Work Text:
The sun had already begun to set as Wee John put together a make-shift vanity. Very little light made it below deck, but a candle with its light reflected on a silver tray gave him enough to work with. He settled down in front of the mirrored surface, surveilling his face.
His beard was perhaps a little long for a goddess, but he had no desire to shave his face bare. Besides, he was sure that the costume he had come up with more than made up for any facial hair. He could hear a flurry of steps above him as the rest of the crew scurried around to decorate for the party. His grand entrance would happen soon.
Studying his face for a second longer he picked out a greenish pigment and set to work applying it on his eyes. He had never done anything like this but had spent enough time around highly painted women to have an idea of how he wanted to look. He couldn’t help but smile at the application of color, feeling a pleasurable warmth spread across his chest.
“I look quite lovely, actually,” he said to himself, continuing to work the color in on the delicate skin of his eyelids. Behind him he heard more footsteps. Close. Distinct. One step was barely perceptible, soft and cat like. The next falling heavily, burdened and off balance. He didn’t need to turn around to see who it was.
Wee John focused on his reflection, unsure of what to expect from the first mate. The man had changed, certainly, but he still felt a level of unease around him. First impressions are hard to overcome. He watched as he leaned down, waiting for whatever biting remark was about to come his way.
“What’s all this then?” Izzy rasped. There was no malice in his voice.
“I’m working on my look,” he replied, turning his face slightly to see if his work was even so far. He could see Izzy make a face and he braced himself.
“Look? The fuck’s a look?” Again, no malice.
“Tonight I’m going as the sea goddess Calypso. I’m thinking dramatic eyes, dramatic lips. Drama on the cheeks.”
Izzy merely hummed in response, gaze darting down to the varied pigments laid out. “Where’d you find all this?
Wee John gave him a sideways look, wondering if he should tell the truth. Finally, he decided he didn’t care if Izzy knew. “Nicked it. It was in Blackbeard’s little treasure room. I found it when we were moving furniture.” He reached for a black kohl pencil.
“Stealing from your captain, eh?” Izzy questioned as he settled atop a barrel nearby.
“He’s not my captain,” Wee John answered quickly before turning to look at Izzy. They all knew how fiercely devoted he had been to Blackbeard.
The first mate considered the answer and then shrugged. “Suppose you’re right.” He brought a bottle of rum to his lips, taking a long pull. The burn in his chest felt good. “So you’re Calypso and you go up and what? Dance? Sing?”
Wee John shook his head. “I’m not a singer. I think I’m just supposed to go up and tell people they can start drinking.”
“Ah shit,” Izzy replied with a small upward quirk of his lips. “Guess I jumped the gun.” He took another sip of rum. It felt good. The tension in his shoulders had started to loosen, and the pain in his stump was becoming less and less noticeable. The fact that he had a stump was starting to fade from his mind. It came jolting back as he stood suddenly and moved to stand behind Wee John’s shoulder again. “I can sing.”
Wee John paused, turning to glance at Izzy with skepticism. “You don’t look like you can.”
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“You just don’t seem like the type is all.”
He could hear the challenge in his tone. Izzy took another drink and then cleared his throat loudly. It had been a long time since he’d sung. He sang the first line of an old song he had learned long ago. The last note hovered in the air between the two men and as it receded he could feel his face burning with embarrassment.
“Christ.”
Izzy’s expression lurched towards anger, his cheeks still red. “Fuck off,” he growled, starting to turn.
“I didn’t mean that in a bad way. You’ve got a nice voice. I wasn’t expecting it.”
The first mate paused and turned around to face Wee John. “You’re not taking the piss?”
“Swear on my mother’s grave. You should sing up there. For the rest of the crew. You know it’s tradition to sing for Calypso?”
Izzy snorted, raising a hand to brush across his face in an attempt to either hide or to wipe away the smile he felt. “I’m talking to Calypso herself, so I suppose I better take you on your word.”
Wee John grinned at the recognition. “You want to do a look of your own?”
He shook his head reflexively. “Not much into face paints.”
“Aw, come on. I could do something real subtle for you. Everyone else is dressing up.”
Izzy closed his eyes for a second, feeling the room spin around him. He quite possibly had drunk too much. He’d worn kohl for Edward. Why not put a little something on for the crew. The spinning sensation slowed and he opened his eyes again before nodding. “I guess if it’s subtle.”
Wee John motioned for him to sit down before moving closer. He studied Izzy’s face for a moment before starting in with a gold color. He’d finished one eye when someone started down the stairs behind him.
“You just about finished Wee John?” Frenchie called, appearing below deck. He stopped short when he spotted Izzy sitting there allowing make up to be applied to his face. “Oh good lord. What uh… what do we have going on down here?”
Izzy felt his face grow hot again and he pushed Wee John’s hand away before going to rub the pigment off his face.
“Ah! Stop that you little fecker,” Wee John scolded, reaching out to stop Izzy’s hand. He turned back towards Frenchie. “We’re working on our looks.”
Frenchie looked at Izzy again and gave an approving nod. “Keep going. Didn’t mean to interrupt. I like where you’re going with all this.”
“You want me to do some for you too?”
“Nah. Keeping it simple myself. Got this,” he said with a casual gesture to the crown of flowers adorning his head. “Izzy, you gonna join us for the party?”
Izzy gave him an incredulous look. “No, just felt like getting my face done up,” he shot sarcastically.
“He’s going to sing for us. After I make my big entrance.”
“I’m not fucking singing up there.”
“He has a lovely voice. You wouldn’t know it by looking at him.”
“Wonders never cease,” Frenchie said with a warm smile. “What do you want to sing? I could play for you.”
“Nothing. It’s a stupid idea,” he muttered, closing his eyes so Wee John could continue to work.
“Actually, I think it’s a great idea. Every party needs some music.”
Izzy couldn’t respond immediately as Wee John had started applying pigment to his lips. When he finally could speak he stole a glance at Frenchie. “There is one song that might be good,” he said softly.
Frenchie had been watching, entranced as Wee John applied make up. It took him a second to register what had just been said. “Yeah, what are you thinking?”
“It’s French. I don’t know what the fuck it means. Don’t speak the language. But I know it sounds real nice.”
Izzy could feel something being traced above his eyes, distracting him for a moment. Wee John stepped back with a pleased look on his face. “All done. Tell me what you think,” he said, holding the silver plated tray up to the first mate.
He couldn’t recognize himself. The red of his lips. The gold above his eyes. He reached his hand out to touch the surface of the tray. “This is a look,” he said, smiling despite himself.
Frenchie had taken a moment to duck down the hallway to his room to retrieve his lute. “What’s this song then?” he asked enthusiastically.
Izzy smiled again, this time into the mirror. He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or the slow realization that he could belong with the crew if he let himself but he felt strangely comfortable. "Here's how it goes..."