Do You Ever Get What You Ask For?

“Do you ever get what you ask for?”

ASPIRATIONAL "I WANT" PROMPTS

Sea glass shards cut to Izzy’s face, the face they themselves peered out of an unreadable mask. Anne learned long ago to keep her guard up, always—or as close to “always” as one could get, at least. Slowly, Anne looked back to the wood clutched a little hard in her left hand, compensation for forcing herself to use the right to whittle it down. An edge she couldn’t afford to lose even among allies. At the end of the day, that’s her answer: a clenched fist, refusing to ask, never mind to get. Taught by experience to stop asking and start taking.

“Depends on how ye mean it, I suppose,” Anne says slowly, forcing herself to resume whittling, Hands kept in her periphery the hold time. “Literally—askin f’r coffee and the like, extra rounds, that sort—then aye. ‘S’no sense in denyin a crew mate somethin’ ye’re got access to an’ won’t miss. But…figuratively, like…no. Life en’t in the business of givin me a damned thing I ask f’r. So I stopped askin.” Anne shrugs one shoulder like she doesn’t care about the constant denial. It’s something most pirates feign, frankly, and a leading cause of crews coming together besides—to take what’s wanted in the face of the hurt.

“An’ you? Can’t imagine too many fuckin people say no t’Israel fuckin Hands.”

"If ye keep sayin the fuckin name like it's the punchline t'some sad, sorry excuse for a joke, ye're gonna blow my cover long afore we get near 'nough to start lookin for the twat." Anne doesn't find the humor in the name, an old alias gifted to her by her father somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, but maybe she's too close to the matter to find it--or too closed to the matter altogether. Hard to say.

Anne sighs through her nose and whips off her hat, shoving it into Ed's chest with one hand and reaching back for her hair with the other. "Hold that," she orders, leaving her signature hat behind in Ed's hands as she twisted her hair half up into a bun, leaving a small tail of it down the back of her neck. With her hat on and a bit of binding about her chest--especially with some dirt on her face to obscure how clean it is--she'll pass for a younger man than she is a woman.

"Keep yer steel, but I'd be obliged f'r the fire arm," she says simply, reaching her hand out in expectation.

ᒥ☠ᒧ—        All he needed was Jack, just to see the man again. His dear friend, his passionate lover, a man that gets and understands him like no one else. Her history with Jack was not much of his business beyond him needing her to locate Jack. Edward doesn't plan to nose about her business with Jack, what went on or happened between them; knowing Jack, Edward was sure it wasn't the happiest of stories, probably. Pyrate life was complicated, everyone involved had issues, Jack especially could be a right cunt of a man with his issues.

"Caymans, huh?" Edward doesn't comment on the cheap, pretty things thing, though it makes his stomach churn some. Was he cheap? Even worse, was he pretty? Surely not.

Edward rubs his scruffy beard, eyes locked onto the sea. "It's lookin' choppy, we'll probably remain in port for the night to wait out n'see if a storm is gonna blow in. I can't tell yet if one is coming, too early if so." That wasn't a bad thing, however. "Gives us time to get you some clothes and something to flatten yer chest, Andy." He says the name with a smirk, finding it funny. Ed understood the need for a disguise, women on board not always an accepted thing. To him, he couldn't really care what sex someone was, as long as they were capable was all that mattered. Why ever limit a crew?

"I'd give ya some of mine, but that might look suspect if we're matchin'." Also, she may not be a fan of black leather in the sweltering, tropical heat. "Got a knife and pistol if ya need," And with a man as cruel as Hornigold captaining the ship, she will be needing something to keep herself safe.

The muscle just beneath Anne's eye twitches when he touches the bowl--the only outward sign of the extreme stress Anne put herself under to behave accordingly and save her supper. When he finally fucks off into a seat, Anne reaches down and retrieves the bread he'd batted away, ripping the crust off and tossing it across the table as she resumes her eating. His respect doesn't impress her, but then again, nothing much does these days. She acknowledges him again only when he mentions the soup, her gaze seeming almost lazy by comparison to the glares she'd given moments before.

He's a dumbshite. The kind of dumshite Jack is, but he's...how to say it?...actually a bit clever. Quick witted 'stead of just pretending to be. The arrogance doesn't impress her, by the wit behind it is a bit more interesting. Anne hunches over her soup and nods once, affirmatively.

"Anne Bonny, by name and by reputation." A reputation that she would see repaired soon, washed clean of the stink of the dog-shite that was her former lover and captain. "An' ye're...Ed."

ᒥ☠ᒧ—        Edward smirks more, unable to resist the urge to tap his finger on the lip of the bowl. He wouldn't be tipping it, he just felt like being a shithead and challenging her a little hearing her threats. Finally, he pulls the knife from her throat and moves to sit at the table. His boots come up to rest atop the table, and he leans back in the chair. Edward chuckles and he stabs the knife into the wood, leaving it there.

"I can respect a chick that can stand up for herself," And she was certainly very feisty. "And her soup." He adds after, snorting and laughing some. This was a game to him, that much clear by all his laughing and fucking around. He'd be leaving her to eat, watching her carefully to make sure he's ready should she decide to retaliate his earlier hostility.

"You Anne?" Ed asks, that stupid, smug smirk still plastered to his face.

CON O'NEILL as Izzy Hands in OUR FLAG MEANS DEATH (2022— ) Episode 2.05

@seadcgs Norrington is waving the royal flag

In the chaos and the smoke, Anne has two goals: reach the helm, and stay alive until the helm is reached. Simple enough. Leave it to the English to cock up a perfectly good plan. Her steel flashes in the light of the burning fire on deck, silver and red, indistinguishable from every other hand on her side. Her blade runs through a navyman and she has just enough time to pull it free before the next arsehole is knocking into her. Anne turns to face them, eyes flashing, split lip breaking open anew when she snarls. The helm’s a few yards away; almost to her goal. She just has to run down, or through, the last of the obstacles.

“Get the fuck outta my way afore we go careenin into the other ship!”