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Bonnet's shoes click clack down the stairs, fussy as always.
Izzy's been locked in the brig through three meals. Three of Roach's meals, so he knows Bonnet's losers are back on board. Even without natural light, and with the lantern staying lit at all hours, he figures he's been locked up about a day.
Under Blackbeard, prisoners might only get one meal a day, but Bonnet plays by different rules.
As first mate, Izzy would have complained about waste.
As the prisoner in question, Izzy is grateful. He doesn't want to be. He wants to be snarling, angry, not falling into this waiting.
He should be getting ready to swing. With stripes, if Blackbeard could bring himself to do it, or order it done.
But Bonnet's shoes are still click clacking towards his cell, and he doesn't think the death sentence would come from that source.
Izzy stands, and leans against the bars with fake nonchalance that Shakespeare's men would have envied.
If it fools Stede, it doesn't seem to matter.
"Iggy."
Izzy sneers, "Bonnet. Need help, yet?"
Bonnet smiles, the edge of a knife in the small light of the lantern, "We won't, thank you."
"Then why are you here." It's not a question, it's a demand, an attempt to exert authority, although Izzy is very aware he doesn't have any.
Bonnet watches him for a while. Long enough for Izzy to become uneasy. "Is this it, then? Going to gloat that you won? Take me to my death?"
"Oh, no, Israel. A gentleman doesn't gloat." The gleam in Bonnet's eyes says otherwise, but Izzy isn't about to point that out, "And we're not going to kill you. You'll stay down here, well fed, taken care of, until we decide to let you go. You'll hear us succeed. You'll hear Ed succeed. Because you" Bonnet steps to just out of arm's reach and snarls, "You needed him, but he never needed you."
The Gentleman Pirate steps back, composed once more, "Is there anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable? Besides, of course, unlocking your cell."
Izzy spits at his feet, and smiles his own knife edge smile to see the look of disgust on the posh twat's face.
"In that case, someone will bring you supper."