When the sun rose up the next morning, Izzy did not stir. He slept late, even later than some of the crew members. Any noise they made on deck still didn't rouse him. Chances are he may have slept into the afternoon had furry paws not stepped on his face.
Popping an eye open, he saw the cat staring down at him, one paw pressed on his nose. A tail swished behind her rhythmically, like a metronome. Clearly, she was wide awake. Grumbling at the unwelcome wake up, Izzy pulled an arm out from under the blanket and moved her off of him. May as well get up, he figured.
Sitting up slowly, he watched as the kitten suddenly jumped from the bed, onto the floor. She landed onto her feet, like she'd done it many times before. Bare feet hit the cold floor as he rose from the bed and started to get dressed. The leather vest had dried well enough overnight, at least enough that he could wear it comfortably. Reaching for his glove, the smooth material slipped right from his grip and fell to the floor. Before he could even bend down, the cat's paws were on it. She pounced onto the glove like it was some kind of attacker.
Reaching down, Izzy grabbed it and tried to pull it away. But claws dug into the dark material, so he pulled the kitten right along with it. "Let go," he said firmly, trying to shake her off. No matter what he tried, she held on tightly. When she hooked all four paws onto it, Izzy snarled and surrendered. Fine. If it keeps it entertained and out of trouble, so be it. Not like I'll need to use my sword today anyhow.
Izzy left the room to get the cat breakfast, returning moments later with another piece of cheese. She was laying on top of the glove when he'd set the cheese down. "Don't tear it up" he told her before leaving once again. Entering the galley, he found that he had, in fact, missed breakfast. It was evident by the pile of dirty dishes, which seemed ever present. A small part of him felt the urge to find Roach and scold him for leaving such a mess. But no. Today was meant to be a day off, and for once, Izzy wanted to take part in that. After putting together a quick meal of bread and orange marmalade, he headed out on deck.
The sun was shining brightly and the sky was an endless wave of blue. It was as if the storm last night had never happened at all. There wasn't a cloud to be found. Making his way over to the rail, Izzy leaned against it and bit into his food. His eyes scanned the deck as he ate, watching the crewmembers. A good amount of them were on deck by this time. Idle conversations combined into a mixture of indecipherable chatter.
Lucius and Black Pete were lying on the deck, staring up at the sky and talking about who knew what. Jim was sharpening a few knives, seated next to Oluwande. Wee Jon, Swede, and Roach were sitting down around some cards. Frenchie had his lute in his lap and appeared to be tuning it. All around him, everyone he saw had found a way to spend their day, or at least someone to share it with. It made Izzy come to a realization: he had nothing to do.
Granted, that was the point of a day off, wasn't it? To do nothing? That's the way he understood it at least. To be honest, Izzy wasn't quite sure. Taking a day off was a foreign idea to him. He'd never really let himself take part in one before, never really wanted to. Yes, he was supposed to do nothing, but surely that didn't just mean stand around all day, right? No, the point was to do whatever you wanted to do, not what you needed to do. With that in mind, he scanned the crew once again, trying to think. Today, there would be no orders to follow, no one to boss around. The world was his oyster! He could do with it as he pleased!
If only he knew what that was.
Aimlessly, Izzy began to wander around the ship in search of a way to entertain himself. His boots made their way below deck, and he walked the halls. Eventually, he found himself in the dining room. The precarious pile of chairs was still in the corner. Should probably fix that, he thought. It's just an accident waiting to happen. Rolling up his sleeves a little, Izzy looked over the pile and started his task. Carefully, he worked at the tower, making sure they wouldn't topple on top of him.
Arm by arm, leg by leg, the chairs became disconnected. It was quite a tricky job, but he took his time and worked at them until each chair was free of the mess. May as well right the table, too, he decided when he was done. Pulling the large dining room table from the corner it was jammed in, he dragged it into the center of the room. A table that size probably should have been a two person job, but oh well. When it was finally back where it belonged, he placed the chairs back around it neatly. Smoothing the table cloth out, he looked over his work. It finally looked like a proper dining room again—not that Izzy thought a pirate ship should even have such a room, but he ignored that for the moment.
Took a bloody long time to do, but it's done, he told himself. Leaving the room, he wandered down the hall once again. Spotting the jam room, he glanced over the mess of instruments littering the floor. Could clean this up as well. Maybe organize the instruments somehow? Definitely should check for damage on them, that storm tossed them around a lot. Maybe there's some sort of polish you use to clean—damnit! Izzy mentally kicked himself. I'm just doing more work! This is exactly what I'm trying not to do! Fuck me, he chided. Marching quicker, he ignored any messes he saw and tried to think of a better way to spend the day.
Reading was an idea, though Izzy didn't really make a hobby of it. He saw it more as just another tool in his belt, another skill. But it could be a way to pass the time. Only books we got are in the Captain's quarters, he realized. Bonnet's dumbass library. No way am I going in there. Desperately trying to brainstorm, he eventually wandered back up to the main deck. Haven't seen Fang or Ivan anywhere, he thought. Looking around, he tried to seek them out. For what, he wasn't quite sure. The first person he spotted happened to be Frenchie, who was still strumming his lute. He didn't seem to notice Izzy at all until his shadow was casting over the instrument. "Have you seen Iv—" A sudden sneeze drowned out the rest of that sentence. Frenchie sniffled and wiped at his nose with the end of his sleeve. ". . . Have you seen Ivan or Fang?"
"Uh, Fang's having a sketching session with Lucius, I think." Izzy stifled a gag. "And Ivan's at the arts and crafts table." Frenchie pointed a finger across the deck, sniffling again. Izzy's gaze followed it, hesitantly. Arts and . . . oh, hell.
His eyes widened at the sight. The Swede, Wee John, and Ivan were all seated at a long table covered with all sorts of colors and papers. Yarn was littered all over and a few pieces of cloth were added into the mess. Some of the cloth was sitting in front of Ivan. At that moment, he seemed to be focused on something small and shiny held in between his fingers. A small needle, from the looks of it. Izzy stared like it was a horrific, unimaginable sight. Ivan, the man who had once taken off a man's arm with nothing but a blunt dagger. . . was learning to sew.
"You thinkin' about joining in?" Frenchie asked, reminding Izzy he was there. "There's some space at the table."
Izzy glared at him, trying to figure out if that was supposed to be some kind of joke or an actual suggestion. In the end, he decided it was awful either way. Sneering at Frenchie, Izzy walked away. Arts and crafts, he mocked. If I ever do something even resembling arts and crafts, I hope my heart swells up and kills me. Turning to leave, he paused for a moment before looking at the young man once more. "Have you seen Blackbeard?"
"Last I saw, he was with Cap'n Bonnet. Think they said they were going to practice sword fighting? Or maybe it was—"
"Forget I asked."
Don't ask questions you don't want the answer to, he told himself. As he started across the deck in no particular direction, Swede and Wee John started to cheer and clap. Looking over, he saw Ivan beaming proudly at the now threaded needle he was holding.
. . . Fuck this. I'm going fishing.
The water was fairly calm, only rocking the dinghy lightly. The thin fishing line lay still on the sea's surface. The sun glistened on the ocean, and a light breeze brushed through Izzy's hair every now and again. His eyes were trained on the cork he'd tied to the fishing line, waiting for it to disappear under the water again. He'd managed to catch a handful of fish thus far, and was currently using one of the smaller ones as bait. At the moment, nothing seemed to be happening under the water.
In the silence, Izzy let his mind wander. If Ivan takes up sewing, I'm drawing the line at wearing whatever he makes. No pirate worth a damn is going to raid a ship wearing a homemade shirt or some shit. Bad enough that Bonnet waltzes around in his fancy silks and bright colors. He moved the line a little, trying to get some attention. And Fang with the damn sketching, the hell's that about? If I had a choice between letting Spriggs doddle me into his stupid book, or letting a naval officer skin me alive with a blunt, rusted spoon, I'd choose the spoon.
The cork bobbed in the water, and Izzy's eyes got sick of staring at it. Unwrapping the sandwich he'd cobbled together before he'd left the ship, he looked up to the sky. A few white, puffy clouds glided on the winds. For some reason—likely boredom—Izzy decided to try to use some of that imagination Ed always told him to get and looked for shapes in them. Suppose that one looks like a triangle. And the one below it . . . could be a tree, maybe? His head tilted slightly to try and make some out. That one kind of looks like a ship. Right next to . . . a dragon? No, that's stupid, a dragon wouldn't be in the ocean. Maybe a sea monster or some kinda giant squid.
. . . Shit, I've finally cracked, haven't I?
Brushing bread crumbs off his pants, he caught sight of another familiar shape. A cat. It's got a tail and everything. He looked at it as it floated in the sky. Watching it go, Izzy's mind traveled back to the ship, behind his bedroom door. It had better not be causing trouble, the little shit, he thought. . . . Probably should have checked on it before I left. Leaving it alone for a long time just means it'll get bored, and when it gets bored, it starts scratching at shit. Looking at the position of the sun in the sky, he wagered he'd been out fishing for a few hours at least. May as well head back. Nothing's biting anymore anyway. Bringing in his line, he started back to the Revenge.
The deck was empty by the time he made it back. The accursed arts and crafts table was abandoned, but the supplies were still out. Can't even clean up after themselves without bein' told.
Huffing, he secured the dinghy and grabbed the basket of fish. Marching down to the galley, Izzy set the basket down on the counter, figuring Roach would use it later or store it away. After putting the fishing pole away, he headed towards his room. Pausing outside the door for a moment, he listened. Not a sound was heard from the other side. He took that as a good sign. Stepping into the bedroom, he shut the door and looked around. "Fuck," he mumbled. Fresh scratch marks were on his dresser. On top of that, a sizable hairball was in the corner of the room.
Glancing around the room for the culprit, he saw no sign of her. Dropping to his knees, he peered under the bed to find the furball in the corner, curled up on his glove. "You little shit," he said with a snarl. "I left that here so you wouldn't destroy anything. I wasn't even on the damn ship! What if someone heard you doing that? You want to get caught, is that it?" She blinked in response, and Izzy realized he was lecturing a cat.
Reaching under the bed, he went to grab his glove out from under her. He got a grip on the end of the glove and pulled, when claws suddenly dug into the leather. She held on tightly as Izzy tried to shake her off of it. "Get off, you're putting holes in it." He pulled again, but the cat only came along with it. When she engaged all four sets of claws, Izzy grumbled and let go.
For some reason, the cat did the same, retreating back to a pouncing position. Her focused gaze stared straight back at Izzy, whose anger had melted into confusion. What, now it doesn't want it? Stupid thing can't make up its mind, can it? He went to grab the glove again, only to have the claws jump back out again. More confused than ever, he brought his hand back and looked at the kitten. She kept her eyes on him as she leaned back again, readying her position.
It all clicked in his head then. This wasn't just some little game. To the kitten, it seemed to be a kind of battle. And she was waiting, en guarde, for her opponent to make his move.
Testing his theory, Izzy reached for the glove, quickly, and pulled it back towards him. The kitten darted forwards as he did and sunk her claws into the fingers of it. He felt her pull against him, trying to regain control. Releasing it, they both fell back into their positions. Izzy brought his hand forward, then drew it back, like a taunt. They eyed each other, as if they were waiting the other out. After staying still for another moment, he went to grab the glove again. But the kitten was somehow prepared for this and dug into it before he could grasp it. She placed her white paw on top of the black one, pinning it in place. She's quick, he admitted. But I'll be damned if I lose to a cat.
Pulling a little harder now, he brought the glove and the kitten closer. She swatted it as it moved, like she was trying to attack it. When that didn't work, Izzy saw her start to bite it and pull it backwards. A black paw started to swat at his hand, trying to force him to let go.
Izzy took his end of the glove and tapped her small, pink nose with it. Touché. The action caught the kitten off guard for a moment, allowing him to yank the glove out from under her grip. That earned a meow that was almost a growl, and she went back into the pouncing position. Izzy started to move the glove from side to side in a sweeping, half circle in front of her. Her eyes followed it closely, as if stalking prey. The cat lied in wait, steady, focused, until pounce. All four paws landed onto the glove as her claws sunk into the leather.
He pulled the glove to him once again, bringing both it and the kitten out from under the bed. She laid down on it, her paws digging deeper into the black material. Her tail swished steadily behind her as she glared up at him. "Alright," Izzy said. "Let's call it a draw."
He took his hands off the glove, and the cat got off of it a few seconds later. She approached him with interest and began to brush her face against his hand. The softness felt strange against Izzy's skin, but he stayed still. Looking at her closer, he noticed the dust staining her white coat. With his other hand, he started to wipe it off as best as he could. But the cat only leaned into his touch, arching her back against him. Figuring the cat would clean itself off anyhow, Izzy abandoned the task and decided it was probably time to feed her.
Finding the fish Roach had stored away, Izzy picked out one of the larger snappers he'd caught and made his way to the galley. He was by no means a chef, but he'd picked up basic cooking skills in order to get by over the years. As the fish cooked, he tried to think of other things he could use to entertain the kitten.
Can't just let her keep putting holes in my glove, he rationalized. Bonnet's stocked this ship with a bunch of useless stuff, but I doubt cat toys are onboard. There's gotta be something I can use. Something that's easy to move around. She was drawn to the movement. Flipping the fish over, an idea began to spark.
Placing the fish on a plate, he grabbed some utensils and added the pan to the pile of dishes. Ignoring that mountain of mess, he made his way to one of the supply rooms. After a few minutes of searching around, he found a decent sized wooden rod and stuck it under his arm. Keeping an eye out for anyone walking around, Izzy headed back to the main deck, up to the art and crafts table. Scanning the disaster, he searched for what he needed, pausing briefly on the pile of dry, macaroni noodles. Great, now they're wasting rations on this.
Putting that aside, he found a length of thick string and cut off what he needed. He also collected a decent sized cotton ball and pocketed it. After grabbing a pair of scissors and a bit of glue, he figured he had what he needed and made his way back to his room.
Pushing the door open, he found the kitten standing there. Her tail flicked behind her as he walked into the room. "Were you waiting for me?" he asked. That was a foreign idea in his head: having something wait for him to come back, to miss him when he was gone. Yet it wasn't an idea he hated, surprisingly.
Kneeling down, he cut up some of the fish and added it to the cat's food dish. She watched with wide eyes as he did. Slowly, she leaned down, allowing her pink nose to smell the food before finally eating a piece. Picking up the plate, Izzy set it and the supplies onto his bed before sitting down on it himself. Taking a bite of the food himself, he started to work. First, he smeared a dab of glue on the top of the wooden rod before tying one end of the string around it. Taking the scissors, he made an incision into the cotton ball. Threading the other end of the string through it, he tied that as well, making sure it would stay.
Swinging the ball, experimentally, he found it all stayed together. Looking across the room, he found the kitten had finished most of her food. She met his eyes and approached the bed, clearly curious about what he was holding. "Right," Izzy said. "Let's see if you like this."
Taking a seat in front of the bed, he flicked his wrist like he was casting his fishing line. The cotton ball landed towards the kitten and her pupils widened to the size of it. He dragged the cotton ball across the floor slowly, watching the cat follow it wherever it went. After studying it for a moment, she finally reached out and sunk a few claws into it. When she tried to pull it closer, the string tightened and the ball sprung out of her grip. Izzy took control of it again, zipping it across the floor. She bounded after it, trying to catch this new prey. Once in a while, she would get a hold on it, but not for long. Raising his arm, Izzy let the cotton ball dangle above her, bobbing it up and down. She reached up, swatting it and swinging it. She even tried to bite at it a few times, exposing her small, sharp teeth. Watching the kitten play was amusing somehow, Izzy realized.
Time melted away like candle wax. Eventually, the kitten slowed down and started to look tired. Setting the toy up on the bed, Izzy took the opportunity to clean up. Collecting the scissors, glue, and empty plate, he left the room. After putting the plate into the growing pile of dishes, he went to put the scissors and glue back. This time, the deck was crowded. The crew was back out and speaking loudly. Izzy crept over to the craft table, quietly, not wanting anyone to see him near it. Placing the items back, he started to slink back towards his room.
"Ey, boss!" Fang's voice carried over the noise. Izzy turned to look at him. "Want a drink?" the man asked, holding up a bottle.
"Captain said we're celebratin' not dying yesterday," Ivan explained from Fang's side.
Pondering the invitation for a moment, Izzy shrugged slightly and walked over to them. Accepting a bottle from Fang, he leaned against the wall and opened it. An unfamiliar taste washed over his tongue as he took a swig. The rum was drier than he was used to, and had a strange, fruity taste. Looking at the bottle closer, he noticed it was one of the ones they'd taken from the French ship. They should stick to makin' bread, he thought. He took another drink anyhow.
"You have a nice day off?" Ivan asked.
Izzy looked at him and decided not to comment on the macaroni noodle necklace the man was wearing. "S'pose I did," he said after a moment, like he'd just realized it himself.
He didn't say much after that, just stood like a fly on the wall. Izzy was never much for these kinds of celebrations. He usually just made sure no one got drunk enough to fall off the ship. Scanning the crew, he watched the rest of them pass around drinks and swap conversation. Ed and Stede were curled up in a corner of the ship. He could pick out bits and pieces of the story Ed was loudly regaling him with. Whichever one it was, Stede seemed very interested in it. Noting the bright glimmer in his captain's eyes when he looked at Stede, Izzy took another drink.
The rest of the crew talked amongst themselves about everything and nothing. If he had to guess who was drunkest, he wagered it was Black Pete, who was slurring his words. Eventually, the stars appeared in the sky and the moonglow illuminated the litter of bottles around the deck. Stede suggested they turn in for the night, though some of the crew had already fallen asleep by that point. Replacing the cork into his bottle, Izzy set it aside and picked up a spare lantern. Lighting his way, he stepped over the sleeping Swede, who was sprawled out over the deck. This time, the kitten didn't meet him at the door. Instead, he found her curled up on the floor, asleep. Her paws were tucked under her head, almost acting like a pillow. Setting the lantern on the dresser, Izzy shed his clothes and got ready to sleep. He moved the cat toy from the bed to a drawer in the dresser.
Scooping the kitten off the floor, he started towards the corner of the room. Looking at the blanket he'd placed there days ago, he leaned down with the intention of placing the kitten there. Instead, he grabbed it in his other hand and placed it on top of the dresser. Extinguishing the lantern, he crossed the room to his bed. Crawling under his own blanket, he placed the cat at the end of the bed. Izzy's thumb stroked the top of her head, and he blamed the warm feeling in him on the rum.