sail_ooc | TEST DRIVE MEME #7

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TEST DRIVE MEME #7

1. before she hung up, she said she was a skeleton

[there is no note in your cabin. no forces stall your legs if you decide to walk anywhere but the atrium. in fact, for the first time in hundreds of years, newly arrived passengers on the Serena Eterna are waking up with absolutely no guidance. nothing but your fellow passengers in the halls - or maybe in your bed.

perhaps you end up in the atrium eventually anyway. it is where guest services is, and where Gal Friday… actually hasn’t been in a few days. until today. and she is visibly frazzled, her hair uncoiffed, her suit rumpled, something a bit like a bruise blossoming down from her hairline and over her smooth features. more papers than ever cover her desk, and when she turns to face you, her voice is as cheerful as ever, but audibly strained.]

Welcome aboard the Serene Eterna! [a pause] You know how to work a life vest, right? Everyone knows that! You don’t need me to teach you that!

[a light bulb burns out behind her head.]

… I’ll get right on that!

[freedom includes the freedom to not know what the fuck is happening. maybe you should reflect on that.]

2. grandma went and can't stop screaming

[it’s something about the lighting fixtures, this month. has the Bellona always had a massive chandelier? maybe. who knows. don’t ask questions. either way, in the stillness of the night, or day, or late afternoon, there is a noise like a cord being cut, and the chandelier plunges into the audience below.

it hits nothing, of course. no one is ever in the theater. and that, perhaps, is what the trouble is.

so, the chandelier starts to… travel, one could say. it starts to hang in various rooms: the dining halls, the bars, the clubs… sometimes, if you’re out on the pool deck and suddenly realized you’re under a shadow, you can glance up and see it suspended 20 feet above your head, securely fastened to nothing in particular and yet remaining perfectly in place.

until it isn’t. until it falls, crystal shattering on whatever surface it lands on: floor, table, person… and, wherever the chandelier goes, a lilting childish voice follows it, singing without any obvious source.]

Ring-a-ring of roses, a pocket full of posies… ashes, ashes, we all…

3. jeff bezos murdered the infinite tommy bahama

[the lights of the Infinite Tommy Bahama go out three days into October.

barely an hour after its closure, the lights go on again, and a new banner is unfurled.

physically, it is the same store. you can even see the old signs hidden behind the new ones. however, long gone are the tropical prints and khaki dress shorts. now, one can purchase any number of officially licensed or legally distinct Halloween costumes, decorations, and various other haunted accoutrements, leading back as far as the eye can see, and then farther still. is that a Gal Friday mask? spooky! well, at least you’ll be good and ready for the Halloween party at the end of the month, which is absolutely just a normal party and in no way whatsoever anything even remotely resembling a trick. there are only treats at The Infinite Spirit Halloween!

note: bahamanuel is still here! somewhere! it kinda looks like dan bongino.]

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There are only a few voices so distinct that could stop Edward in his tracks, and one of those belongs to Izzy Hands. He doesn't turn immediately- everything he's encountered thus far on this ship has been a fucking haunting and why should this be different? He's prepared for the worst when he finally does turn and face his first mate, his eyes piercing and dark, a frown painted black with kohl.

His brow twitches and furrows slightly, scanning the other man head to foot before speaking. He isn't happy with Izzy. Not really. Things have been set back in order, but Mr. Hands has a whole lot of ass kissing to do if he ever wants his Captain's respect again. Edward smiles. It isn't a smile that should set anyone at ease.

"Basilica."

Edited 2022-11-02 22:16 (UTC)

Oh shit.

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."

Hands open to Edward's sides in the sweeping sort of bow he's used to giving Izzy at any sort of praise. Blackbeard, in the flesh. The one and only. Here he is, he's done it again. Applause, a bow, the show ends as the curtains close.

The thing is, Edward has no reason to believe Izzy’s last memory of him isn't the same as Edward's last memory of Izzy. Should Izzy move forward, the limp might even convince him. Edward doesn't wait of course, slowly beginning to close the gap between them, one drawn-out step at a time.

"As real as the rest of this cursed vessel." he answers, eyes cold as he stops just a few feet shy of his first mate. "About time you found me. We have work to do."

This could not be any fucking weirder, but more than the weirdness, is the enormous relief of backsliding into his comfort zone.

Is he mad? Yeah, absolutely. He's been mad at Edward for months at the very least over one thing or another. First how fucking hard it was to get him to answer a call to action, then Stede, then Stede again, then more Stede, and then here and all that fucking bullshit. And now- now what.. What is this.

Confusion shutters across his face, lost for words as it all sinks in. Not much sticks, but Blackbeard has returned. Blackbeard is himself again, and more. Blackbeard, his Blackbeard is ringing the bell for war.

It is the only song in Izzy's heart, all else be damned. Let the world burn.

"Right, work.."

He's guarding his left side, a fresh injury along with his leg, and he can't stop the wide eyed staring. It doesn't make sense. He's glad for it, but he doesn't understand it.

"It's only- I thought you'd gone. You and Bonnet, both, I checked your cabins after he stood me up, they were empty. What's changed?"

Edward's eyes lower, squinting, like he's just been given data that doesn't compute. This is the second time someone's mentioned Bonnet in his presence. The second time someone had suggested Ed has been here this whole time. Before, he could play it off as an imposter, but if there is anyone alive that could tell the real Blackbeard from a fake it is Izzy Hands- the man who has given Blackbeard twenty years of his life. The man marked by Blackbeard's very own hands. This doesn't sit well.

"What's changed, indeed?" he toys curiously, taking another step closer. He's looming now. Edward only gets this close to Izzy when making a threat. At least such is the case for the last decade, give or take.

He should question Izzy now, determine what had happened so that he isn't undermined at every turn, but something tells him to hold off and not play that hand too soon. The time will come. It always does.

"Do you really want to question me right now, Izzy? Wouldn't you rather find a way off this wretched ship? Or better yet... claim it as our own?"

To harness the power of such a magical vessel... now that is a plan they've never tried to execute. Why settle for a legend when you can be a god?

There's that wave of relief, again. That ugly, jagged relief. Finally, Edward is seeing sense. Finally they're realigned. It feels good. Feels like old times, even under postured threat.

Why he's being threatened, he doesn't know, so he doesn't know to shrink back from it. He's done nothing wrong. If anything, Izzy's been trying to follow the righteous path alone. It's been hard, but he isn't alone anymore, is he.

It occurs to Izzy then, that perhaps it's all been a misunderstanding. Maybe Ed was...cursed or something. Under some kind of magic that Izzy doesn't understand. That's why he was disinterested. That's why he was all but a ghosts following Bonnet around.

Maybe it was only Stede who left. Maybe Edward's been here all along, and now he's...what. Free?

He doesn't ask, just nods and shifts himself into gear, searching Edward's face for a long moment before nodding. This is still weird, but it's good enough.

"It's about time. And I've got something good to show you, too. Follow me, sir."

It's an about face, then, back towards deck 5 and the passenger cabins to room 143. Forgive his gait, he really is hurting. It's been a busy month.

"You shaved," he can't help but say as they go. Maybe that's what's really fucking him up. Not the mirror flip in behavior, not the violence rolling off Ed in waves, not the reappearance of leather and war paint.

Leave it to his fair-weather-faithful dog to kick into gear when Edward calls. He would be proud of him if he wasn't also confused. About time is right. But what time is Izzy on? Because it certainly isn't Edward's. Particularly when he's only just noticing that Ed had shaved. It's been long enough that his beard has already started growing back.

Ed watches his first mate's gait carefully as he follows. How he walks, how he nurses his injury... the boot still on his foot tells him that his limp is from something else. He isn't using a cane. This is very, very wrong, and Edward knows it. He just doesn't know why.

"And you're injured." he replies, since they're pointing out the obvious. "Who is responsible?" he asks next. Because he'd like to have a word with whomever it is. Izzy belongs to him. He is Edward's to beat and bloody and Edward's alone. And Edward doesn't like when anyone messes with his things.

It's all wrong. Everything from the limp to the collar is wrong, but here he still is. The goodest rotten boy leading his master to the bone he's just dug up.

Izzy glances at Ed and, for a moment, looks exhausted before packing it tightly back and away with a noncommittal shrug. Where does he begin? Had Ed missed the whole thing?

Maybe he's just looking for a pinpoint.

"There was an explosion somewhere between that faceless witch snapping the storm goddess' neck and deck six falling into the promenade. I was pinned in the rubble."

Which is not at all sexy or interesting when he could had said it was an injury sustained fighting ghosts, which also happened, but it is what it is. Surviving the deck fall was a miracle, and he owes his life to two other real, literal gods. They weren't lying when they swore him safety. He doesn't regret acting their herald.

That collar sitting at his neck isn't just for fashion.

"It's a good thing you didn't come. Shit party, if we're being honest."

Nothing Izzy says to him makes fucking sense. Not a bit of it. He fucking hates this.

Edward sucks at his own teeth for a moment, eyes scanning about as they walk along. Izzy’s been aboard long enough to seem to know this place in and out, and considering Edward's been here all of a day or so, the timeline just doesn't add up. This is a problem. How big, Edward doesn't know, yet.

"Perhaps I should take it up with our so-called Captain, mm?" he asks finally, throwing out a bit of fishing bait to see how Izzy responds. Edward still doesn't know enough about the Captain to take anything out on him, let alone his protective tendencies when it comes to Izzy.

Edited 2022-11-04 02:40 (UTC)

That's...huh. A few rapid thoughts:

Ed's finally got his head screwed back on straight, or bashed it and this is what's happened. Either is good.
Izzy has been injured and Ed's noticed and cares enough to ask who done it.
There's no good answer, and so he's willing to pin that blame on the Captain.

It's been a while since Ed's been protective of him. God of sinners, it feels good, though. Staggering, actually, how one bare minimum thing can hollow him to the core. He's missed this. Pulls him up that little bit straighter.

"I can't stop you but I doubt he'll have much of an opinion. As far as he's concerned he just makes the game. What the players do is their own business so long as they feed his fire, last I spoke to him."

At that Izzy smiles and looks back with implication. With mischief. He's got something really fucking good.

Last he spoke to him. That's that, then. So Izzy has rapport with the entity in Ed's crosshairs. There's more to unpack here, in good time. Izzy is smiling, and that little weasel doesn't smile like this unless he thinks he has something to be proud of.

"Where are you taking me?" he asks plainly, hands clutching his weaponry belt, where they fall naturally. He's already fed up with all of these little secrets and being seemingly in the dark about everything just because admitting that he doesn't know what the fuck is going on would make him fucking vulnerable. He can never be vulnerable again.

No. You can't. It gets you into trouble, have you not learned you lesson, Edward? Go to bed and let Blackbeard go to work.

"My cabin. Captain has ears all over the ship but he can't listen in our cabins."

Maybe Ed was at the party. The fog machines were thick, it was difficult to know who was in attendance. Maybe he fell and hit his head. Izzy decides to go with that and just assume he has to explain like Edward's only just shown up. It's easier that way.

"And if you've got one of these laying around you should keep it," he says and gestures to the lei all passengers are given at their first muster. Feathers and bones and all. Izzy has his looped several times around the bottom of his baldric near the hilt of his sword. Out of the way but on his person.

"Magic, apparently. Supposed to keep you safe. Safer, I suppose, but I can't be sure."

That seems like a miss-sight on the Captain's part. Ed wonders if there are others. Everyone has their vulnerabilities. Ed had tucked the lei he'd been given into his inner pocket where he used to keep a similar totem that had since been lost at sea.

"Did you a lot of good." he replies, still studying the limp, the longer he watches it the more certain he is that Izzy’s toes are all intact. It's a concern, for sure.

"It did, actually," he agrees.

"That and the armor. I would have died, otherwise. I fell the height of a ship."

All ten fingers, all ten toes, fell from a height that would ave certainly killed a man, and all he's got is this lousy limp and fucked ribs. Not bad, all considered.

Ed almost stops in his tracks, evidenced only by a short hesitation in his gait. Almost died? Maybe he should be angrier.

It doesn't matter, they're both basically dead now- cursed to live here on this vessel until there's nothing of them left. At least that's how Ed has come to understand it.

"Say you had, you'd have come back whole?" he asks. Because if so, he doesn't see the point in the caution.

It’s even more dramatic. They’re figments. Forgeries of themselves held captive while their true selves continue in their lives. They can’t go home, they’re already there. Here? They are cursed reflections and little more.

“Mm, yeah. So it appears. I haven’t found out but I’ve seen others.. one died in my arms and she was restored the following day. Death kind of loses its meaning after a while.”

Really makes a man question his fucking humanity. If Edward has any left.

"Then the protection is pointless. A pacifier of sorts to make us all feel safe." he sighs, "Most of this fucking mirage is pointless." Whatever. He'll save the rest of his commentary for behind closed doors where they can't be heard, anyway.

Either way, alternatives to death is something Edward is already contemplating, particularly for those who threaten him.

"Mm, yeah, when you put it like that." Hard to argue, and he doesn't disagree as they take the stairs up a floor to get to the cabins. No Elevators, Izzy doesn't trust them.

"And whilst death may not be permanent, that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt, so I don't recommend trying for funsies. It's the torture you really have to watch out for. The Captain is fond. You know he can't even sail? Unbelievable."

"Never knew you as one to shy away from pain." he replies. Is he teasing? Who knows. As if Izzy’s tolerated his teasing at any point in recent history, anyway.

"Who doesn't love a bit of torture, Iz? Can't blame him for that." he continues... it's as if Izzy had read his mind. At least he has that leg up on this Captain, though... Edward can actually sail.

Izzy scoffs and shoots him a look. He would be annoyed if he weren't so fucking happy to see Ed acting like himself again. He's giddy.

He doesn't particularly care for torture. Will he do it? Absolutely. But he doesn't take particular glee in the act. Torture is just another necessary tool of their trade. He doesn't find it attractive, amusing, or fun sport.

You really are so much like Edward, he's said to the Captain multiple times.

He makes a mental note to do his best to keep them apart, unable to imagine the carnage which may result. Then again...Blackbeard is a master. It might yield interesting results Izzy hasn't been able to achieve on his own.

"You may find common ground, then. Might come in handy seeing as there's so weapon aboard or passenger powerful enough to harm him. Not for lack of trying nor the presence of literal gods, I might add."

Over Edward's dead body will Izzy keep them apart. He's been on this vessel for barely a breath and all he can think about is meeting this Captain face to face.

He's in no place to desire Co-Captaincy ever again, but if that's the sort of deal he can strike? He'll take it. It's a start... not the end-game.

"He hasn't met me, yet." is his only response. He'll let Izzy imagine things from there.

It's that kind of talk which makes him shiver, smiling to himself as he forces his stupid bum leg up the echoing, metal stairway. Fucking stupid fucking stairs.

"No, sir. He hasn't."

And to be fair, Izzy was talking about going to see the Captain from day 1, as well. It just...it took him a while. He never imagined he'd do it acting as Stede Bonnet's second in case the parlay got hairy. Stede who had chosen Izzy over Edward to attend on grounds of being expendable. Who hadn't told Edward. Who had forced Izzy to silence. Izzy, who had to then spend the entire day reconciling the concept that he might die for Stede.

What a fucking nightmare that had been.

The small silver lining, if you can call it that at all, was having the Captain's attention in total. It was Izzy he'd offered a deal to. Izzy he negotiated with. And now look, it's Izzy who has him by the balls.

He's almost vibrating with excitement, forcing himself to climb faster and pull open the door to start down the hallway of identical doors. Ed would have woken in one of them earlier, instructed by letter to attend his muster drill with Friday the Faceless.

143 comes soon enough and Izzy opens the door, checking to make sure they're alone. Blissfully, Castor and Pollux are absent. Good. He isn't in the mood for a meet and greet right now.

The space is tidy enough, the way it could be with three people jammed into a bunk barely designed for two. Izzy's things are easily identifiable by their color. Pollux's by virtue of their femininity. And Castor.. who cares, he doesn't even officially have claim to the room but all his crap is white and gold. They get the fold out, Izzy gets the proper bed.

"There's a drink if you want it."

This Edward is not whichever Edward people keep expecting him to be, but there is one thing for certain- if any of his colleagues hatched a scheme without his involvement and hid it from him? Enough toes would be severed to cook a stew.

For a good moment upon entering the room, Ed is taken back by the feminine items scattered about. He eyes some of them heavily for a moment before his eyes scan back to Izzy. Is he keeping a woman in here, or has he taken up a new hobby? Old Edward might have questioned or teased. New Edward (Old Blackbeard) would rather get to brass tacks, so after a momentary glare, he finds a seat, propping up his bad knee.

"Later. You wanted to show me something..."

"I do, yeah," Izzy agrees and disappears down the side of his bed for a moment before popping back up with a book. It's nothing special, just some fictional something or other. It's an effort to get down and an effort to get back up, but he's not about to complain about it. Not here, not in front of Blackbeard.

He grits his teeth and rounds the end of the bed to sit on the side of Pollux's fold out.

The Great Gatsby looks like nothing, but Izzy opens the book and furls through the pages until he finds two pieces of loose paper tucked between the pages. That's the prize. A letter and a contract, signed with a bloody handprint.

"This is a contract with the captain of this vessel, signing himself to our crew," Izzy explains with equal measures of gravity and glee.

The document is standard boiler plate for men at sea. Loyalty to their captain, duties, shares of booty should they get any, hand written in Lucius Spriggs' signature calligraphy. The sort of contract Stede had his crew sign back home. The kind of contract any pirate captain would. All very official for when it matters - and it matters now.

What matters especially is the adjoining letter, newly written in crisp, black ink.

I, Captain Stede Bonnet, hereby relinquish my captaincy in full to Isreal Hands. This applies to all contracts previously signed in equal exchange henceforth and grants him the same powers and indemnities as they have myself.

Stede Bonnet.
Israel Hands.

Next to both signatures are the respective person's thumbprint in blood.

"Contract law is considered unbreakable magic here, sir. I don't know why the Captain signed this contract but he did, and now we've got him."

Ed watches patiently as the book is brought to him and the pages presented. The first one is shocking. Why would the ship's Captain sign himself over? There had to be thought or plan behind it. Ed wonders briefly if it's a trap.

The second document causes him to feel a flare in his blood, which he tries to hide to the best of his ability. Ed swallows thickly and exhales through his nose, staring at it for a moment. It isn't just Stede's name that is causing this reaction. It's also that these documents are establishing Izzy as Captain and not him.

Now, had Edward not been present, and he hasn't, this would be one thing. Edward couldn't blame him. But Izzy and everyone fucking else present has repeatedly made it clear that Edward has been. Which he still doesn't fucking understand, by the way.

To Izzy’s credit, there are legally binding documents that name him Captain back home, also. But those documents aren't magically reinforced, and as a rule pirates tend to operate outside of the law, so they basically mean fucking nothing.

Ed's fingers run down over the document as he reviews it, pausing at the bottom over Izzy’s name. "You've got him, you mean." he mutters plainly.

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