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“I think I’ll grow it out,” Edward said once, her head resting on Stede’s lap and her legs on Izzy’s. Stede played with her hair, laying curls against his satin breeches. He hummed, told her how much he loved the idea, but her fingers were on her jaw. She’d happily grow her hair out past her ass, but she honestly missed her beard. It was a shame she didn’t load it with flowers when she had the chance. The bows were nice.
It was easy to just stop cutting it, but waiting was difficult. Experimenting with it was fun. She slept in a braid and the debate around breakfast in the officers’ cabin was always how it should be styled. Izzy was an advocate for manageable styles with the nice wide black straw hat he’d “found” for her with a scarlet ribbon and a long-tailed bow along the crown, to keep the sun off her chest (“and please wear a fishue, Edward, your shoulders’ll burn in that neckline,”). Stede had been pretending he didn’t desperately want to powder her hair. “Now, the pomade and powder don’t need to be washed out for a while,” he’d say as he just so happened to be moving the same tins of pink and blue powder he always used for his wigs back to the en-suit. “And it’s quite a procedure to apply it, so it’s a bit of a commitment,” he’d warn, but he’d always rave about the perfumes and the tints and…
Ed had wanted to try it for a while. Seeing the jars of powder amongst Stede’s pomades, the colorful hair at the diner party, and the portraits that sometimes accompanied the wardrobes they stole, she wanted that extra taste of opulence. When she finally asked Stede if he’d mind powdering her hair, he couldn’t contain his excitement. His mood didn’t even sour when Izzy piled into the en-suit with them, promising to ‘keep Stede from fucking up’.
Stede unwound the braid that Izzy had put her hair in the night before and gasped. “Darling, your hair’s down to your waist! How have I not noticed?”
She raised her eyebrows and tried to use the mirror mounted to the wall to check. The ends of her hair fell below the mirror’s golden frame. “Oh, wow.” She didn’t look in mirrors often. Before Stede, she avoided them entirely. “Fuck, I’m about to become the vainest bitch you’ve ever met,” she grinned and twisted her shoulders to drape her hair over them like flowing rivers. “Wait a second, I’m actually hot. Like, Jack wasn’t-“ she had a realization that nearly made her cackle. “Holy shit, Jack!” She couldn’t stop laughing long enough to explain herself. “He likes women,” she choked.
Stede shared a concerned look with Izzy. “Is that amusing or upsetting?” He asked cautiously.
“Sorry,” she waved a manicured hand, and oh that was a nice feeling. “Jim would get it, it’s-“ she laughed again, “the fact that nobody caught that as like, a sign? Fucking hilarious.”
Stede relaxed and Izzy smiled, leaning next to the mirror, “I can think of a few things we should have picked up on. Do you remember the parrot?”
Ed clapped, “the parrot that hated women and never let me know a day’s fucking peace?” She leaned back into Stede’s hands. “He knew.”
It was fun to sit with them in the tight space, the air filled with lavender and clove, but Ed wasn’t sure she’d want to do that again. She loved how the pink looked, but the feeling was something else entirely. Stede had promised she wouldn’t feel the powder in her scalp. He kept apologizing when she couldn’t stand it anymore and it needed to be washed out on the second day. Izzy shrugged as he stood with Stede, their eyes averted from her wet shift, “not anyone’s fault, Bonnet. She’s always had sensitive skin.”
Some months later, most of the crew went to shore, but Edward wanted to finish laundry and Frenchie stayed behind to help her. She’d learned a lot about the care of garments, and the whole crew was more comfortable for it. She paid special attention when she laundered, darning any worn-out patches before they ever became holes. Everyone seemed so happy to have their clothes tended to regularly, and she was overjoyed to have found work that meant something like that. She’d found a way to take care of people. It was making her a gentler person, the way she wanted to be.
She really liked doing laundry with Frenchie. He called her cute, soft things. He said she was like a cool aunt, once. He was one of her favorites of the crew. When they took a break in the shade, and she let her hair down from her hat to rebraid it, he leaned back in awe. “Damn, Eddie, that’s fucking long…” he blushed and turned away, “shit, sorry, that seems like… like only Iz and Stede are meant to see that.”
She almost hid her hair on instinct, but she shook her head. “We don’t, I mean, they’re not my uh. They’re just-“ she realized he had a point, even if he didn’t know it. “You know what, I’m a proper lady.” She decided as she wrapped her braid back up and pinned her hat to it. “If they’re not going to fuck me, they don’t get to see my hair.”
Frenchie spat his drink out.