Chapter Text
The raid was successful, as all raids are on the Revenge, after all, Blackbeard never loses.
It was a merchant ship, English. All sorts of finery aboard, jewelry, linens, and the like. Blackbeard didn't care about any of that useless shit.
What Blackbeard was interested in, was the rum. And they had enough bottles of the stuff on board to turn the whole sea brown. Blackbeard stood on the deck, watching his crew load up bottle after bottle onto the ship, as per his orders.
"Captain." As the crew finished loading up the rum, and tying up the merchants still alive and well enough to try and escape or fight back, Izzy strode over to Blackbeard, two bottles of rum in hand, passing one off to his captain. "Is this all we're taking?"
"The rum's all we need, ain't it?" He popped one of the bottles himself, and took a swig. "Just torch the rest of that fancy shit."
"We'll need to stop and replenish our supply of rations soon," Izzy countered. "All these jewels could fetch a lot at the Republic." He said, holding some of them out to him.
Blackbeard took one look at what Izzy was holding, and felt the rum he'd just downed threaten to crawl its way back out of his throat.
It was a ring, blue and coated with gems. The band was a striking silver and shaped like vines with golden flowers blooming from its metallic stems. It looked tacky. It looked ridiculous.
It looked exactly like something he would wear.
"Blackbeard?"
Blind to his own anger at the sight of the infernal thing, he seized Izzy by the collar, lifting him up to eye level. Izzy yelped, the look in his eyes a mix of terror and...something else.
"Listen carefully to me, dog." Blackbeard hissed. "When I tell you to do something, you fucking do it. Now you're gonna take that damn ring, and you're gonna toss the useless piece of shit over the side of the ship, and set that merchant ship over there ablaze. Got it?"
Izzy gasped, nodding frantically. "Y-yes, Blackbeard, of course."
"Good." And he let him go, taking another swig of rum.
Yes, burn all the fine things, burn them to the ground. Blackbeard didn't need fine things. He didn't want them either.
At least, that's what he told himself in order to ease the ache in his chest, as he watched Izzy hurl the ring into the sea, watching that shimmer of blue disappear beneath the waves. He looked away, just for a second, a moment of weakness, and his eyes landed on Jim, who was standing across the deck, shoulders tensed, and for the briefest moment, Blackbeard wondered what they were thinking, but only for a moment. He had better things to do than consider feelings.
"You two," He turned, gesturing to both Jim and Frenchie, who was sitting on a barrel, not far from where Jim was. "You're both off duty for now, get some rest or whatever. Either of you try anything funny," He continued, pulling his knife, still soaked in the blood of the slain merchants. "I'll slice each one of your fingers off, got it?"
At least Frenchie had the decency to look scared. Jim just narrowed their eyes at him, it wasn't even a glare, just a silent look, before nodding and turning to walk back down the stairs back to their room.
Frenchie wasn't far behind, but stopped only to pick up two bottles of the rum from the pile.
“Hey,” Blackbeard addressed the man as he began to walk away. "What’re you doing with those?"
"O-oh!" He started. "I just figured I'd bring a couple of these down, since we're off duty and all. If that's alright."
"It's not." Izzy said with a scowl. "You're off duty for now. It's not a fucking social hour." Izzy corrected harshly. Out of the corner of his eye, Blackbeard could see him turn to him for approval, but he didn't care. Not about anyone, and certainly not about Izzy.
He lost that luxury when he sold him out to the fucking British Navy.
"Sure, whatever. Go fucking wild." And he waved Frenchie off, taking another swig of his own rum bottle.
"Captain," Izzy interjected. "You're just gonna leave the two of them alone? Don't you realize how dangerous that is?"
In lieu of an answer, Blackbeard clamped a hand on Izzy’s shoulder, gripping it tightly. Really tightly.
"Izzy," he began, slowly. "I believe I'm the captain of this ship. Right?"
Izzy took a sharp inhale through his nose and nodded.
"And...I believe...I gave you an order."
Izzy nodded again.
"So...SHUT UP AND FOLLOW IT!" He roared at him, and, despite not being the recipient of his rage, Frenchie quickly darted down the stairs.
Izzy stumbled backwards, gathering himself up and grabbing a matchbox out of his pocket with shaking hands, and when he looked back up at Blackbeard, he had the audacity to look afraid. To look upset.
He wanted Blackbeard back, didn't he? And now here he was. What, was he not good enough for Izzy, now, either?
Blackbeard stood on the deck for a few moments longer, as the merchant ship before them burned. He stood, taking another swig of his rum, watching satin and cashmere and velvet and chiffon, and diamonds and rubies and emeralds and pearls burn and crumble into ash in the orange flames, and each crackle of burning wood made Blackbeard’s, no, Ed's heart sink deeper and deeper and deeper into the pit of his stomach until he was certain he could shit it out.
He shouldn't care. Blackbeard didn't care. Ed cared. Ed cared too much. That’s why he was here in the bloody first place.
"Izzy." He managed out.
"Yes, Blackbeard?" Izzy said, clearly straining himself to hide the frustration in his voice.
"I'm gonna go below deck and make sure those two stay out of trouble. You make sure that ship goes down. If she's not a pile of smoldering rubble at the bottom of sea by the time I get back up here, you're having another one of your toes for dinner." And he turned on his heel and went down the stairs. That's what he told Izzy. In truth, he couldn't stand to watch any more linens, any more jewelry being tossed into the sea.
Just more fine things he could never have.