[There's Stede's sweet, sympathetic face. There's the same open features and guileless acceptance that had greeted him when he'd arrived. There's the comfortable lean and relaxed motion of fingers in his hair.
Edward relaxes in pieces, a riled creature sinking slowly back from high alert to rest.]
This way. [Another few heartbeats, and he shifts back into place--face forward, eyes dropping closed, hair completely turned over to Stede's attentions.] This works.
[So much of being Blackbeard was being alone. This sensation of being something else, something warmer and less desperately lonely, would be fought for, tooth and nail.]
[ This works. And it does - it makes Stede feel quite content, a smile on his face as he settles back and continues with his job. The fact that Ed wants to spend more time with him, wants to do this - to share this level of intimacy, to feel safe with him and in his company - isn't something he is going to take for granted.
He knows enough of Ed's background to understand that such things might be a touch more difficult for him than others. ]
Then we'll do it this way. I'll make sure I have enough oil for us both.
[ Maybe he can get some other kinds too, so that Ed has more choice. He rather likes the idea of giving him gifts, of making sure he has all the fine things he could ever desire.
Reaching for the comb, he hums as he begins to brush the oil through. ]
[Another easy affirmation; another clear relaxation of Edward's shoulders. As lovely as everything else about this space has always been--plush cushions, fine brandy, luxe silks--there's a distinct pleasure to the far more pedestrian sensation of fingers and comb dragging through his hair.
(Or maybe it isn't the familiar motion. Maybe it's the distinct awareness that the gentle touches are Stede, from the light perfume that lingers wherever the man is to the simple animal awareness of his co-captain's proximity. That's an idle consideration for another time.)
In the meditative quiet of having his hair combed (a process, with the knots and tangles he rarely attends to), Edward's eyes blink absently open, one hand lifting to tug at a bit of dried blood.]
[ Stede cannot imagine a time where he might say no to Ed, where he might reject him; not when Ed has done so much for him already, when he feels like a bolder, more confidant pirate than he had been months ago. Trying to repay that seems like a silly thing, when Ed seems to be enjoying himself, but...
The notion of taking care of the beard makes Stede still for a moment, however, and he pauses before he breathes out and forces himself to continue. There's intimate and then there's intimate, and he's not sure how comfortable Ed will be with continuing.
Even if he, himself, wants it. He doesn't know how to say. ]
We can do the same for your beard, if you like.
[ As long as he is happy, as long as he is comfortable. ]
[There's a comfortable balance to the moment--Stede's fingers in Edward's hair, his own fussing idly at his beard. There's a sense of extension between them that's hard to define, a manifestation of the growing sense of unity.
They can both breathe here, in the quiet space where Edward Teach actually exists.]
Hm. [The breath is thoughtful, attention largely focused on freeing a particularly tangled clump of something unpleasant.] You haven't got one.
[It isn't the same task. It might be an absolute mystery to a man who kept his cheeks clean-shaven with a surprising tenacity despite living at sea.
It might be nice, watching the little wrinkle in Stede's brow as he attended to the work.]
A beard? Not at the moment, but I have had them before.
[ Not nice, long beards like Edward has, thick and heavy and clearly grown over a long period of time. Stede's beards tend to be less thick, blond and soft and, in many ways, pathetic. It takes him months to grow any kind of proper facial hair and even then it doesn't suit him as well as Ed's suits him.
He doesn't halt in his movements as he speaks, his voice as gentle as ever. ]
I'm sure the comb would work just the same, as would the oil. I can let you do it yourself if you'd prefer - I do have a looking glass in here you could use.
[ As much as he might like to get his hands on Ed's beard he's not about to push his luck, considering how close they've been able to get right now. ]
[The slight shift of his head comes more slowly, mindful not to disrupt the lovely sensation of having his hair combed.]
You have a glass?
[There's an ease to the thought. This comfort would linger with Stede's attention on the braids. The particularities of handling his beard would be infinitely better in his own hands (there's not having a full beard, and there's not having a full beard that often has slow matches twined into it).
[ Stede is careful with his fingers as Ed moves, drawing them down and away so as not to tug. ]
Of course. How else would myself and the others shave?
[ And how else would he take care of his pretty hair? There's that too, obviously, and Stede relishes the fact that he can be a little prim and proper with himself even aboard his pirate ship. It would be horrid to have to try and take care of himself without one.
All the same, it's not exactly normal on a ship and he's well aware of that. Another oddity that he hopes Ed will enjoy rather than find embarrassing.
Leaning down, he smiles. ]
I do grow one, as odd as it might sound! I tried it out once when I was younger, but it didn't suit.
[Stede's hair isn't remotely long enough to tug around over the man's lips for a preview. The best Edward can do is squint slightly, one hand lifting to block the view of the lower half of Stede's face.
It's hard to imagine. It's a bit of a waste, as well, to imagine covering up this much of the man's face.]
Suppose not. [His hand drops, body still twisted to study the man standing over him.] Go on, then.
[A mirror would work. Finding the mirror would also drag out the quiet connection here for at least a few moments longer.]
[ Stede watches him, watches Ed try and imagine him with a beard and all he can do is huff a little laugh, holding still so he can get whatever image of him that he wants. Perhaps he should try growing a beard, just so that Ed can see what he looks like - but it would be terribly itchy.
He doesn't really suit it either, so he puts the idea to one side. Maybe when a time comes that leaves him without his razor. ]
I don't think I'd look like much of a gentleman if I grew one.
[ He does step away to go and get the mirror, though, pushing the comb into Ed's hand as he walks over. ]
And - [ His voice is a touch quieter ] - I think a few people might laugh.
[There's an interesting thought. Edward's free fingers move contemplatively at his own beard as he taps the comb against his knee. Would all this need to go, in retirement? In the middle distance of the future, would attempting to comport himself in polite society require a paring down--or worse, a complete removal?
Maybe not worse. Maybe it would be a faintly cathartic thing, to take the years off his face before stepping away from the sea. Maybe he and Stede would laugh about this very moment, on some distant shore, clinking delicate china teacups and remembering how he used to let his hair and beard grow wild. Not that Stede would necessarily be there, although the future his mind painted seemed more and more often to include the man.
That consideration is banished by the soft thought that follows, a tension returning to Edward's bare arms and shoulders.]
Like fuck they would now.
[Not none, perhaps. The motley collection on this particular ship might grin and chuckle, in the soft and not entirely unkind way they did now. But properly? Cruelly? With the rough sting of passive aggression?
His fingers shift on the comb, which isn't actually a dagger but which might nevertheless be used very unpleasantly in these hands.]
[ The words are soft, and Stede turns to look at Edward for a moment, not sure how to take them or how he ought to react. There's something to be said about the way that he and Edward look out for one another, the way they take care of each other in different situations - Ed teaching him to fight and duel, Stede teaching him about gentlemanly culture and the rules of passive aggression.
He'd never imagined that Ed would want to protect him from words, and the notion seems a little ridiculous.
Clearly he's misunderstanding something here.
Picking up the looking glass, he laughs softly as he makes his way back over, as if it really is more of a joke than anything else that might bruise his ego. ]
Perhaps not, but it's not worth the risk.
[ Stepping in front of Ed is easy enough, now, and he holds out the looking glass with a soft smile. ]
Here. Let me braid your hair and then we can work on the beard?
[There's a moment of simply studying one another (and Edward wonders, briefly, if Stede believes him; if it's as clear across the quiet space as it is in the deepest places in his own chest), and then Stede seems to relax again. Edward's spine stays slightly coiled, cautious, watching his co-captain come drifting cheerfully back into his space.
His free hand goes first to Stede's wrist, brow slightly furrowed. Just for a heartbeat; an impulse to chase at whatever shadow had passed when they were briefly outside of one another's immediate orbit.
Then he takes the glass carefully, frown softening as he contemplates his own reflection.] You've got ribbons?
[ The fingers on his wrist still him, his heart suddenly leaping up into his throat, and Stede stops still as if there's suddenly a wild animal in the room. He hesitates, stares at Ed, watches the shape of his body and the movement of his limbs, and the tension in his shoulders is nothing to do with concern or fear.
Taking in a long, deep breath, Stede tilts his head, watches Ed, drinks him in, and then forces himself to breathe. There's no point getting in over his head, not when all of this could be taken away from him in a moment.
He doesn't want to do anything to upset Ed, to make him want to turn around and leave without looking back. ]
If you'd like them, yes. [ He smiles, stepping back around to the hair. ] In a few colours, all silk.
[There's still a faint level of awe to the simple realizations; the casual mention that something is silk, pure silver, purchased from some far-flung land. There's no shaking his head while Stede is fussing at his hair, but there's a bemused furrowing of the brow as Edward studies himself in the mirror.]
We've almost always used unwound rope. Bits of twine and that.
[But then, he and his crew had always intended to style his beard for maximum effect in the midst of high fuckery. The strands could be twisted into strange, otherworldly shapes. Bits and pieces that glittered or sparked could be tied securely into place. The brand was rough and ready around the edges, certainly not delicate and luxurious.
For the next little while, all the same, there's no one to bend under Blackbeard's foot. There's just Stede and Edward, sorting through the rubble.
He shifts the looking glass slightly, contemplating the man standing behind him, before settling into the work of carefully picking knots from his beard.]
I had a wife and daughter, so I grew accustomed to buying those things. I saw no reason not to take some for myself when I left.
[ Stede is so accustomed to the finer things in life, having grown up with them, been wrapped in them since he was a youth. His hands weren't calloused, weren't damaged from a difficult work life; he was a pretty lordship in all ways. Comparing that to what Ed might have experienced as a youth...
It hurts him to think about it. ]
You have better options now. There's no point using rope when I have something nicer for you.
[ To Stede, something like hair and a beard is something to be taken care of. Ed has a reputation, but he also has a right to have self-care, a right to be cherished and feel good about himself, and the two do not always go together.
Careful fingers move to put the hair into a nice braid, a smile settled on his face. Ed is going to look quite handsome, he thinks, and that's a thrilling notion to tuck away to look at later. ]
[Stede had a wife, and now he had-- this. It's easy to imagine these warm fingers sweeping through a woman's fine shining hair, expert in the effort as they were now (slowly) becoming expert at far less refined acts.
(If it were someone else, Edward might have teased that it was an awful trade, to have changed a wife for a co-captain. But it's Stede, and the though sticks in his throat through a self-preservation instinct he doesn't quite know the edges of yet.)
It's quite soothing, having fingers directly in his hair like this. If it weren't for the need to be attending to his own beard, Edward have been tempted to close his eyes and simply sink into the sensation.]
[ Some things are in the past, and the notion of being a husband and father is one of the ones he tries most to allow to fade into the background. He doesn't miss being married as much as he misses the once-friendship he had with Mary, as much as he misses his children and their games. He knows he made a better choice, but the consequences were painful.
It doesn't take too long for the hair to be braided, and Stede allows his hands to fall away to gather up a ribbon, to twine it around the end to hold it all in place. ]
We can get some more. They're not terribly expensive, comparatively.
[That's a nice "we." If pressed, Edward could hardly have explained why, but it's a very nice "we" to relax further into.]
Comparative to what?
[It doesn't matter, but whatever prattling it inspires will keep the space feeling warm and comfortable--keep surrounding him with the firm sensation that he's here, in this place, with this person.
The mirror helps with that as well. His attention is more or less on combing away the worst tangles (the beard will never be fully "neat," at the end of the day, but it's moving toward an acceptable level of "wrangled" and "bloodless" now), but now and then a slight shift lets him catch a glance of Stede's fingers just at the edge of the glass.]
The rest of my wardrobe. A silk ribbon is far less expensive than a suit, or a personalised handkerchief. All they have to do is cut it to shape.
[ He motions absently to the auxiliary wardrobe, where his clothing is hidden away from view. Buying a stretch of ribbon won't cost so much that it will be beyond expense, and he could do without his personal little frivolities for a while to spoil Edward.
He does deserve it.
With a smile and a little hand flourish, he moves away from Ed's hair and nods. ]
[It isn't easy to see properly. Edward shifts slightly in his seat, twisting his head and the mirror at opposite angles to study the other man's work.]
Not bad.
[Setting the glass down lets him bring his hands carefully up to feel the twists in his hair. (It isn't quite touching Stede's hand again, but it evokes the sensation in a quiet way.)]
You like it?
[Not that it matters, but it would be nice to hear.]
["Lovely" is quite the word. It didn't fit with the usual adjectives, the jagged sort of words that tended to stick to fire and leather and the coppery taste that came to the air when decks were slick with blood.
Edward frowns thoughtfully as his fingers trail over the neat braiding. His skin is clean and bloodless. His hair is gently gathered into something tidy and presentable. His beard is as orderly as it ever managed to be without giving it a trim.
Maybe he is a bit lovely.
His brow clears as he turns his attention properly up to Stede again.] Shame yours is so short.
[ Stede looks quite pleased with himself, to say the least. It's not quite the smugness that was present when he had proven his ability for passive aggression, but it's on the same vein; pleased, proud and altogether content with his work.
Stepping back, he gives Ed a little space as he tides up the bits they don't need any more. ]
It was never proper to grow it out, but it's been longer at sea than it ever was before. I simply forgot to cut it, and there aren't many barbers around pirate ports, you know.
[ Plus, he thinks he'd look a little ridiculous with long, pirate style hair. ]
If you say so. [Only one of them, surely, had ever looked for a barber in any port at all. This particular item fitted solidly into Stede's specialist subjects, not Edward's.
Another moment watching his co-captain, and Edward pulls himself to his feet, fingers once again lingering on the gentle sweeps of his braided hair. A moment has to be spent twisting this way and that, studying his own bare arms and chest for any last signs of grime, brushing at the last few particulates of grit and muck from the pieces of his life outside these walls.
A satisfied nod, and his gaze flits thoughtfully over the room.] There's a robe?
[Something soft would be quite pleasant in a moment like this--something that extended the feeling of belonging here, in this place, with this man.]
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Edward relaxes in pieces, a riled creature sinking slowly back from high alert to rest.]
This way. [Another few heartbeats, and he shifts back into place--face forward, eyes dropping closed, hair completely turned over to Stede's attentions.] This works.
[So much of being Blackbeard was being alone. This sensation of being something else, something warmer and less desperately lonely, would be fought for, tooth and nail.]
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He knows enough of Ed's background to understand that such things might be a touch more difficult for him than others. ]
Then we'll do it this way. I'll make sure I have enough oil for us both.
[ Maybe he can get some other kinds too, so that Ed has more choice. He rather likes the idea of giving him gifts, of making sure he has all the fine things he could ever desire.
Reaching for the comb, he hums as he begins to brush the oil through. ]
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(Or maybe it isn't the familiar motion. Maybe it's the distinct awareness that the gentle touches are Stede, from the light perfume that lingers wherever the man is to the simple animal awareness of his co-captain's proximity. That's an idle consideration for another time.)
In the meditative quiet of having his hair combed (a process, with the knots and tangles he rarely attends to), Edward's eyes blink absently open, one hand lifting to tug at a bit of dried blood.]
What about the beard?
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The notion of taking care of the beard makes Stede still for a moment, however, and he pauses before he breathes out and forces himself to continue. There's intimate and then there's intimate, and he's not sure how comfortable Ed will be with continuing.
Even if he, himself, wants it. He doesn't know how to say. ]
We can do the same for your beard, if you like.
[ As long as he is happy, as long as he is comfortable. ]
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They can both breathe here, in the quiet space where Edward Teach actually exists.]
Hm. [The breath is thoughtful, attention largely focused on freeing a particularly tangled clump of something unpleasant.] You haven't got one.
[It isn't the same task. It might be an absolute mystery to a man who kept his cheeks clean-shaven with a surprising tenacity despite living at sea.
It might be nice, watching the little wrinkle in Stede's brow as he attended to the work.]
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[ Not nice, long beards like Edward has, thick and heavy and clearly grown over a long period of time. Stede's beards tend to be less thick, blond and soft and, in many ways, pathetic. It takes him months to grow any kind of proper facial hair and even then it doesn't suit him as well as Ed's suits him.
He doesn't halt in his movements as he speaks, his voice as gentle as ever. ]
I'm sure the comb would work just the same, as would the oil. I can let you do it yourself if you'd prefer - I do have a looking glass in here you could use.
[ As much as he might like to get his hands on Ed's beard he's not about to push his luck, considering how close they've been able to get right now. ]
You don't have to put ribbons in it this time.
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You have a glass?
[There's an ease to the thought. This comfort would linger with Stede's attention on the braids. The particularities of handling his beard would be infinitely better in his own hands (there's not having a full beard, and there's not having a full beard that often has slow matches twined into it).
This works. That would work as well.
Another slight shift.]
You've had a beard?
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Of course. How else would myself and the others shave?
[ And how else would he take care of his pretty hair? There's that too, obviously, and Stede relishes the fact that he can be a little prim and proper with himself even aboard his pirate ship. It would be horrid to have to try and take care of himself without one.
All the same, it's not exactly normal on a ship and he's well aware of that. Another oddity that he hopes Ed will enjoy rather than find embarrassing.
Leaning down, he smiles. ]
I do grow one, as odd as it might sound! I tried it out once when I was younger, but it didn't suit.
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It's hard to imagine. It's a bit of a waste, as well, to imagine covering up this much of the man's face.]
Suppose not. [His hand drops, body still twisted to study the man standing over him.] Go on, then.
[A mirror would work. Finding the mirror would also drag out the quiet connection here for at least a few moments longer.]
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He doesn't really suit it either, so he puts the idea to one side. Maybe when a time comes that leaves him without his razor. ]
I don't think I'd look like much of a gentleman if I grew one.
[ He does step away to go and get the mirror, though, pushing the comb into Ed's hand as he walks over. ]
And - [ His voice is a touch quieter ] - I think a few people might laugh.
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Maybe not worse. Maybe it would be a faintly cathartic thing, to take the years off his face before stepping away from the sea. Maybe he and Stede would laugh about this very moment, on some distant shore, clinking delicate china teacups and remembering how he used to let his hair and beard grow wild. Not that Stede would necessarily be there, although the future his mind painted seemed more and more often to include the man.
That consideration is banished by the soft thought that follows, a tension returning to Edward's bare arms and shoulders.]
Like fuck they would now.
[Not none, perhaps. The motley collection on this particular ship might grin and chuckle, in the soft and not entirely unkind way they did now. But properly? Cruelly? With the rough sting of passive aggression?
His fingers shift on the comb, which isn't actually a dagger but which might nevertheless be used very unpleasantly in these hands.]
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He'd never imagined that Ed would want to protect him from words, and the notion seems a little ridiculous.
Clearly he's misunderstanding something here.
Picking up the looking glass, he laughs softly as he makes his way back over, as if it really is more of a joke than anything else that might bruise his ego. ]
Perhaps not, but it's not worth the risk.
[ Stepping in front of Ed is easy enough, now, and he holds out the looking glass with a soft smile. ]
Here. Let me braid your hair and then we can work on the beard?
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His free hand goes first to Stede's wrist, brow slightly furrowed. Just for a heartbeat; an impulse to chase at whatever shadow had passed when they were briefly outside of one another's immediate orbit.
Then he takes the glass carefully, frown softening as he contemplates his own reflection.] You've got ribbons?
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Taking in a long, deep breath, Stede tilts his head, watches Ed, drinks him in, and then forces himself to breathe. There's no point getting in over his head, not when all of this could be taken away from him in a moment.
He doesn't want to do anything to upset Ed, to make him want to turn around and leave without looking back. ]
If you'd like them, yes. [ He smiles, stepping back around to the hair. ] In a few colours, all silk.
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[There's still a faint level of awe to the simple realizations; the casual mention that something is silk, pure silver, purchased from some far-flung land. There's no shaking his head while Stede is fussing at his hair, but there's a bemused furrowing of the brow as Edward studies himself in the mirror.]
We've almost always used unwound rope. Bits of twine and that.
[But then, he and his crew had always intended to style his beard for maximum effect in the midst of high fuckery. The strands could be twisted into strange, otherworldly shapes. Bits and pieces that glittered or sparked could be tied securely into place. The brand was rough and ready around the edges, certainly not delicate and luxurious.
For the next little while, all the same, there's no one to bend under Blackbeard's foot. There's just Stede and Edward, sorting through the rubble.
He shifts the looking glass slightly, contemplating the man standing behind him, before settling into the work of carefully picking knots from his beard.]
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[ Stede is so accustomed to the finer things in life, having grown up with them, been wrapped in them since he was a youth. His hands weren't calloused, weren't damaged from a difficult work life; he was a pretty lordship in all ways. Comparing that to what Ed might have experienced as a youth...
It hurts him to think about it. ]
You have better options now. There's no point using rope when I have something nicer for you.
[ To Stede, something like hair and a beard is something to be taken care of. Ed has a reputation, but he also has a right to have self-care, a right to be cherished and feel good about himself, and the two do not always go together.
Careful fingers move to put the hair into a nice braid, a smile settled on his face. Ed is going to look quite handsome, he thinks, and that's a thrilling notion to tuck away to look at later. ]
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(If it were someone else, Edward might have teased that it was an awful trade, to have changed a wife for a co-captain. But it's Stede, and the though sticks in his throat through a self-preservation instinct he doesn't quite know the edges of yet.)
It's quite soothing, having fingers directly in his hair like this. If it weren't for the need to be attending to his own beard, Edward have been tempted to close his eyes and simply sink into the sensation.]
And when I've ruined them?
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It doesn't take too long for the hair to be braided, and Stede allows his hands to fall away to gather up a ribbon, to twine it around the end to hold it all in place. ]
We can get some more. They're not terribly expensive, comparatively.
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Comparative to what?
[It doesn't matter, but whatever prattling it inspires will keep the space feeling warm and comfortable--keep surrounding him with the firm sensation that he's here, in this place, with this person.
The mirror helps with that as well. His attention is more or less on combing away the worst tangles (the beard will never be fully "neat," at the end of the day, but it's moving toward an acceptable level of "wrangled" and "bloodless" now), but now and then a slight shift lets him catch a glance of Stede's fingers just at the edge of the glass.]
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[ He motions absently to the auxiliary wardrobe, where his clothing is hidden away from view. Buying a stretch of ribbon won't cost so much that it will be beyond expense, and he could do without his personal little frivolities for a while to spoil Edward.
He does deserve it.
With a smile and a little hand flourish, he moves away from Ed's hair and nods. ]
There we are. Take a look, if you can.
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Not bad.
[Setting the glass down lets him bring his hands carefully up to feel the twists in his hair. (It isn't quite touching Stede's hand again, but it evokes the sensation in a quiet way.)]
You like it?
[Not that it matters, but it would be nice to hear.]
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[ Stede steps back, admiring his word fondly, making an effort to shift his fingers away so that Ed can get a proper sense of the braiding.
It's quite handsome, and he's about to say so in response until he measures himself. ]
I think it suits you, yes. It's lovely.
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Edward frowns thoughtfully as his fingers trail over the neat braiding. His skin is clean and bloodless. His hair is gently gathered into something tidy and presentable. His beard is as orderly as it ever managed to be without giving it a trim.
Maybe he is a bit lovely.
His brow clears as he turns his attention properly up to Stede again.] Shame yours is so short.
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Stepping back, he gives Ed a little space as he tides up the bits they don't need any more. ]
It was never proper to grow it out, but it's been longer at sea than it ever was before. I simply forgot to cut it, and there aren't many barbers around pirate ports, you know.
[ Plus, he thinks he'd look a little ridiculous with long, pirate style hair. ]
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Another moment watching his co-captain, and Edward pulls himself to his feet, fingers once again lingering on the gentle sweeps of his braided hair. A moment has to be spent twisting this way and that, studying his own bare arms and chest for any last signs of grime, brushing at the last few particulates of grit and muck from the pieces of his life outside these walls.
A satisfied nod, and his gaze flits thoughtfully over the room.] There's a robe?
[Something soft would be quite pleasant in a moment like this--something that extended the feeling of belonging here, in this place, with this man.]
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