Chapter Text
“The bar down the street’s been open a few weeks now, boss. Wasn’t too worried at first but it seems to be drawing decent crowds.” A man in an all black suit stood across a wooden desk from his boss. The final slivers of sunlight cutting through half-open blinds illuminated swirls of dust in the air. “Should I send down Ivan or Fang to check it out? Welcome them to the neighborhood?” The man’s voice was high and brittle; the attempt to sound threatening only made it that much more gravelly.
“I think you should go, Izzy,” the man’s boss responded, looking up from the ledger book he’d been examining. “A few of our customers have told me a bit about ‘em, but I think you’ll be best at telling me which of the rumors are true.”
Izzy rolled his eyes, “I’m the only manager on the schedule tonight, Ed,” he protested. The last thing he wanted to do was waste his time with this other bar - but if the boss had it in mind to check out their competition, Izzy knew he wasn’t going to drop it. He’d hoped the suggestion to send one of the boys would land; unfortunately, it just brought the idea more prominently into Ed's mind.
Ed stood from his desk, now, and approached Izzy. His hair, long and dark (but graying more and more by the day) hung in his face and he gently pushed it aside. “I’m sure we’ll be fine without you for a while, Mr. Hands. I’m not asking you to work a shift there - walk down, grab a drink, see what all the buzz is about. I can manage the bar for that long.” He clapped a hand on Izzy’s shoulder and used the momentum to turn him back towards the office door. “Make a good impression for us, yeah?”
-
As Izzy Hands pushed open the wooden door to enter the neighboring bar, he could feel almost immediately that this wasn’t an establishment he’d have visited on his own. The name of the bar, The Revenge, was etched into the door in a flourishing script, filled in with gold paint and marked with burgundy accents. A small bell above the door chimed brightly as the man stepped inside, and he hesitated for a moment as he took in his surroundings. This isn’t a fuckin’ bar.
There was a bar counter, yes, behind which there was a door to enter the kitchen. Classy wooden tables were scattered throughout the floor; chairs were mismatched but similar in that they appeared almost antique. In a carpeted corner of the room was a piano. Izzy walked in slowly, taking in the sight of the staff and clientele. Guests were seated at tables, most of which seemed to have plates of food, and drinks in a variety of coffee mugs. A small group sat in the corner, seated in two couches and an armchair gathered around a coffee table; they appeared to be playing a board game. The most egregious thing for a bar that Izzy could make out right away was a section of wall, probably close to ten feet, that was lined with bookshelves. Hand-drawn signs broke the shelves down into categories, and a wooden sign hung above that very plainly read The Library .
Izzy approached the bar and realized a large section of the counter space was taken up by a Coffee Station (as another handwritten sign helpfully explained) - upon which there were containers with various sweeteners, flavored creamer cups, and a jar of wooden stirring sticks. He waited at the empty bar for a moment, idly reaching into the jar to grab one of the wooden sticks. He chewed on the end of the stick, growing impatient. As he turned around to look for any sign of a bartender, the door from the kitchen swung open and a man finally acknowledged Izzy’s presence.
“Sorry about that, mate,” The man said with a grin. He was young, with brown hair and mutton chops that were almost impressive. “The chef’s been trying out some new recipes, needed a taste-tester. Y’ever have a cake with forty oranges? You will here, soon, if the boss likes it as much as I did. What can I get for ya?”
Izzy took in the equipment he could see behind the bar. The shelves weren’t lined with bottles; instead there were boxes and bags and various containers that appeared to be… tea? There were also a few basic coffee pots, at least one french press, and a huge collection of mugs. “...Can I just get a whiskey, straight?” He asked, already anticipating the answer.
The bartender grinned and let out a small laugh. “I understand your confusion, seeing as our sign outside does advertise that you’re walking into a bar - but, at the moment at least, we don’t serve alcohol. Occasionally the boss brings in some fancy wines that he finds, but otherwise - coffee, tea, a few sodas, and we have a dining menu that’s always changing. Roach is currently fixated on tapas - y’know, smaller portions, little plates? And they’re all amazing. Actually, wait right here, and I’ll grab you some of that cake. I can’t be the only one to try this.” The bartender tapped his hand on the bar, held up a finger to indicate that he’d be back in one second, and hurried back into the kitchen.
It’s a fucking cafe? Izzy had to stop himself from yelling. It’s 9 o’clock pm, on a Thursday, and some of their crowd is getting pulled away by a coffee shop? Edward wouldn’t believe it.
“Here, I boxed it up, no need to eat it right now. Consider it an apology for not having your whiskey. I’ll have you know, though, there’s a bar just at the other end of this block. Blackbeard’s? You’ve… probably heard of it. Honestly, you look like you’d fit right in down there. They’ve got great drinks. Plenty of whiskey,” He passed a plain styrofoam carryout box across the bar to Izzy. He laughed under his breath and commented, “And probably a lot more straight.”
As the bartender spoke, the entrance bell rang again and another man entered. He walked right up to the bar, entering through a small door built into the side. “How’s the evening going, Lucius?” He asked, and the bartender grinned at him. The man turned and looked towards Izzy, still standing at the bar. “Thanks for visiting The Revenge, ” he spoke with a smile, his voice almost gratingly sing-song to Izzy’s ears. At a glance, the man appeared to by Izzy’s exact opposite. He was tall, clad in a wool overcoat dyed a darkened teal, and loud . “Bar’s only been open for two weeks, so any patronage is deeply appreciated. I’m Stede Bonnet, by the way, the bar owner - if Lucius here is giving you any trouble, you can come straight to me.” He laughed and placed a hand on the bartender’s shoulder as he spoke. Lucius attempted to grin but it surfaced as more of a grimace.
“I’d hardly call this a fuckin’ bar,” Izzy grumbled, unsure why he was still wasting his time here. At least the barista recommended that I come down to Blackbeard’s. I doubt this place will even last a year.
Stede’s brow furrowed. “I understand this isn’t a traditional establishment,” His voice grew much more serious as he spoke to Izzy, “But I can’t say I appreciate that tone. If you’d be so kind, I do have customers waiting on their orders.”
Izzy glared at the man. “Fine,” He spat, anger rising at the confrontation. “Enjoy going fucking bankrupt.” He grabbed the styrofoam box as he turned and stomped away from the bar. Can’t get a drink, but Ed will appreciate trying something off their menu. Absolutely fucking mental.
“Well, he was wholly unpleasant,” Stede let out an uncomfortable chuckle as the door closed behind Izzy.
“I thought he was going to buy something,” Lucius paused, “But he just took some cake and left? I didn’t even charge him for it. Sorry.”
Stede smiled softly. “Honestly, let him have it. He seemed like the type who could benefit from a free piece of cake - was it the orange cake? How did it come out? Actually, don’t tell me, I have to try it myself. I think the marmalade between the layers was a great idea, not to brag. It’ll balance out the sweetness of the icing. If it worked, it’ll be the perfect dessert for Pirate Night. Don’t need anyone getting scurvy!” Stede wandered back into the kitchen as he spoke, and Lucius let out a sigh.
Ed was behind the bar when Izzy returned to Blackbeard’s, and he dropped the styrofoam container on the counter in front of his boss. “Leftovers, Iz? How thoughtful!” Ed teased. “That seemed like an incredibly quick drink, though. How was it?” he questioned as he moved to grab a fork from behind the counter.
“There wasn’t a drink,” Izzy all but spat. “Place was just a fancy fucking tearoom. Calling itself a bar.”
This piqued Ed’s interest - so often the places that ended up opening nearby were just different versions of the same idea; sports bars and dives and hole-in-the-wall joints that struggled to stay afloat. “A tearoom? Open this late? Was it crowded?”
“Not really, but it wasn’t empty. A few customers I’ve seen around here. And the bartender, if you can call him that, he’s been here. Owner didn’t look familiar at all though." He didn’t realize Ed had opened the styrofoam box and taken a bite of the cake until he didn’t get a response for a long moment.
“Holy shit, Izzy, this cake is something else. Tastes like I’m eating a fuckin’ orange. Is that marmalade? Genius.” He poked at the cake with his fork, pulling apart the layers to reveal the bright orange filling.
Izzy rolled his eyes and groaned. “Who cares if it’s fucking marmalade, Ed? The place was batshit.”
“What you’re telling me is the place is set up like a fancy little coffee shop, the owner runs it like a bar, and it’s working.” Ed laughed a bit at this. “I think a little competition will be good! Liven it up a little! Besides, we don’t have cake this good. I think I may have to pay them a visit,” He mused.
Izzy turned to walk back into the kitchens. Under his breath he grumbled, “Stupid fucking cake. Stupid fucking Stede Bonnet.” I should’ve left that cake on their fuckin’ counter. I’m never gonna hear the end of it.
–
“Olu! Finished with the flyers?” Stede beamed as Oluwande entered the bar. He’d sent his manager out to hang some flyers for their upcoming Pirate Night around the area, and give a few to local businesses to see if they’d advertise it.
“I still don’t understand why you don’t just start a facebook page,” Lucius spoke from behind the bar, stirring a coffee before he handed it to the customer at the counter. “You might get more people to actually show up to your events.” Would also help if you advertised events earlier than two days out.
“I don’t have the time or patience to worry about facebook,” Stede laughed, his go-to response when asked about the bar’s - or his own - social media presence. “Besides, with you guys telling people about The Revenge, and the flyers, we’ve been getting plenty of customers! Pete, for instance! You’re here basically every night!” He gestured to the man at the counter who’d just received his drink.
“It’s a nice place,” Pete nodded before taking a drink. He did his best to stop himself from reacting to how hot the coffee was but had a momentary pained expression. Lucius looked away to stop himself from laughing, busying himself with some mugs on the other side of the bar. “You could do a little more to be a proper bar, I think, but you’re getting there! I mean, when I worked at Blackbeard’s, he never had-”
“Oh my god, Pete,” Lucius interrupted, “You bussed tables at Blackbeard’s. And hated it. Which is why you’re here.”
“Blackbeard never had what?” Stede asked, interest captured. Of course he knew about the bar at the other end of the street, and he knew its reputation. It had been around for years, was hugely popular, and anything remotely similar that opened nearby was destined to fail. Some people said it’s because Blackbeard’s Bar & Grill was just that good, but rumors spiraled about the owner or his flunkies that were a bit more devious. Stede tried not to listen to any of it, of course, but the rumor mill worked around him and he couldn’t tune it all out. With The Revenge having just opened, Stede didn’t have the free time to go check out his competition in person; maybe after Pirate Night he’d have a chance to finally do as much.
Olu shook his head and finally spoke. “You aren’t trying to be like Blackbeard’s, Stede. Please don’t listen to him.”
“I was going to say that Blackbeard never had theme nights,” Pete continued, unfazed by the criticism from the bar employees.
“Does the owner really go by Blackbeard?” Stede questioned with an awkward laugh. “I figured that was just… I dunno, a gimmick. A catchy name to draw people in. Sounds intimidating.”
Lucius rolled his eyes and walked back into the kitchen, not giving Stede’s musings any extra attention - if prompted, he was sure his boss would decide he needed an intimidating pseudonym and Lucius wanted no part in it.
-
The next evening, Izzy Hands ripped a bright orange paper off of the entrance to Blackbeard’s Bar & Grill and angrily crumpled it into a ball as he walked inside. “Now they’re posting fucking flyers on our doors, Ed. Unbelievable. ” Izzy spat, tossing the ball of paper towards Edward, who was resting on a stool in front of the bar before the doors opened for the evening. Ed caught the paper easily and unfurled it with an air of drama.
“Pirate Night, eh? Live music, a dramatic reading … oh, Iz, look at that - a free drink if you come in costume! And it’s tomorrow!” Ed couldn’t help but grin. Years ago, he had the idea to hold events like this - something to mix it up, draw in new crowds. Izzy shot it down, though, claiming it would piss off the regulars. Ed never would’ve thought of just reading aloud to the customers, but hey - it’s something different. He read over the paper once more as gears turned in his head. Don’t I still have some pieces from that Halloween costume a couple years ago shoved in my closet? I know there’s at least the hat…
Izzy must’ve noticed the change in his expression when he uttered a simple, “Oh, god, don’t tell me you want to go.”