“You don’t have to go, surely.” [ @ vane in That Verse. flint also absolutely fed and watered him when he arrived bc He’s A Domestic Fuck ]

Charles stilled, eying Flint quietly for a time. He couldn’t determine whether or not the man was simply growing accustomed to his chosen exile or if he had reached a new level of loneliness within it, but it seemed strange the one who was so insistent that people not visit had now reached a point where he was not only tending to them, but keeping them.

This was beyond his ability to resolve – too complex and mired for him to even want to try parsing through. Instead, he simply reached out and turned his chair back, sinking into it heavily and remarking, “I suppose not – Rackham’s got his work cut out for him tonight anyway, and I can’t say I’m eager to spend my time listening to him squabble with the traders.”

In truth he didn’t mind overhearing the debates, such as they were – he picked up more than a few haggling tricks just listening to Rackham drag a man under the table with such affable and reassuring tones they thought he was doing them a goddamn favor – but he could tell where he was needed tonight, and it wasn’t with his quartermaster.

[thatwasdark] ‘ i don’t much believe it myself. i’m just saying it’s one of several possibilities. ’ [ @ vane in That Verse ]

{ Devotion of Suspect X }

Where the trust between Flint and Silver stemmed from, Vane could not begin to fathom. What he did know, was that whatever game Silver was playing he wanted no goddamn part of it. Just listening to him felt like a bad idea, but the only thing more dangerous than a man like Silver who thought he had some measure of control – was a man like that desperately seeking to regain it.

“And if what you propose is correct,” Indulgence, then, for now at least. “What do you expect me to do about it?”

Tomes

intolerablexsacrifice‌:

@oceanfoamed (from here)

_{“Well, you’ve seen for yourself some of the tomes at my disposal,” Flint answered, one corner of his mouth twitching a little. He was not surprised to know that Vane had heard of how Flint had won against Singleton- he could only imagine how fucking frustrating that must have been at the time, knowing Flint had survived out of sheer luck. “You think I couldn’t?”}

“It wasn’t a question of could,” There was no doubt in him that were matters dire enough, just about anything at this man’s disposal could turn itself into a weapon of convenience. “More a matter of would you – after all, this is all about sentiment for you, is it not?”

‘ don’t tempt me. ’ [ @ vane, take one (1) Grouchy-But-Somewhat-Playful Carrot ]

{ Pick A Fight }

“Considering the lack of canon balls in this household, I’m curious as to how you think you’d be winning that fight even if I did,” Charles retorted, amused. “Bludgeon me with a book?”

🤔 + Silver + “Who was Solomon Little?”

{ Truth Serum }

Damn that witches’ brew – he ought to have known better than to drink anything offered him by an Obeah woman, least of all one who appeared to be in good spirits with the captain. There was no other reason for him to suddenly feel truth falling from his lips, when within that truth lay secrets and implications that could cut too close to things he never wanted this man to know.

“He was the man in charge of my English indoctrination, and the first person I ever truly feared. Nevertheless his lessons have proved themselves – invaluable.” He opened his eyes, feeling somehow liberated from his compulsion, enough so to inquire wryly, “I take it you ask because his is the only name I have spoken that ties to any history I might have, and I’ve used it twice.”

It was his hope to distract Flint now – if anything could stir him up from this downward slump of his, Silver did not doubt the promise of an enormous purse would do the trick. The less Flint knew of him, even now in his apparent defeat, the better.

🤔 + Silver + “Why do you keep coming back here?” [ in That Verse ]

{ Truth Serum }

“Because I know what it is like to lose everything.” The answer escapes him without his full consent, and now that it is there, he knows it bears explaining in his own terms before the inquisition turns around on himself.

“I can’t say I ever fought the way you did – I don’t think anyone can really relate to your war, let alone the outcome of finding what you fought for only for it to choose – anything but you. There’s elements though, that I do understand. Enough, at least, to know that you being out here by yourself is a death sentence you’ve chosen. All I can do – “ Why was he saying this? “Is stall the inevitable, and hope that arcane side of you decides it’s time to play phoenix before that comes to pass. I guess – I’m just buying you time, to find yourself again.”

Issues of Pride

intolerablexsacrifice‌:

@oceanfoamed (from here)

_{He couldn’t describe what it was that had come over him upon seeing Silver in the state he was in: it was almost like anger. So red-hot and forceful that it had driven all other motive from his mind, replaced by the singular desire to fix it by any means necessary. He had no expectation that dragging Silver off would be received well by him. But if it was a choice between Silver’s wrath and letting him keep pretending he could simply walk off his wounds until it killed him–?}

_{“Not interested in the ship.”}

_{Flint’s voice was gruff and subdued: he didn’t so much as glance at Silver at first, standing across the room from him, hands braced against a wooden counter. It wasn’t surprising in the least for Silver to assume that this was about the Walrus: had Flint still had any kind of purpose left, and therefore any desire to regain his captaincy, he’d have used Silver as leverage in a heartbeat. But now?}

_{All he’d ever wanted was to walk away from the sea and find peace: there was no reason for him to return to it. Nothing left to tie him to a life of violence and danger, no martyr to drive him forwards. With his world so deeply thrown off-balance, and no Miranda to hold onto for stability, all he had were the few people that had–in Flint’s eyes–taken pity on him enough to at least ensure he wasn’t dead each time they made port.}

_{Silver was one of them, shit that he was. And he was going to run himself into the fucking grave if someone didn’t forcibly intervene- and who else would dare?}

_{“I take it you’ve been ignoring Howell’s advice.” Flint–or what was left of him now–turned to him, finally. “Can’t say I’m surprised – though I had hoped that being made captain might shake some fucking sense into you, make you less likely to risk your life by refusing aid.” He looked pointedly at the leg, then glared at Silver, lip twitching. “What the fuck are you trying to achieve, here?”}

It was admittedly difficult to concentrate, when all of his body and mind seemed intent upon focusing on the part of him that was broken and in dire need of something – anything – to alleviate it. Now that Flint had hauled him here, Silver supposed there was little point in ignoring what his body most needed at the moment. If nothing else, perhaps alleviating some of his pain might help him better deduce what the fuck Flint could want other than his ship back that would cause him to do something like this.

Leaning down, his hands worked clumsily over the straps that buckled his false leg to the true flesh, hissing through his teeth as the pressure lessened, and needing a moment of distraction when at last he drew the damn thing off. Biting the inside of his cheek was a sore way to go about it, but the new, albeit smaller point of pain was enough to redirect his mind just long enough to keep him from crying out when at last, the false leg fell away from his body and clattered loudly against the floor, a sullen and firm reminder of how real it was. He balanced himself on a wooden peg, and there was nothing he could do to escape that reality.

Opening his eyes, he stared almost unseeingly at the empty space where the rest of his leg ought to be – at the carefully carved wood that filled that area courtesy of the ship’s carpenter and doctor Howell’s wise instruction. His gaze lifted now to his latest source of frustration, praying that he could focus enough through this not to be lead by the nose by this man and his capacity for resetting reality to suit his purposes.

“I didn’t volunteer for the job,” He reminded Flint flatly – the men had voted him in the moment Flint left, he hadn’t been granted a fucking say in the matter and they both knew it. “Or have you forgotten, somewhere in all of this, what I told you before?” It wouldn’t surprise him if the man had – so much had happened since that point. “I do not want to be a pirate. At this point, I simply have no other viable opportunities in which I can survive, thanks to this.”

He didn’t look or gesture at his leg. He simply stared Flint down, knowing the man would understand full well what “this” happened to refer to. “And in case being out here has caused you to forget the realities of piracy, what I hope to achieve remains exactly the same as ever. I intend to survive – and acting like invalid among those folk? Isn’t how I do that.”

It is not good that he is alone.

intolerablexsacrifice‌:

@oceanfoamed (from here)

_{Flint had never wanted so badly to be fucking hit before. He’d done his fair share of seeking violence in the past- but that had been about his rage, and the need to inflict it on something, the need to fight and win and keep going. This–this was nothing like that. This was striking at a lion’s teeth in the hopes that it might maul him for sport, and raging when it found him unworthy of the effort.}

_{At Vane’s suggestion, Flint spat, voice cracking: “Fuck you.” He was bristling, uncharacteristically still despite how prepared to lunge he had looked only moments before Vane had spoken- the very idea of seeing Thomas again, of Thomas seeing him like this, was enough to freeze him to the spot. “I don’t fucking want him here.”}

_{The lie was plain as day. It could not have been more clear that Flint would have given anything–burned Nassau to the ground, anything–to have Thomas here. Rather- to have Thomas want to be here.}

_{But not like this. And maybe that was justification for it, really, on top of everything else- maybe Flint’s utter inability to function without him was only proof that Thomas deserved more than this. Some shell of a monster that had long since ceased to be a person at all.}

_{He felt his eyes sting, and struck out like an angered cat at a bowl on the table beside him- it clattered into the opposite wall and smashed while Flint retreated further into the room. He tried, and only halfway succeeded, to keep his breathing in check. At least he wasn’t in tears, yet.}

_{If Vane had any fucking sense, he’d leave after this and stop coming back, because it was clear to Flint that he was never going to recover from this. Any progress that was made could be set back by the slightest thing, to the point where it felt fucking useless to keep pretending there was any path forward. Vane had to give up eventually; Silver, too, once it became clear that Flint was simply no longer worth the time.}

_{“Can’t be fixed with a fight.” Flint’s voice was barely audible. He seemed to be talking to the room, rather than to Vane, all the fight drained from him. “But you wouldn’t fucking understand that, would you.”}

Flint’s voice sometimes did things that made Vane wonder if maybe he’d been struck in the throat a few times himself, jumping around like a boy’s did. For all that though, it seemed he had struck a chord – the fight in Flint turned defensive immediately, and rather than facing a man ready to strike it was more like an animal that recognized itself as cornered enough to need puffing up in the hopes the predator would back down, rethink itself in the face of something so big.

Just like that animal though, there was nothing behind this but posturing and loud noise. It was empty bullshit meant to distract from the desperate truth – he was falling apart, and Hamilton’s refusal to be part of it was very much the reason why. The threat of him was too close to home – he was the thing Flint could not face, and the power in that might have been intoxicating in the right hands.

As it was, Vane kept himself out of reach and simply observed again, determining if this was something he could mitigate down or if he ought to send someone else up here to talk Flint out of his latest downward spiral. He wondered how the man didn’t get exhausted by this, but kept it to himself – which proved wise, considering he almost missed the statement that came after a bowl had been shattered against the wall.

“Bold of you to assume I understand any of this shit,” He pointed out flatly. Nevermind this in particular – the whole situation was a bit over his head in a lot of respects. He understood the gist of it, sure – he wasn’t stupid. What escaped him, mostly, was the intensity of all these emotional motivations. He had his own intentions, his own aims and goals in life – and he was dedicated to them, certainly – but they weren’t there because of one person.

He’d put his hopes in someone before – that much was true. Trying to apply that to this though, it didn’t translate. He had always known he was being used – and in turn, he had been aware of the benefits in allowing himself to be used. So long as those benefits outweighed the inconveniences, there had been very little he would not do in order to ensure that person’s success – but he’d backed the wrong dog in that fight, and when he realized it – when he had finally accepted that he had put himself behind a losing venture, he had been able to pull back and move forward. Able, in fact, to put that dog in it’s place and remind it who was boss. Love had never been a factor – and it was an element he had no idea how to contend with.

Resting his hands on the back of a chair, he leaned into it and eyed Flint thoughtfully. If he could just get up there was so much he could fucking do – but how to make a dog fight when it was convinced its legs were broken?

“I don’t get what being out here does for you – out of sight, falling to pieces – it just makes you look weak. Nobody gives a shit about broken men. We all got our shit – Hamilton included – so what makes yours so damn important that he should come to you? If your problem is that he doesn’t want you – maybe give him something to want. Make yourself indispensable – or get over it.”

[intolerablexsacrifice, for Vane in That Verse] 😬 Snarl/show teeth at my muse [ i’m sorry you have to regularly check on a DEFENSIVE ANIMAL at this point ]

{ Nonverbal Starters }

“Well aren’t we fucking petrifying,” The tone could not have been more scathing if he tried, fucked vocal chords be damned. He was getting damned sick of this – there was no telling what he would encounter when he showed up here, which was irritating enough as it was – but every time Flint tried to take his shit out on him was a waste of his fucking time.

There was no sport in fighting a man whose only reason for it was pain. He’d been there himself enough times to know the look – to know a man who wanted to hurt just so he could feel something other than the fucking dogs at his heels, the emotions making a fucking disaster of everything else. Pain could be a clarifying thing – but it was also procrastination, a refusal to turn around and shoot those fucking dogs – and Charles would be damned before he was anyone’s fucking distraction twice in one lifetime.

“You want a fight, Flint, how about I bring him over for a visit so you can get this shit over with?” Honestly, he’d almost like to see it. Hamilton fought like a man possessed by devils, and Flint fought like a man whose only opponents were devils, so who the fuck needed rules? It’d be a fucking showdown to talk about, and if it put an end to this infernal moping, good riddance.

@intolerablexsacrifice

[intolerablexsacrifice, for Vane in That Verse] ✨ Playfully shove my muse’s shoulder [ :3 ]

{ Nonverbal Starters }

“Watch it,” The warning tone was belied only by the amusement on his expression, “Unless you want folk to start thinking you’ve crawled out of your depression pit.”

It was fucking good to see the man acting human though, no doubt about that. It was reaching the point Charles had genuinely considered asking Rackham if not shooting Flint at this point was doing him a disservice. There had to be a point when a man got back up – or those around him just accepted the fact he never fucking would.

Gates and Silver might be willing to let this fuck languish around and rot, but if all he was going to do was bloat himself in the interior and refuse to make anything of himself then what point was there in living and wasting valuable resources?

“Come on.” He offered no further explanation than that as he headed off – either Flint would follow, or he would slink back into his hole. Whatever action he chose would tell all that needed to be said on whether or not he was genuinely getting better, or just being a prick.

@intolerablexsacrifice