bookery | overflow/prompts post.

( from here )

A pirate's, I think. Probably?

( from here )

The French style is a touch more ballroom, a little traditional. The English have their own twist on the matter.

Edited 2022-04-04 16:51 (UTC)

[Seawater has a tendency to seep. It doesn't matter how well a ship is built or how tightly a barrel is sealed; at some point, the sea finds its way in.

Stede Bonnet has the same tendency, apparently. It's difficult to pinpoint exactly when it became so natural to have the man almost always at his elbow--or, if not, just within shouting distance and liable to appear without much provocation. A little easier to pinpoint when there had become a normalcy (expectation) to being invited to linger in the captain's quarters over a glass of something tasting distinctly more expensive than alcoholic. A little clearer exactly when the casual brushing and patting and bumping into one another had become careless deliberate contact in their moments of proper privacy.

(Maybe, Edward acknowledges in moments of drowsy awareness, he's the one who's seeping. Maybe Stede is the ship, and he's the one creeping in at the seams, insinuating into nooks and crannies; corrupting.)

Tonight, there's grit, salt, and dried blood caked on his arms from the long day's work. When he runs a gloved hand through his hair, he can feel where curls have turned to tangles which will have to be worked free. It's a normal enough state of being. It's a piece of who he's always been and had always expected to be.

And it's a sign of how far things have seeped that he shows up without particular invitation and the half-request, half-expectation:] Bath. And-- [An all-encompassing gesture at his hair, the names of the scented oils forgotten (or, more likely, never retained).] And drinks.

[Just to be clear on the final crucial component of the visit.]

[ It began as a tickle in his throat, with a mild cough in an attempt to clear it. All the smoke, Ed reasoned, and cut back on the pipe. Everything else was business as usual: raiding ships, dodging the military, teaching Stede the ropes and learning to blend in to a highbrow crowd, both of which were turning out to be an arduous process, but not unpleasant one. Ed was thoroughly enjoying his time on The Revenge and Stede's company, the latter even more than the former, most times.

They share every morning these days, whether it's on the deck at dawn, up in the crow's nest just after, or more commonly, below deck, later in the morning. It's a ritual Ed enjoys and is beginning to wonder how he ever went a whole lifetime without it. Normally, he and Stede would trade stories, or they'd discuss what else there is to learn about one another's lives. But today, Ed has something a bit different in mind. Once they're both settled and dug into their meals, he brings it up while breaking apart a pastry with some kind of sweet cream baked into it that leaves little flakes all over his beard, his shirt, everything. But it's delicious. ]

By the way, just throwing it out there, but we're coming up near Savannah. Should be close enough to make land by tomorrow morning, if we feel like. There's a—

[ He coughs shortly once, closed-mouthed, into his fist, clears his throat and goes on as he was. ]

There's someone there I think you'd like to—

[ He starts coughing more violently into his gloved hand, shoulders shaking from the force of it. The fit takes a moment to pass, and by the end of it, startlingly, there's a small flash of red against his leather-gloved palm. Ed balls his hand into a fist and likely looks a bit paler as he brings a shaking hand to his cup and then downs the whole of its remaining contents of tea in one gulp. Time and place and conversation are all instantly forgotten. ]

1. 2. 3.

@salutosinedelectat

@artoffxckery

lmk if this needs tweaking o/

did someone say hanahaki 🌸💀❀🌷✿☠️

no subject