

I am absolutely shitfaced. [he laughs] Never gotten this drunk in my life. Could do with more. [but he's not sure he can walk in a straight line] Anyway, the music's still going and I'm not thirsty.

You should dance with me. It'll be great. I've almost gotten the hang of it. And...okay...dokay too or whatever it was. I was singing. Did you hear my song, Ed? Did you hear it? [he grips Ed's shirt now, more to steady himself than anything.]

I sang it just for you. I can sing it again if you like I still remember some of it.

[Ed's face probably says it all: Shitfaced? No-shit ~~Sherlock~~. He gives Stede a tight smile and humors him a little.]

Yeah. I heard. And I'll save the encore for later.

[He pats Stede on the shoulder and looks toward the door, as if considering an out. Probably could throw Stede over his shoulder and haul him out of here, but then he might end up with puke on his leather pants and that'd be a bitch to get out.]

Okay. Say I dance with you, but only on one condition. [He pointed at Stede's nose.] Remember this, Stede Bonnet, when you're hung over like a dog and projectile puking your guts all over your cabin [Have some illustrative pantomime of what that might look like, completed with hand motions to exaggerate or symbolize the act of spewing one's entire stomach contents. The pointing resumes.] Remember tomorrow, I tried to do the right thing for once, and you said no.

You've only got yourself to blame.

Oh Ed I...

[oh that...that is very graphic imagery. Very graphic.]

I--

[too graphic]

Oh God. [he claps a hand over his mouth and bolts for the door. Or bolt in as much as he can which involves a lot of staggering and tripping. The railing at least stops him from going overboard but it's a near thing and well, Ed always knew how to predict the coming storm.]

[Well. Ed sighs. And is not all that surprised by the turn of events. Probably better Stede throws it up now than have to deal with that later. Why does he like this idiot. Why the hell does he like this man so much.

He acquires a glass of water from the bar and then follows out the way Stede left, staggeringly unfazed. You see a lot of sickness on a ship, for various reasons. After a while the sound of someone retching sort of becomes background noise.

Leaning against the railing, back to the ocean, he watches and waits for him to finish. Or at least stop for the time. Then, as if the gesture is nothing, he holds out the glass of water with one hand and with the other, gently sweeps back the wave of Stede's curl from his forehead.]

Okay there?

[the touch is a surprising one and if he wasn't so miserable he might enjoy it. Which is just as well since he won't remember it. His stomach hurts and he's still half hanging over the side. It's a fair bit before he can take the water and slump down to the deck]

I want to die. [the ship is spinning and spinning and spinning and he has to lean his head on Ed's leg] Just toss me overboard. I'll swim with the fishes.

[He pats Stede on the head.]

It’ll pass. Consider it a pirate lesson and a rite of passage.

Besides, you’re not allowed to die. Don’t think the ship will let you, [and since Stede was probably drunk enough to forget this, he adds] and I bloody fucking won’t.

I have thrown up before you know after drink. I'm not a child. [even saying this he wraps an arm around Ed's leg and leans heavily against him. Then smiles and shifts to look up at him, wincing as the back of his head thunks against the railing]

Would you really, Ed? You're such a great friend. Gave me the shirt off your back. [he pulled at it and sighs eyes closing.] And I was going to give you a last dance.

[A song begins drifting out the doors. Maybe he...still can. Out here at night under the stars. No one to see it and embarrass Ed doing something so gentle. Somehow Stede pushes himself to his feet and offers a hand, a little gray about the face]

May I have this dance?

Never said you were.

[He doesn't think he's that great of a friend. He's jealous and gruff and not very kind. Not the compliment makes him blush and keenly aware of whose clothes they're each wearing. Ed tucks his chin down, hiding in his beard and looks away.]

'Mnot.

[Gray around the face isn't a great look for anyone, but it makes Ed think of their first meeting--Stede half-dead from blood loss and strangulation. He looks at the door, then the ocean, half expecting one of their rag-tag bunch of crewmates to spontaneously show up and start some juvenile rhyme.

When they don't, he puts his hand in Stede's and, says, charming and couth as ever:]

Don't puke on me. Or I will toss you overboard.

[His eyes crinkle with a smile.]

[Stede closes his eyes briefly and looks away]

If you keep using that word, you're going to get what's coming to you.

[his hand feels good in Stede's. Better than it has any right to. He's about to put his other hand around Ed's waist but remembers that part of this is about teaching Ed of the finer things in life. He's never really enjoyed dancing, but he wants Ed to know what to do if he meets someone really special.]

Here. You're the lead. Which means your hand goes here. [and he takes Ed's free hand and settles it against his waist. It is very warm there and Stede is glad he has the scant protection of fabric]

And I'll put my mine here. [and he rests his hand on Ed's shoulder which is surprisingly solid] Now, you lead, and I'll follow. Set the pace, the steps, anything you like and I'll do my best to follow. [a wan smile] Just ...not too fast, please.

A truer threat has never been spoken.

[Stede’s hand is soft and warm in his, lightly calloused from ship life—but it is still among the finest things Ed has had the pleasure of holding. He allows himself to be positioned and arranged as Stede wishes, watching with gentle, almost bashful and childlike curiosity. But when it comes time to lead, any of that ‘it’s easy, move with the music’ attitude disappears. He doesn’t want to fuck this up, step on Stede’s toes.

So he looks down into the space between them and watches their feet as he carefully steps with the rhythm. He frowns with concentration.]

Dunno why anyone’s got to lead. It’s a dance, not fucking follow the leader. Woundn’t it make more sense if this was—I don’t know—like a good sword fight? [To demonstrate his point, he sways them a few steps backwards for Stede, then with a gentle little pull in the motion, sways along to the music and moves them backwards for himself.]

Push. Pull. Back and forth. Nobody calling the shots by themselves?

[it's nice, it's very nice, better than he expected. Ed watching their feet is strangely adorable, though he is too drunk to worry about his toes being squashed. If it were anyone else, he might worry more. He is also drunk enough to let himself be lead in simple steps, back and forth, a little clumsy in execution but effortless in grace.]

Well a dance doesn't usually end up with one partner dead. [well except metaphorically because barbs exchanged while in close proximity to someone who had mastered passive aggression could really wound the psyche. But that would only complicate the issue]

You're not against each other when you're dancing, you're with each other. You're cooperating. If both try to lead...

[he pulls back just a little as Ed does, just to break the rhthym and show him what he means]

Everything starts to fall apart.

[and he allows himself to be lead again.]

See what I mean? It's less about push and pull and more about trust.

[More than the demonstration, the explanation is what gets to Ed. He understands what Stede is trying to demonstrate--obviously, it's compromise, something pirates only begrudgingly do; or following a lead as one follows a captain and it's simple really, but-- Trust. Trust is not so simple. Trust and loyalty are true rarities among pirates.

But Ed... trusts Stede. He shouldn't. Trusting is the surest way to end up with a knife in your back. But he does. Maybe has been coming to that since the other night in the bathtub. Maybe before that. And isn't that a hell of a thought.

And even though Stede is a bit naïve to the ways of piracy and foolhardy, even he should be wise enough to not trust Blackbeard. But Ed's heart is stuck on hope.

He steps closer, closing the gap between them, arm encircling Stede's waist just a little more as they sway to the music. Ideally, Stede would smell more like his soap than his stomach and alcohol, but Ed will take what he can get. With dark, bewildered, awed eyes, he watches this amazing creature before him]

You...trust me?

[oh that is very close and very warm. More than that, with Ed's arm around him he feels very--

Well, he'd never say it and tries not to think it because even drunk he doesn't want to go back to how he used to be. He's come a long way from a stupid simple boy picking flowers.

But in any case, he finds himself closer as well. He idly thumbs the neck of Ed's ridiculously cheaply made collar, that had been his own a few short hours ago-- then finds a better use and rubs it against the edge of a tattoo he can see peeking out from it.

He smiles at the question]

Of course! We're co-captains. And friends. And you do keep saving my life so that puts you high up there on the trust gauge.

[he doesn't want to ask if Ed trusts him, he doesn't want to know the answer. But he feels it is important for Ed to feel... well he doesn't know about safe. Could Blackbeard ever really feel not safe? That was the whole point to this, wasn't it? And... Stede isn't really sure if Blackbeard-or Ed needs to feel like he belongs either. If anything it's the opposite. He doesn't want to be projecting his own insecurities onto the man.]

I bet I'm not the only one.

Edited 2022-05-03 03:29 (UTC)

They trust Blackbeard to be a murderous pirate--that's how they trust me.

[But not you, Stede. (Although if Stede's funny collection of wannabe pirates ever comes to trust Ed--even if they only trust him a little, because Stede does--he wouldn't mind that, really.)

Blackbeard always feels assured of his safety and the unlikeliness of his death. Ed... Well, it doesn't really matter what Ed feels.

The siren song of catchy lyrics--about heartache and pain and what love is--tugs at his attention. No one's ever quite loved Ed. They've admired Blackbeard, worshipped him as a god among pirates. But they've been brutally cruel to Ed. They've been fair-weather friends. No one's really loved him. So how would he know what love is when no one has shown him?

Would he even know if it he saw it?

Stede just says these things so easily. Of course. Of course he trusts Ed, as if Ed is a person to be trusted with fine things like Stede's friendship. He's not. Blackbeard is a man who would stab him in the back now, if it served his purposes.

He won't though.

Oh. Blame the song, the alcohol, the warmth of the man pressed against him, but-- Oh.

Love, in whatever form, is...trust, he decides. He trusts Stede, more than he ought to--knows that touch to his neck will do no harm. What a terrifying revelation of his own vulnerability.

He waffles with clear indecision, has a false start, and then releases Stede's hand to bring both arms around the gentleman pirate in what might--if he were not Blackbeard--be called a hug. After this brief indulgence--and with a cough to clear his throat--he pulls back, once again at a safe, danceable distance.]

[Gruffly] Let's just--

That didn't happen.

[he can't really speak for Ed's crew sadly and it seems too disingenuous to say his own don't feel that way. He's sure that there are people in Ed's life that think of him as more then --

Oh God was Ed going to--

No, Ed wasn't going to and why would he but the hug is just as startling and warm and dangerous and Stede is not flying with full sail at the moment so before he can even think to return it, Ed steps back.

It's a strange thing to think about Blackbeard hugging. Everyone needs a hug, or at least Stede likes to think that. But Blackbeard is a terrible pirate and terrible pirates, when they hug, they hug in a manly way. It's charming while at the same time disconcerting and Stede is not sure what he thinks about it.

Except that Ed looks a bit lonely when he pulls back. Stede doesn't know what love is either, at least not like that. He doesn't even know what friendship is. He barely knows what a pirate is. But what he does know in his drink addled mind is that Ed needs someone right now, for whatever reason. Maybe just to get the affection out of his system.

So he steps forward and, faintly cringing and hoping Ed won't see him as a complete pansy boy, he hugs Ed back as he always wanted to be. One arm went around Ed's back and the other around his shoulders, feeling the tickling fall of his hair]

Don't worry... I won't tell anyone.

[but he's not sure when to let go of him either as he is so warm and real and this feels so good]

[Ed hadn't expected the hug to be returned. Hell, it was a stretch to have thought it might even be accepted--and in retrospect, maybe Stede is just too polite to push him away.

So with an inhale of surprise, he finds himself with an armful of Stede again. Is this pity? Could be. But fuck, he should just shut up and not look a damned gift horse in the mouth.

So Ed hugs him back. First with a few pats to his back and then--damn him and damn Stede too--he fully embraces the other man again in a warm, friendly hug, the likes of which he's never really known. Jack used to throw his arms over Ed's shoulders, shake and jostle and manhandle him, but that had always been less about affection and more about--

Camaraderie wasn't it either. It was really just...Jack being Jack. It was how men interacted on the seas--with brief, crude touches. Slapping backs, punching arms--even the good touches were violent. Those touches were never like this fine thing he is swathed in now. Stede doesn't squeeze him just to make his ribs hurt, or smack the back of his head in a 'gotcha!' He holds him. And Ed can't recall when he was last just held. It's horribly fascinating; it's frighteningly addicting.

If he raises his hand, he could touch Stede's golden hair, cradle the back of his head and curl into the embrace. He can easily ruin this with a selfish piratical greed to have more of a good thing.

With a soft, self-derisive snort, he raises his chin from where it had come to rest all on its own against his friend's--I guess that's what he is now, so that's what we're calling him. A friend.--shoulder. He's going to say something witty about spoiling the dance, but the words don't form. He stares out into the dark night. His thoughts swell and roil like the tide. Someday, he knows he'll be dashed upon the rocks.

Ed puts on a smile and pulls back.]

Come on. Let's go. I'll walk you back to your cabin. [Which was always a given, so voicing it isn't all that brave, but--it feels it.]

[he doesn't expect to be hugged back either. The pats are a little jarring and make things a bit awkward. But then, oh, that is nice. It's lovely and warm and soft and he can feel the strength there, too-- even as he desperately tries to bottle up that queer sensation that tries to bob to the surface.

Not here, not now, don't ruin it. Don't go too far or do too much. But Ed's chin is on his shoulder and it's such a gesture of trust that Stede feels a little overwhelmed. The only chins he's ever had on his shoulder were the children's when they were smaller-- but never Mary and never like this and even if she had, he'd never have felt like this either, he thinks with a small burst of shame.

He is a lousy husband and a lousy father and somewhat of a lousy pirate-- but somehow combine them all together and he's not a bad Stede. At least one good enough to hug. And the worst part is a part of him wants to stay here like this while another part is more alarmed wondering just who this is right now. Fortunately he's too fuzzy headed to think of anything much.

He's both disappointed and relieved when Ed pulls away.]

Right. Good idea.

It's not much of a cabin though, is it? Entirely too small. And my so called 'roomie' is a creeper. [though now he will have to walk and if Ed gives him a moment he'll figure out how to coordinate his limbs]

I should complain to the management.

[The trouble with having his hands free is now he doesn’t know what to do with them. Ed just kind of stands there, exuding his usual gruff quiet, hoping to regain some of the cool and aloof attitude after what was a rather fragile moment.

Complaining to management is such a Stede thing, and would be funny if it were about anything simple like the ale selection onboard.]

Huh. How so?

[Concern and a vague protectiveness sneaks into his tone. He frowns and somewhat instinctively puts a steadying hand on Stede’s elbow as his friend finds his sea legs again.]

I don't [he hiccups a little, wincing at the taste he's just now noticing on his tongue] I don't know. Maybe a strongly worded letter? [the hand on his elbow is lovely but the sea must be excited because he can't seem to walk in a straight line without staggering to one side or the other]

I mean they have a library on board so someone must be able to read unless it's just for show. Maybe I'll knock on their door until someone answers or complain to the staff?

Not that I've seen any...

I didn't mean the bloody complaint--

[He isn't just irritable because they're talking about the ability to read and write. Or the fact that staff is non-existent so there isn't anyone to ~~threaten~~ complain to except Friday and Ed's decided she's off limits for that kind of thing now. ]

Your bunkmate.

[Killing them won't resolve anything if they'd just come back to life afterward, so there has to be another solution if Stede's bunkmate isn't worth bunking with.]

Oh!

[he bumps into Ed lightly on accident and absently grips the back of his shirt to keep himself upright]

Gosh, I miss the leather. You should have worn it. I imagine you would have gotten all sweaty but there's something very tough about it. No one would have given me any guff if I'd worn leather when in school. Though I had this very lovely brocade coat, pale blue with white piping. [he sighs] It's a pity it got covered in horse manure.

[he flops his head on Ed's shoulder, suddenly missing that coat very terribly. He's not a particularly weepy drunk, but somewhat misty eyed and it's a bit difficult to walk and rest one's weary head on an understanding shoulder, but he manages]

I don't need the leather to be tough. [Though it helps. Like putting up a shield or donning a costume to get into a role.] Neither do you.

[He'd like to have gone back and made all those little boys regret ever picking on Stede Bonnet--put the fear of Blackbeard into them, and make them learn to respect Stede.

Ed slips an arm around Stede's middle to support him, since he's going to walk so close anyway. That's obviously the only reason.]

You were in a powdered wig and your finest foppery when you took down that French party boat.

You don't. [he snorts. then hums a little at the touch] You could look aggressive bare naked and shouting insults at the moon.

And that? That was just passive aggression. Turning people on each other in a mad frothing frenzy. If I didn't have Frenchie to help me out, I don't know where I'd be. That was fun though. We should do it again.

Maybe not here. Not yet.

[he considers a moment]

Anyway, it's not the point to look tough it's to look-- deadly but elegant. [he thinks about the sound of this] Dandy but handy? No.

Dressed to kill. [he grins] Only this time more literally.

[he lifts his head a little to smile up at him]

But you could be undressed to kill, right?

[Naked and shouting insults at the moon. Now there's a thought.

He lets Stede ramble and talk himself through whatever he's working on, as Ed chooses instead to work on making sure they don't tangle up their feet and fall over or walk into something.]

Suppose you could. Jim doesn't need to wear anything fancy to stick a knife through somebody. ...They've got a nice hat, though. Never really been a hat guy myself--it doesn't go with the hair--too much hair, really.

Point is, I think you're downplaying the massive aggression. Turn someone's fears against them and you own them, remember? You exposed them and all their flaws--and they went batshit. So what if they destroyed themselves--you lit the fuse. You were deadly, man. You were powerful.

You are powerful.

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