It shouldn't be a surprise that Stede Bonnet knows next to nothing about swords.

"Oh, I love a good swordfight. All the swashbuckling and slicing and... stabbing." He answers with a nervous grin when Edward thinks to ask him what he knows about the art. There's the requisite amount of grimaces, snorts, and one 'Well, you don't...' from Oluwande before Jim puts a hand on his shoulder and he trails off, sucks his teeth. Edward raises an eyebrow.

"Really?" He says. He draws his sword, and Stede's eyes flick between it and him, ultimately keeping their gazes locked. Stupid thing to do, really. If someone's drawing a deadly weapon around you, you should keep your eyes on that if you don't want to get skewered. "Then, obviously, you know what kind this is." Stede sputters.

"Well. Yes. Obviously." Edward waves the sword. "It is a..." Stede draws out, stalling.

"A...?"

"...Sharp kind?" Barely a day goes by where Edward doesn't find himself wondering how Stede hasn't gotten himself killed already. He sheathes the sword and shakes his head.

"It's a rapier," he corrects, "and tonight, you'll learn how to use one."

"Tonight?" Stede's eyes go wide, but he must recognize the out that Edward is offering for what it is, a chance to improve away from mockery. Well, beyond that Edward himself can provide, which he likes to think is more educational than anything. "Of course. Wouldn't want to distract the crew by showing off, would we?" He's all bluster, but there's a grateful look he shoots Edward underneath, the kind that makes Edward feel warmer inside than he has in a good long while.

It's a fine counterpoint to the look Izzy shoots him, the scowl. Izzy scowls a lot these days. Edward has gotten very good at ignoring him.

He has to wait until after the crew has been tucked in and read their nightly bedtime story. He's taken to listening along as well. These past few nights, it's been the tale of a mermaid with a fascination for humans and the world they live in that she's only ever heard of and never seen. Tonight, Stede reads about her finally being allowed to travel to that mysterious surface realm. Edward is enchanted by his voice, the hope and joy he infuses the mermaid's falsetto with. The story stops tonight with the revelation that the mermaid has fallen in love with a human prince from that forbidden world, and despite the crew's demands that Stede continue on at least a little while longer, he's insistent on leaving it there.

Stede approaches him after. "You were listening? You liked it?" Edward nods.

"Does she ever manage to convince him to fall in love with a fish?" Stede huffs.

"You can't skip to the end."

"I'm just wondering how that works. If her bottom half's all scales, where would you stick-"

"Stop that!" Edward laughs. Stede's so easy to rile up. With anyone else, it would have ceased being fun already, but he's so expressive! "You were going to teach me to use a rapier?"

"Catch." Edward throws him a sword. Stede actually does manage to catch it, and he looks so stunned, Edward's almost afraid his face will freeze like that. Then, he raises the rapier, terrible grip, absolutely the wrong stance, and grins.

"Engarde!" In three seconds' worth of fluid movement, Edward draws his sword, knocks the rapier right out of Stede's hand, and sheathes his own sword again. It clatters to the deck loudly, and Stede winces. Edward bends down to pick it up and puts it in Stede's hand again.

"You hold it like this," he says, adjusting Stede's fingers against the pommel, one hand gripping his wrist to keep the blade steady. When he looks up, Stede's there, right there, and though Edward can't see him that clearly as a cloud chooses that moment to pass over the moon, he knows Stede is looking back. "Understood?"

"Understood," Stede whispers. Edward lingers there for a second, one glorious second, and then he pulls away. He has his priorities in order, and right now, priority number one is making sure that if Stede Bonnet, God forbid, ever gets into a real fight for his life, he'll last more than ten seconds. Winning is more of a pipe dream, but Edward can settle for that inevitable death being less humiliating than it would be otherwise. He turns, inhales, and places his hand on the pommel of his sword again, ready to draw on Stede when he yelps. "Ouch!"

"What?" He wheels on Stede again. What has he managed to do now? Edward didn't even have his sword drawn. They weren't even facing each other. Though maybe that explains it. Stede's very good at getting himself into trouble when Edward doesn't have an eye on him. (Good at getting out of it, too. Most of the time. It's for that once in a hundred times that Edward can't let him out of his sight.)

"I was testing it!" Stede protests. He's looking at his fingers, face all screwed up. Edward doesn't see any extremities lying on the deck, and Stede would probably be screaming if there were, anyway. He shakes his head and goes over to the man. "Look, I've cut myself." Stede presents to him a bloodied palm. The cut isn't very deep, just messy, like he'd purposefully gone and drawn his sword across it. Which is exactly what he did, didn't he.

Edward resists the urge to put a hand to his face.

"You're alright. It'll stop bleeding in a moment." He tells Stede, who is pouting. It's doing something to Edward. He's not entirely sure what. But it's doing something.

"It hurts."

"Give me your hand." Edward doesn't think that through before it leaves his mouth. Stede gives him an odd look, but Edward's in too deep to back out now. He holds out his palm for Stede, and hesitatingly, the other man rests his hand there, palm up, the cut exposed to the moonlight. Edward can feel the weight of it in his palm, but his glove keeps most of their skin from touching. He's not sure if that's a blessing in disguise or not. The tips of his fingers twitch up towards Stede's hand, and he wills them still.

"Edward?" Stede asks.

The master tactician lies to himself that this is all part of the greater plan.

He draws Stede's hand up. Stede doesn't look away. Edward presses his lips against Stede's palm. It feels like the kiss lasts until the next full moon, as though they have stood there, blind to the world for a month as it moved around them, and come to awareness back in the same place, the very same moment. Edward kisses his palm and feels the warmth of it against mouth and even the taste of iron he pulls away with is almost enough to drive him mad. Stede's eyes are wide. Edward gazes back.

And then he drops Stede's hand like a stone and turns away again, unsheathing his rapier.

"There. I kissed it better." He makes it flippant. He makes it another odd mannerism on a long list of odd mannerisms. He turns his blade on Stede. "Well, come on, ready yourself." Stede lifts his almost forgotten rapier as well, but the confusion hasn't left his face yet. Edward keeps talking. He keeps his eyes far away from Stede's other hand, the one with fingers curling back to rub against the palm the same way someone might reach towards a ghost, desperate to feel them and learn if they're real or a figment of the mind. "You don't need to test it. If your sword isn't sharp enough, you'll know."

"H-how exactly?" Edward thrusts at him. It's more a play than a real threat, something to get Stede on his toes. Stede swings his sword wildly in response. It's completely useless. They'll work on that.

"Because you'll be dead." Edward lets Stede fall back, readying his sword again. "Now, the basics..." It's a long night.