“There are men aboard this ship one could reasonably argue have no more intelligence than the average barnacle who could have concluded that much,” The scathing retort fell from his lips before thought toward harnessing his frustration fully rose. “My question isn’t whether or not the fucking obvious has occured to you, it’s what the fuck you plan on doing about it.”
“At which point?” These arguments were fast growing tedious. Just as the feigned attempts at a return to normalcy felt as though they were choking him, the fact James kept slipping back into this dialogue of fault and blame only further illustrated why neither one of them was in a position to pretend the world hadn’t changed.
His fingers shook against the soft fabric of a cravat he had failed for the seventh time to tie on his own, proving that satisfactory fashion was not a skill one maintained after a decade with no cause for it. He had enough small and painful reminders of the truth without horrible clashes like the storm that was about to break now.
“I am not disagreeing with you James,” He had never once faulted the man for leaving – in that there had been no choice to which there would have been a favorable outcome. Nor did he intend to begin faulting him now. The trouble was differentiating what the man was bloody well excusing, and more often than not it tended to be everything that came after that event.
Slamming the useless silk onto the table, he gave up on the effort entirely and gripped the back of one of the chairs to keep himself from picking at anything else. To keep himself from fidgeting, or pacing, or any other physical activity that might further his own agitation as he forced himself to focus on James, and whatever war he was presently facing.
Taking a breath, he charged forth into the veritable battlefield that was laying waste to the mind before him, armed only with intellect and devotion against ghosts whose names he didn’t even fucking know. “What I am saying is that – for years now, you have made many choices. You cannot say that you didn’t because we both know that is false. As for what motivated you to make those choices — be they what they are, they drove you. You can own them now, and move forward from it, or you can continue to insist there was no other way in which case, I do not know how to help you. I am no more equipped to fight your demons for you than you are to fighting mine, damn it all!”
It had been a most unfortunate shift in the relationship between himself and Aaron. The realization of the man’s intentions had – to say the very least – come out of nowhere. It was impossible to deny the implications when he had awakened, his head still stinging from the blow it had been forced to absorb, bound and gagged in what appeared to be a ship’s storage.
It was not the first time his uniform in combination with his youth had brought about the conclusion that he was a man of gentry – a fortune clothed in purchased authority as opposed to a man who had started at twelve and worked his way into position through honest labours. It was, however, the first time anyone had gotten quite so far in their attempts to profit from it.
Aaron had not thought his actions through entirely, it seemed. He had been discovered and now, brought into a private discussion with the man who was not only responsible for releasing him from the bonds he’d been trussed up by, but for the sanctity of this entire crew, he found himself in a most unique position for adventure he’d never quite considered before. The Navy was not the only way to live life by the sea, after all – and it was not as though he could ask pirates to leave him in a safe harbour without risking themselves, either.
He turned it over in his mind, the whole of this situation, quietly rubbing feeling back into the numbness of his fingers as he chased debates until he found the answer most suitable. As always, it was the truth – he had never been a man for lies – but perhaps it was a bit too much of the truth for a question that perhaps had been seeking a simpler answer.
“To live a life that leaves behind no regrets is all I have ever wanted — and for that, I have always found myself relatively prepared for the strange twistings of fate life can sometimes bestow upon people.” Easing his gaze up, he took this time to observe Captain Flint thoughtfully. He had heard of him, naturally – a pirate so infamous as he was hardly going to go unheard of in Port Royal, where he was one part hero and one part monster, depending on who was spreading his legend at the time.
It was interesting to note, that in all the stories that spoke of his eyes ( some saying they glinted silver when he killed a man, others going so far as to say they turned as red as his beard ) not a one saw fit to mention they held differing hues. As always, it was the truth that was more captivating than the stories and their embellishments, which furthered Theodore’s appreciation for honesty.
“In this moment what I want is to know how I can be of service on this ship. There is no room on board for idle hands, this I know quite well. I am afraid your man was mistaken in thinking I would be very profitable – my position was not purchased, and the only money to speak of in my family is what I send home to my sisters, and what they manage through sewing clothes for rich women who are quite unlikely to pay for a man they’ve never met. Sympathy can be purchased, that much is true, though as I would rather die than have my sisters trade themselves for me – that leaves my worth in what I am capable of as a sailor, as opposed to what I can be sold for.”
This was not the first time James had spoken of the man who brought them back together in such a conflicted manner. Thomas did not pretend to understand the nuances behind it all, or act as though he was not grateful to a pirate whose motivations would never really be known to him. All he could do in these moments was offer his ear and play advocate to a stranger in the hopes it might ease something that continued to bleed in the man before him.
Idly, he raised his hand and stroked it through James’ hair, seeking to soothe as much physically as he could while this storm brewed between them. “Are you sure you were wrong to?” A dangerous inquiry, he was quite sure – he didn’t know the whole of it, and he doubted James would ever tell him. Just as he would never tell James, the whole of what had become of himself in the decade during which they had been so cruelly separated.
The narrative he received would be only the one James was comfortable in sharing, though that did not mean Thomas could not read between the lines, and infer truth left unspoken. He didn’t know Silver from Adam, but he did know one thing – and that alone was enough, to give him the strength to play these games and bleed out the poison that continued to twist inside James’ chest.
“You chased death for so long – can you really say that the man who stopped that chase, and offered instead a life that need not be fought for – was truly not, in some way, a friend?”
He supposed it made sense, given Theodore’s other unusual traits: there was a certain kind of logic to accompanying a tactile nature with the unabashed civility and kindness Theodore had treated his new crewmates with thus far. The young man wasn’t the only person on the ship inclined to such touching, either, not by a long shot- the difference was that he had touched Flint.
In itself, it wasn’t unpleasant. The startling, Flint felt, was only natural. It was the other thing that bothered him- the strangeness of being touched, the way the sensation lingered like his body wanted to keep it in memory for as long as possible. It had nothing to do with Theodore himself and everything to do with a more general sense of physical deprivation Flint had thus far tried to avoid acknowledging in himself.
Then there was the question of authority, and what the rest of the crew might think of their captain being shifted aside by Theodore, of all fucking people. That felt far less significant than the rest of it- but it was more comfortable to think about.
“That’s certainly one way of putting it.”
Flint was not just watching him now, but observing. There was a suspicious look to the mismatched eyes, piercing and unyielding. Theodore had not drawn outright attention to Flint’s reaction, and that was a mercy- there wasn’t a chance in Hell he hadn’t noticed how badly the captain had startled.
Flint did not yet know what to make of that.
“The men on this ship are accustomed to keeping their guard up at all times, Mr. Groves. Things like that-” He nodded to the man himself, though referring to his actions. “-are far more likely to be interpreted as an attempt at reaching for a man’s sword or pistol than an innocent attempt at moving them aside.” Then, lightly- “A warning in advance might diffuse that possibility.”
Theodore shifted the rope in his hands and – though his posture made it clear he was still listening in the way he remained angled toward the captain – began the process of reeling it down to aid the man on the other side performing the same action. The shift in his role aboard a ship had been sudden, but a body did not forget the labour simply because it had not been tasked with it in some time.
That he had a role at all here was something he took both seriously and with great gratitude – he knew he owed what work he performed to Flint’s decree, and that was not something he meant to forget any time soon. What interested him the most though, was the fact the man seemed inclined to think he was still fearsome to a man who was presently profiting from his sense of honor and mercy.
Wrapping the rope as Flint concluded his lesson, Theodore considered his answer carefully. There were many things he could say here – some wise, some simply respectful of the situation – but in the end he could only say that which felt the most true to himself. The captain deserved to know what kind of man he now had in his employ, for better or worse, and it wasn’t in Theodore’s nature to shroud himself in secrets and lies, or actions that were more wise than they were honest.
“That is true of men aboard every ship, captain. It is not unique to the Walrus, or even to pirates.” Theodore knew pirates were rarely the monsters papers made them out to be – too many men were pressed into service, too many were exposed to tyrannical captains, too many were robbed of honest wages – for that to possibly be true. It was not uncommon for a man to go on the account and find his way back into legitimate business — if they were monsters, how then, could they return to being men so easily?
Concluding his work, Theodore set the now coiled rope to the deck and turned to face Flint squarely, elbows leaning against the balustrade of the deck as he considered him thoughtfully. “If I were to live in fear that every touch could mean a pistol, I would consign myself as other men do and never touch at all. I’d rather risk the shot, than live my life with that much inconvenience. Besides,” He pointed out, smiling softly, “It doesn’t always end that way — and for those odds, it seems worthwhile to maintain my usual behaviour as opposed to altering myself to suit the comforts of those around me.”
Some things came without thinking – Theodore was generally the sort of person to act precisely as instinct dictated to be the quickest route to something he wanted, which could at times lead to interesting collisions such as this one. As a very tactile man, it was not uncommon for him to touch people simply out of habit – and with ships being so loud, it was generally easier to gently adjust someone than to shout at them to step aside.
That said, sometimes the response was poor – and even dangerous. He felt the captain jolt under his touch, though he did not do more than keep a steady eye on him and maintain the directing contact. This served the dual purpose of showing he was not alarmed by the reaction, nor was he going to reveal to anyone that it had been strange by responding to it in any outward fashion.
Releasing the man as though nothing strange had occurred ( and as if he could not see the confusion that contorted the man’s features ) Theodore set to work releasing the rope he’d been directed to manage. It did not occur to him to apologize for the action – and indeed, were it not for the clear discomfort on the features of the man who was, for all intents and purposes, now his commanding officer, he might not have said anything at all.
“I take it you’re used to people waiting?” He offered, his tone more curious than judgemental. Captain Flint was not the first man to startle like a horse under hand, nor was he likely to be the last. What mattered now was determining the cause for it – if it were a matter of authority, he could respect that well enough but knowing himself, would likely forget unless there was something more significant attached.
“Are you selling that to me, or trying to buy it yourself?” It was a genuine curiosity. Not that he was overly bothered by the gorey mess on deck, seeing as he didn’t have to clean up the damn thing. It was just that Flint had a way of excusing things that was almost as legendary as his name – to hear something this flat made Gates wonder if the younger man was having doldrums.
Shaking his head, he clapped the taller of them on the shoulder and gave a slight tug as he walked toward the cabin, not so subtly directing Flint to follow. It wasn’t as though they’d be needed during the aftermath of this – may as well get to the root of it now.
“Seeing as you’ve reintroduced yourself, how about we grab something to drink.” It sounded like it should have been a question, but it most certainly wasn’t.
“Hear you out,” Gates had been hearing out Flint’s stories for years. There was no denying the younger man had a gift for persuasion – and the fatal flaw had always been the willingness to listen to a man whose own ears were closed to anything he didn’t like to hear. “You really think you can sweet talk your way out of this one? You fucking killed me Flint. That’s not something a man can just forgive and forget.”
Although it was – reasonably debatable to refer to himself as a man, at this juncture. He was something, certainly, but a man was probably pushing the lines of credibility too far. Whatever he was – whatever these infernal whispers were – he did recognize the fact that right now, the only person he had for this was the very same shithead that killed him to begin with.
Heaving a sigh, he leaned back, opening his arms toward the man and shrugging before slapping his hands on his thighs. There was nothing for it – if he was going to get Flint to budge, he’d have to be the one to compromise first, for now. “Go on then,” The words felt like gravel in his throat, sounded like it too, “Explain to me why I had to die. It damn well better be good.”
The rhythmic scratching of her quill came to a halt, the ink drying in the wake of her consideration toward his words. It was always this way now, feeling as though conversation was trapped somewhere inside of her, locked beneath the screams that still bubbled inside of her throat. As though if she were to risk parting her lips and let any sound escape at all, she must be certain to have the right words and only them – for to linger, to let noise froth itself forward she risked the wave of raw horror breaking past behind each syllable.
It was an unbearable existence at times like these, when an answer was expected and the art of conversation was believed to be something one did not forget after learning it the once. With care, she set her pen into its hold, fingers reaching for dust to aid the ink in drying as though these meticulous and methodical actions could bring to bear a storm too great for one soul alone to carry.
“It is where I feel safe,” She offered him the truth, though there were more things she could say, to clarify it. Simplicity in times of great internal chaos was, perhaps, the mortar upon which the dam within her was built. “The more that I write, the quieter it gets inside of me.”
Finally, she looked over at him, once more allowing herself to see the man the pirate had become. It was strange – unnerving, even – to see in him the return of a softness she could feel slipping from her own grasp with every passing day. The good of the world was returning for him – and she hoped it would continue to treat him kindly. She did not begrudge him, though she did hope she could learn from him some means of strength, some capacity to hold on to the light that seemed to be growing dimmer with every nightmarish memory.
“It is too loud, still, for me to stop.” That she feared it may never again grow quiet, she had not the power or will to admit.
HAHAAA AHAAHAHAA OH MAN. OH MAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THE BEST EPISODE
HONESTLY IT WAS JUST SO GOOD WOW
THAT WHOLE EPISODE I WAS JUST O.O
Honestly though I am very invested now to the point Im like anyone spoils anything now Im gonna be so sad. I don’t always reach that point with shows? I’m usually always like ‘this is good but if I get a spoiler I won’t be upset’ but like. I want to really experience this now so that’s exciting ❤
Ocean Archive 