Ed assembles with Fang and Ivan, and the trio wordlessly descends below deck to meet with the remaining Blackbeard Crew. These tertiary members significantly comprehend their function within the crew, so they're always blessed to go on extravagant adventures.
The air perfumes of Roach's seasoned, delicious-smelling food in the galley; the trio can attend to the faint sounds of kitchenware clicking, oil sizzling, and a sing-song as they travel the hallway and reach their destination.
Alexiane, Messenio, Divan, and Mithcath are on the floor in the jam room's shadows. They correspond, their heads resting on furnished soft, smooth rice pillows and are ensuing shut-eye on the makeshift cots. The room has been adequately organized to house them, which would never ensue on Queen Anne and its undersized space; hierarchy presses for Izzy, Fang, and Ivan to obtain the hammocks. Edward silently considers his sleeping crew, his head journeying left and right as he thinks.
The comfortableness of his tertiary crew on another captain's vessel bedazzles him. By size, the Queen Anne is bigger than the Revenge, yet he's unable to reminisce about a moment of significant ease for his crew aboard their ship. Edward understands that the juvenile quartet tends to bind together like his veteran trio. Still, glimpsing them cozily catnapping on the Revenge floor with their boots off and weapons unconcealed with no imminent threat their way — it's all something.
Something provokes Mithcath to rouse abruptly, her hazel eyes wide and automatically scanning her surroundings. To her left stands her captain, so she impulsively rises and stands at attention while calling, "Alex, Messie, Div, get up!"
Divan groans and turns his body towards the wall, muttering with a whine, "Quiet, Mithcath. We're trying to sleep for the first time in ages. Good God."
"Boss is here, you ass."
Messenio, Divan, and Alexiane's eyes comically open and widen as they gasp and scamper from their cots. They hilariously knock into each other to quickly reposition to stand alongside their crewmate.
Fang moves from behind his captain and scrutinizes the subordinates' postures. The quartet goggles ahead at nothing, awaiting formative criticism. They're bootless, clothing-ragged, and messy-haired, but, in their defense, this is an unexpected calling. They've been aboard the Revenge since rescuing the vessel's captain from the Spaniards and have only attended when required. Fang wordlessly tuts and sucks his teeth as he goes to regain his post behind his captain.
"Hi-ya, Kids," greets Edward with a two-finger wave.
"Greetings, captain," respectfully answers Alexiane with a firm nod. Her eyes shift from the ceiling to meet her captain's.
Edward shifts to the side to stand between his crew, the juveniles on one side and the veterans on the other. A gentle sunray from the window hits the back of his leather jacket, and the sunshine beautifully illuminates his hair, beard, and brown skin.
"There's something I must discuss with you. I don't know where Izzy is, so you'll be the first to know," he informs the room.
"Is it bad?" softly questions Messenio.
The Boss Man halts to examine the question. Is it bad? They've hardly been in circumstances that aren't bad, yet since meeting the Gentleman Pirate, it appears all their troubles have vanished. Well, at least not bashing on each corner and straining to bite them in their asses. Essentially, their present clash is with the Spaniards, but the not-so-amusing aspect of piracy is that it goes he said, she said, they said on the seven-and-however-many-more seas. Moreover, pirate arguments and quarrels can advance into something unbecoming just by someone looking at somebody differently or some nonsensical shit like that.
No-wonder the renowned Blackbeard desires to put it all to rest.
But, really, is it bad? He half-answers, "It might be."
Edward pushes to sit in one of the chairs, and Ivan and Fang serve the remaining chairs. The boss slides down the chair, his leg with his braced knee comfortably outstretched and his arms loosely crossed against his chest. The quartet (correctly) assumes they're at-ease, so they unclasp their hands from behind their backs and relax their bodies. The gathering reflects Pirate Ring's, yet those are mandated to be captain-less, so this is more of a Meeting with the Boss.
"I need to ask y'all something, and you must be completely honest with me," commences the boss with a solemn exhale.
"Yes, sir," comments Divan as he crisscrosses on the floor before his captain; his crewmates mirror him.
"What are your opinions about the Plan?"
There's weighty speechlessness as the six subordinates regard the question. The silence veers to uncomfortable and awkward, so Edward begins going individually.
"Fang?"
The brown, senior pirate slowly exhales and meets his captain's eyes. He cross-answers with an uneasy chuckle, "I've known you for decades, yet in this very moment, I don't know what you want me — us — to say, and it scares me shitless."
The boss groans and then aggressively inclines forward, his forearms resting on his knees. His salt-n-pepper hair fans around his head and face like an open curtain. "Listen, fuck all of that. There aren't any right or wrong answers; I would like your input about the Plan. I want to know your perspective on the circumstance."
"Uh, no offense intended, captain, but you've never requested our opinion before, so it's all peculiar as to why you want it now," bravely announces Mithcath. She has positively demonstrated qualities of leadership and fearlessness with all of the tertiary crew members. Privately, the boss has presented meetings with her regarding promotion, yet the young woman has consistently declined and requested to remain with the juveniles. All "minors" are classified as juveniles, although most are teenagers or young adults. [Take Lucius of the Revenge, for instance]. Sometimes experience is contemplated, but it's not often. Mithcath is educated and has some potent experience in her resume; she prides herself on aiding the juveniles. Additionally, she has had adventurous moments alongside her captain and first-mate.
Edward roughly exhales and responds, "I know that, Cathy. But I'm requesting it now. Things are changing, and everyone's opinion matters."
Mithcath holds his gaze for a few beats, then broadcasts, "I disapprove of the Plan."
To her left, Messenio sharply inhales, and Anne's captain eyes dart their way.
"And you, Messie?"
"I disapprove of the Plan, too," they eventually reply. Their unruly curls fall into their face, so they swipe a hand to push the strands aside.
"Why?"
This is especially entertaining, but Alexiane can't postpone any longer, so she outbursts a brisk admission, "Boss, I disapprove of the Plan, too. I like it here; I really, really do. I like the captain — uh, Steve? No, Stede, I think his name is. He's nice — well, that's not saying you're not, because you are! He assembled the rice pillows for us using his food and spare linens. I also like his crew, and the layout and size of his ship, and his story times, and how he dresses fancy and sometimes uses big words, and—" she pauses to inhale oxygen deeply, then continues with beseeching eyes, "—I don't think we ever needed to hurt him or his crew; they're not our enemies. If anything, they can be our allies in slaughtering the Spanish; they can be our friends."
The cat is out of the bag. Bravo to Alexiane, Mithcath, and Messenio for being courageous. To her right, Divan is frozen, his eyes expansive and mouth agape; Mithcath rests a supportive hand on his knee. The boss heeds the quartet, his eyes roaming left and right. The valiancy of his tertiary crew needs to be reexamined, there's no doubt. Still, the things they've disclosed are not too far from his sentiments about Stede and his crew. The Revenge exudes contentment and positive livelihood, even on the water. It's uncluttered, orderly, brightly-colored, and heartwarming, with an engrossing captain, first-mate, and skillful culinarian. The tandem of Stede and Buttons is unique and riveting, one being an aristocrat in the past life and the other cherished with the sea. It's almost as if there's an ethereal element to it.
Perhaps there's something to the speculation?
Stede doesn't adhere to standard piracy, and that, thus far, hasn't sabotaged him. Never mind the stabbing and hanging aboard the Spanish vessel, which others typically don't survive. Just for merriment, Ed was the recipient of the fellow captain's blade.
Silently, Divan's right thumb caresses the X tattoo on his wrist. He jerks when he feels the edge of his captain's boot push against his. Raising his head, he meets his captain's questioning eyes and softly exhales and gulps. Finally, he adjoins:
"I like it here. I like the captain; I like you with the captain. Being here, I can sleep without having to look over my shoulder. I like the crew and the ship. I think the Plan was always a bucket of horse shit, and I don't want to hurt them."
Blackbeard's Tertiary Crew is savvier than their rank and experience showcase. They've been haggling their sentiments with them in the shadows, which pangs Edward. He's delighted he could execute the whole Talkin' it Through as a Crew thing, which Stede taught him. In such a brief timeframe, there are so many specialties he's learned from reining in the encouraging atmosphere with Stede and the Revenge Crew, so who is he to withhold the pleasure from his crew?
Confidently, Fang introduces, "We never needed the Plan; it was always a side-quest. It felt like something Izzy just wanted to do — and still do, knowing him. Lucius, Pete, Stede, and the others, they don't merit the Plan just because we fucked up."
All are being evaluated and assessed.
"I thank you all for your comments. They are very considering," appreciates Edward with an understanding nod.
Ivan warily bites his lip from his seat, not desiring to express what he wants to state but comprehending that he must. He discloses, "I like the Pretty Boy."
Edward's head quickly diverts to him, his long hair moving in a waft. The boss's ponderous regard is ambiguous, and holy fuck, this is terrifying.
Though desiring the opposite, Stede and Edward aren't companions. The golden-haired man can conspire and dalliance with whom he pleases. Lord knows Edward has had his quota of such. The long-haired boss can't prevent his crew from uncovering affection with Stede. Hell, Alexiane almost said fifty times over that she likes Stede. It's so goddamned understandable and noticeable why people would fancy Stede 'The Gentleman Pirate' Bonnet and all Edward can do is smile and nod. It's not his place to prompt them away and hog the captain to himself.
"OK. Though unnecessary, thank you for telling me, Ivan," states Edward with a close-lipped smile. Suddenly, he frowns and adds, "Where did the pretty boy thing come from?"
The other pirate nonchalantly shrugs with an innocent head shake. He answers, "Very recently, when we were training his lot. I don't know how to say it, but... yeah."
Oddly, Divan gets excited and begins clapping his hands, his eyes darting between his boss and Ivan with glee. He says, "Aw, boss, you must tell Izzy. I already know he won't like it."
Edward shrugs while rising from his chair, expressing, "I give zero shits whether his little ass like it or not. The Plan is cancelled. He'll either have to put up or shut up for once in his fucking life."
The crew halfheartedly laughs at their captain's attitude.
Once, there was a Plan, and now there isn't. Unfortunately for Israel Hands, he's out-of-loop, but knowing his ass, does that matter?
In the captain's quarters, the ship's captain and Blackbeard's first-mate continue their unofficial cat-and-mouse game. Stede rashly meanders around the quarters with his knife in his hand like a madman, and, for what seems like the first time in his life, Izzy is unsettled and distempered.
"Oh, c'mon, Iggy. My boredom increases. How would you kill me?" spoofs Stede.
Literally, who the fuck asks questions like that? This man is inhuman. Izzy delivers a disbelieving head shake and responds, "No, I'm not telling you that."
Stede halts and mockingly pouts. "Why not?"
"Because."
"That's not an answer," chides Stede. "You usually talk more than you're far worth, but now you're being a bitchful coward. C'mon, tell me. In the forest, you told me, 'This is how you die.' Since then, I've been inquisitive. Here, right now, we're harmonious about murder."
Well fuck. He did declare that, didn't he? Izzy hastily rushes towards Stede and hones his gaze upwards at the taller man. The proximity is charging and pleasing, but never mind that.
"Alright. Fine. I'll tell you."
Stede rolls his eyes in dullness and exhales like a brat. Holy shit fuck, that's precisely how he's acting, but it's indistinct if it's a performance or not. He whispers with a minor incline downwards into the older man's face, "I'm waiting."
Izzy beams and denies, "... Not today."
The Gentleman Pirate tsks in disapproval. He casts a glance at his crew, their undivided attention on him. Comprehending that he's wholly altered their trajectory about him warms his heart. He reconnects his gaze with Izzy's, the man's hooded eyes still roaming his face.
Leaning to the first-mate's right ear, he whispers, "Guest what?"
"What?" questions Izzy in a slight whisper, and it's polluted with rapture. The height difference causes his face to be near Stede's shoulder as they remain bent together. Is this a game?
"I've thought of many ways to kill you, too. Like, for instance, this," broadcasts Stede in his ear. He swiftly tussles Izzy into a reverse headlock, the older man's head tucked under his arm and his body uncomfortably wrenched backward. The golden-haired man tightens the hold around his neck, and Izzy loudly releases a series of cries, grunts, and choked attempts of inhaling and exhaling. With his eyes on the ceiling, blood courses to his head, and his vision blurs with unshed tears and debilitating, unfavorable pain. Remaining in the position, Stede enjoyingly bends his knees slightly and compresses upward, beaming at the facial redness and noises the older pirate continues to emit. Next, he presses his dagger to the other man's ribs and presses the pointy tip inwards.
"Ah, shit. That fucking hurts," unnecessarily exclaims Izzy in despair. It doesn't take rocket science for someone to ascertain that what's occurring is anything but unbearable. His body is wrenched so oddly that his leather boots are lifted at the heel-toe, and his upper body is stretched upwards under the younger pirate's arm. Pain and agony radiate everywhere. Where's the temperament from the forest? How the fuck did he allow himself to get like this?
The Revenge Crew honestly doesn't know what the fuck is going on.
Unexpectedly, Stede releases Blackbeard's first-mate, and the man unceremoniously falls hard to the wooded floor with a thud. The ship's captain runs his fingers through his damp curls and ventures to pour himself a glass of water from his decanter. A specific knock rums on the door before it opens to reveal Roach with a steaming food cart. The cook-medic wordlessly enters and begins setting the table, not giving a damn that he has to step over Izzy twice.
Stede delivers an appreciative nod to Roach before the man exits; the captain silently points to the door, indicating for his remaining crew to evacuate.
On the floor, Izzy withers in tribulation, his trembling hands attempting to roam his throat, back, and ribs simultaneously. Stede goes to sit at his table, but before he devours the food, he sounds:
"But, like you said, Izzy: Not today."