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Laszlo was a man of many talents, with most pertaining to seduction. So yes, it did shock him when Blackbeard’s first reaction upon meeting him was not to pull his penis out. The other crewmates were shocked as well, so his shock was clearly not a narcissistic manifestation (though, to be fair, he did possibly choke out anyone on board who said otherwise about his seduction capabilities). Blackbeard, by all accounts, should’ve pulled his penis out the minute Laszlo stepped on board! It was only natural!
But again.
He didn’t.
This frustrated Laszlo for a number of reasons, with the main one being that it made him feel inadequate, but that didn’t stop him from formulating a plan and it certainly didn’t stop his resolve to follow this plan from strengthening. He was going to seduce Blackbeard even if it killed him, and judging by how that repressed chap limped around, it probably would.
——
Nobody talked about how hard it was to be a sailor and a vampire. Sure, people talk about the challenges of one or the other, but never both. Nobody ever talked about how it was to avoid the merciless sun on a vessel with no roof while also avoiding the curious glances of a pirate cursed by boredom — someone who had no qualms with selling somebody out to, say, a vampire hunter.
But, no matter how hard it was, Laszlo persevered. Flawlessly, one might even say. And in Laszlo’s case, one (him) would . There was no use in being modest, he found, especially not when you were an immortal being with superhuman abilities. In the end, human consequences didn’t exist to him, so what was the use in maintaining useless social rules?
This line of thinking was what got him exiled from English noblemen and thrust onto the open sea, and quite frankly, he couldn’t be happier. By some magnificent stroke of luck, he was not only thrust onto the open sea, but also onto Blackbeard’s new crew! God only knows what happened to the last one, and who cares what that fop knows? He was Laszlo, Terror of the High Seas. God had no place here, and neither did Blackbeard’s old crew — who, judging by the amount of black paint smeared on the poor man’s face, fucked him over quite a bit. This was the reason, Laszlo supposed, that two weeks into his seafaring, pirating adventure, he still hadn’t gotten any closer to shuffling in Blackbeard’s pants.
Because, really, it couldn’t be Laszlo’s fault. He was a sex god. He oozed appeal out of his pores every morning, to the point where every time he woke up, he had to sigh and clean up all the appeal goo that had removed itself from his pores. It clearly wasn’t the fault of Laszlo’s seduction skills, and absolutely an outside interference.
He reasoned all of this at 1:00 am, while precariously balancing on the bow, waxing furiously. Laszlo didn’t know exactly why he had to do this, but Izzy, the repressed man from earlier, just kind of said things for the sake of saying them, so Laszlo supposed there didn’t need to be rhyme nor reason to his chores. He just needed to do them and do them well.
However, doing something well, in Laszlo’s mind, required there to be no interruptions. And sure enough, in the form of a tiny dinghy containing far too many people, somebody had to interrupt him.
He squinted at the dinghy. Nobody really stuck out, most blending into the night. Except for one person, the man heading the dinghy, face scrunched up and angry. Who was he angry at? Laszlo looked left and then right before he realized that he was angry with him. Right? Or somebody associated with him. Something in his general area.
“Hello!” The angry man called out.
And Laszlo, not one to turn away from a good introduction, said hello right back.
“Where is Ed!” The man enunciated his words carefully, as if he was unsure whether the words from his tiny boat would make it all the way up to the Kraken’s Revenge.
Laszlo, however, was an alpha, and knew that his words made it down to the dinghy easily. “Who is Ed!”
“What?”
“Who is Ed!”
“What?”
Laszlo tried again, enunciating his words this time. Not because he wasn’t an alpha, no, because he was just…trying to make the clear beta in the situation feel better. Don’t look too deep into it.
“Blackbeard? ….The Kraken?”
“Ah yes! Ed!”
…
……
“What do you need him for, my good sir?”
“I need to talk!”
That didn’t sound good. That, in fact, sounded very bad. Like a ‘not angry, just disappointed’ mother. Or like a bad ex.
…
Oh.
That..explained quite a lot, actually. This is why he hasn’t been able to bed Blackbeard. This is why Blackbeard was…like that. This why—
Laszlo began to slowly put the pieces together, ready to do damage control on the conversation, perhaps steer away the angry man to another ship, but it was too late. He felt an ominous presence behind him, and he didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. Not that he could’ve. He was still very much on the bow, which presented a unique conundrum: Laszlo couldn’t escape, trapped in between two bitter exs, just forced to…sit there. Legs dangling. Oh, this was a nightmare.
“Bonnet.” Called out Blackbeard from behind him, and Laszlo could tell from inflection alone that this man’s name was not Bonnet. Last name maybe, but it was not what he was called. Not by Blackbeard.
Laszlo, subject to Bonnet’s grimace in response to the name, winced. This, quite literally, could not get worse.
“What do you want me to call you?”
Blackbeard didn’t respond.
“…What moniker have you put up as a wall in front of you this time? Blackbeard? The Kraken? I don’t suppose I can call you Ed anymore. I don’t think I want to.”
Fuck. This was Laszlo’s worst nightmare. He silently thanked whoever he could that he didn’t get a chance to blow Blackbeard’s brains out. That would’ve made this so much worse, and considering how bad it was already, that was saying something.
“It doesn’t matter what you call me, Bonnet. I’m still the same old abandoned man.”
OH SHIT. Abandoned? Laszlo was still very much wanting to die of embarrassment, but part of him was delighted to hear the gossip. It didn’t stop him from carnally craving death, however.
Bonnet straightened his shoulders and took a breath. “I abandoned you, yes. I’m not going to defend myself. If you let me on the ship, I’ll—“
“I would rather peel my fingernails off and shove them into my eyes.”
Colorful.
“Fine. You can leave me out to die, I don’t blame you. But you can’t hurt other people in the desperate attempt to hurt me. You can’t abandon my crew as if they were just my playthings, you can’t throw Lucius overboard for trying to help —“
Laszlo, at this point, noticed a shiny figure sitting in the corner of the dinghy. No, not shiny, wet. They were soaked.
Must be Lucius.
“—You can’t separate everyone who is happy together just because I fucked you over. Punish me. Not them.”
“Fine.”
Laszlo heard shuffling behind him, and he felt a sinking feeling in his chest. Please don’t be his gun, please don’t be his gun—
“I will punish you.”
It’s his gun, isn’t it.
Bonnet raised his hands in defeat, but his face stayed stoic. “Will you allow a man his last words?”
Silence, from which Laszlo could only assume birthed a nod of acceptance.
“I love you.”
Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit. Did they even notice Laszlo was there? He made frantic eye contact with the crew, hidden behind Bonnet. They gave a collective understanding look. It was good he wasn’t in this alone, at least. If he was going to suffer, he would at least like to do it with someone else.
Blackbeard brought him out of his (WELL DESERVED) pity party with a gunshot and a pained sob, clearly not meant to be heard. But Laszlo heard it. He heard it loud and clear.
The bullet shot through Bonnet’s shoulder, bringing him down on his knee swiftly. Laszlo heard a ladder drop down from the ship, into the water with a quiet splash.
“Bonnet, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to get on this ship — crew optional — and you’re going to suffer. You’re going to suffer on the ship that you thought would bring you salvation. And if you don’t—“
“I will.”
And he did. The crew paddled closer to the ship, and one by one, they made their way onto the ship, leaving Laszlo with just the view of the sea and an empty dinghy. Great. Now, not only was he stuck here, he was also stuck here with a boring view.
Blackbeard, presumably, walked away towards the center of the ship. Laszlo exhaled deeply as the sounds of homoerotic cruel banter faded away. Not completely, no, he could still hear bits and pieces if he tried, but he was no longer in the middle of the banter, and that was the important bit.
Laszlo looked at the empty dinghy. If the dinghy could’ve looked back, it probably would. He nodded at it, shuffling off of the bow and back onto the deck. He did some squats, looked at the middle of the deck, where a passionate gaze session was happening, and looked back to the dinghy. The sea life was not for him, he decided. Too many pre-made sexual relations that were too complicated for Laszlo to barge in on. Too much sun. He slid down the ladder and onto the dinghy, and without so much as a goodbye, began paddling. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but there was one thing that was certain: He would never sail again. Not alone, at least. And definitely not with intentions of having a good fuck.
Lesson learned: Pirates are now, and have probably always been, gays. And they are not fun gays.