Despite Her Better Judgement, The Long Days With Nothing To Do Eventually Lure Anne Back Into The Jam

Despite her better judgement, the long days with nothing to do eventually lure Anne back into the jam room. She can remember a time (lifetimes ago, surely) when she was a wain brought to the music room to meet her instructor. She’d slammed the piano lid down on his fingers and was never again made to practice music, though at her mam’s knee she’d learned the spoons and sang in a voice that made up in enthusiasm what it lacked in talent, a plain voice given more to crowing than to singing. (She sounds better these days, but not by much.)

She doesn’t open any instruments or make any ruckus: she’s just wandering about, as aimless in her feet as in her mind as she takes a seat, reaching into the inner pocket of her coat. The other room seemed oppressive, somehow, but there was no work to be done to make up for that. She’d decided she wanted the sunlight to read by, and found it a quieter place here than in the galley or on the deck, with fewer prying gazes. When she’d borrowed the play from Bonnet’s library, she’d only meant to reread her father’s favorite line. Fix it back right in her mind, since she had both the time and the means for it for a change…

…but in the dirt-dulled sunlight falling in a slant through the port windows, Anne finds herself starting at the beginning instead.

In sooth I know not why I am so sad. / It wearies me, you say it wearies you. / But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, / What stuff ’tis made of, whereof it is born, / I am to learn. / And such a want-wit sadness makes of me / That I have much ado to know myself.

Anne doesn’t cross her arms until Ed comes in and she doesn’t move much after except her eyes. She watches Ed as he blows in, giving orders: she watches like an osprey, head tilted, eyes bright and alert. Not a damned thing to suggest anything, least of all that he was in pain. It’s more below the eyes than behind them, but Anne can spot pain like that a nautical mile off. She doesn’t bother looking away from him, not when Hands opens his mouth and not when Ed shuts it for him. She doesn’t do more than scoff when Ed takes a meaningless jab at her. Some nerve.

“It’s a little farther north than I like—but this is the same sea I came up on,” Anne replies cagily, glaring steadily up at him from under the brim of her hat. In the bed that’s easily accomplished; her posture’s been poor since her mam died, meaning she takes no issue with slumping down until she looks much shorter than she is, like a snake coiled and waiting to bite back. “I need no more reason t’be here than ye do.

“My turn, what the fuck do you mean, Jack’s dead?” He’d been in port recently. He’d heard the gossip, the rumor before it was fact. He’d met up with some old acquaintance and fucked off to somewhere and…truthfully, it felt like it had all just happened yesterday. (Probably because she had only just learned of it last night, just before stowing aboard.) And now he’s…gone. Stuck in the past tense. Just like that. Just like…the rest. Anne’s arms shift so they cover her belly, top ankle uncrossing to sit flat-footed on the bed instead. Unconsciously shielding what isn’t there.

She might feel bad for the damage inflicted on Ed's leg if not for the nature of the thing. She hadn't gone for an innocent man: she'd gone for a pirate (as one herself, she knows they're never innocent), and one that knew her reputation besides. It was as fair a fight as Anne had ever engaged in, and they'd both be bearing bruises after. Just so happens he's a great fucking metal sign pointing to his weak spot, and that he's missing a different weak spot altogether.

Anne grunts her way into a sitting position and checks her ribs with a quick touch. Nothing broken, just hurts like a bitch from the extra sensitivity. Ed doesn't offer her a hand and she wouldn't have taken one even if he had: theatrics or otherwise, she's decided to make her loss in this fight his problem, until her head stops spinning and she can forge yet another new plan.

--Hands, though (loud, stupid arse that he is), Anne just might need to take arms against if he's going to hover everywhere Ed goes. Ed knows knew (odd sounding, that) Jack: that means there are things she can trust to his eyes and ears that she'd have to kill Hands for overhearing on principle. Hands and his raspy shout could well fuck off into the depths.

Ed goes half-stumping off and no one but her sees it aboard the captured ship. No one but her dares to see it, with an order from Blackbeard himself in place. Then one of the stupid twats reaches down and hooks a hand under her arm.

Whether or not Ed turns back at the sound of the man's cry when Anne's fist flies into his dick isn't something she's prepared to say. He hits the deck with a thud and the wall of men draw back for a moment, uncertain: they'd been prepared for stabbings, not dick-punches. There's a ripple of relief when Anne stands up, nobody steps forward to try fetching her again until one of the great louts tries a new tactic:

"Please."

Anne stares at him for a moment of dead silence: his braids fall over his eyes and he keeps his hands fisted at his side as if in preparation for a fight. He steps to one side and gestures in the direction of the cabin with his head. Anne's eyes narrow but she moves: not towards the cabin, but to grab her things, only to be met by the hulking frame of the tall, half-bald fucker with a wrap of studs around his head, her coat and hat on one arm and her brace of weapons under the other.

Ed runs a tight ship. After a moment more of silent staring--and a half-thought to jumping overboard, but they aren't near enough land for that yet--Anne turns back, ready to shoulder through the wall of men that part for instead. The air sighs as their tension releases and the two men, exchanging bewildered faces behind Anne's back, escort her to the captain's cabin. She's in the room before the second passes her weapons off to another man to take below, though he offers her an apologetic grimace when he sees she saw. And after that, it's Anne alone in the cabin with her hat and coat and a hissing pair of babysitters whispering together about I don't want to stay here / well I can't be here alone with her, she scares me!

Ignoring them, Anne dresses and takes Ed's bed--one starts to argue but the other stops him with a fervent shake of the head and wide eyes--making a point of crossing her legs at the ankles so Ed can be greeted by her muddy bootprints when he goes to bed later. If he didn't want Anne and a smear of petty revenge, he should've killed her or knocked her clean out. She isn't known for being a good loser, after all.

STEDE’S OUTFITS ⤷ requested by anon

Anne Bonny, Black Sails (S1, Ep1)

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hi im fucking blackbeard and here's a story about how when i was wrestling with my feelings for charles vane i saw the light hit the water just right, and also a pretty bird, and i took it as a good omen

anne: *does this*

me: [shaking]