Izzy can't remember the last time Edward called him that. It's the name of a liar, who used a young pirate for passage to Curacao in the name of his mother's jewels. It's the name of a boy who used it as a North star to get himself there, and convinced Edward Teach to move heaven, earth, and James Hornigold in order to bail for the lover he was attempting to return to. It's the act of violence which followed the discovery of that lover's death, and the righteous vindication of stalking down that murderer, trapping him, and burning them alive on hallowed ground. Edward had helped him bar the doors and set the blaze. Then Edward nearly threw him in it for his betrayal. Maybe he'd died that day, Izzy isn't sure. That part of him, maybe. The part who thought there might be something else in the world besides life at sea.
Israel Basilica Hands became something else: wholly, and irrevocably that of Edward's.
And he hasn't regretted it, not a day, not even the bitter, hard, painful ones. If it meant having the life he'd had, if it meant being where he belonged, he would do it all again without question.
He hasn't thought about that for a very long time, and it's been even longer since he's seen Ed's bare face. Under the kohl and jagged danger, he looks young. It's jarring, and Izzy's mouth hangs open with shock (and a little awe). There he is, Blackbeard, fucking finally!
(so then why does approaching feel like pressing soft flesh to the tip of a blade?)
Izzy stays very still, caught between the want to settle in his place to the man's right, and the internal screaming to run in the opposite direction.
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Izzy can't remember the last time Edward called him that. It's the name of a liar, who used a young pirate for passage to Curacao in the name of his mother's jewels. It's the name of a boy who used it as a North star to get himself there, and convinced Edward Teach to move heaven, earth, and James Hornigold in order to bail for the lover he was attempting to return to. It's the act of violence which followed the discovery of that lover's death, and the righteous vindication of stalking down that murderer, trapping him, and burning them alive on hallowed ground. Edward had helped him bar the doors and set the blaze. Then Edward nearly threw him in it for his betrayal. Maybe he'd died that day, Izzy isn't sure. That part of him, maybe. The part who thought there might be something else in the world besides life at sea.
Israel Basilica Hands became something else: wholly, and irrevocably that of Edward's.
And he hasn't regretted it, not a day, not even the bitter, hard, painful ones. If it meant having the life he'd had, if it meant being where he belonged, he would do it all again without question.
He hasn't thought about that for a very long time, and it's been even longer since he's seen Ed's bare face. Under the kohl and jagged danger, he looks young. It's jarring, and Izzy's mouth hangs open with shock (and a little awe). There he is, Blackbeard, fucking finally!
(so then why does approaching feel like pressing soft flesh to the tip of a blade?)
Izzy stays very still, caught between the want to settle in his place to the man's right, and the internal screaming to run in the opposite direction.
"Is it really you, sir."