Slur Cw - Tumblr Posts
Anne wouldn’t, doesn’t, disagree. She owes Elizabeth her life, although not for the wound’s sake. At least not in her opinion. Were it not for Elizabeth, she’d never have managed the jailbreak, let alone have taken the ship she now steered. The problem Elizabeth faced was that Anne simply did not care. When Elizabeth grabs the wheel Anne came only sigh, giving up and leaning most of her weight against it. That was another count she was right about: Anne needed rest, and a doctor, badly. If it were (almost) any other port in the world, Anne would have conceded. She wouldn’t be having this argument in the first place! She’d have just set the damned course! But Port Royale will only ever mean her end.
She opened her mouth to lecture Elizabeth about why she couldn’t sail there—to explain the situation with her bounty, with Jack, with everything tied up in it and how her next visit to that port may very well be the thing to damn them all—when she keeps going. Anne chokes on her disbelieving laugh. Gold? Opium? Ridiculous on their own, given Anne’s interests in piracy, but added to the idea that anyone could vouch for her and have the courts save her life? It’s at least as funny as it is insulting.
“Christ alive!, I’d’ve thought even Jack’s whore knew better than that!” It slips about unbidden. She sounds, looks, incredulous. “Don’t you have any idea who I am? I signed my life away at age nineteen. Afore that, even, when I were still a wain. I’m Anne fuckin’ Bonny.”
Anne grunts and leaves the mooring, about to head for the helm when Elizabeth shoots ice directly into her veins using just two words: Port Royale. Wouldn’t that just fucking figure? The cellmate turned partner in crime, helping her pull a legger, isn’t just English but fucking English. And an idiot to boot. Who in the acquaintance of Jack would ever willingly sail to Port Royale, of all places? Anne resumes her walk—it’s a limo, really—back to the helm, setting them on a course that wouldn’t lead straight to the gallows. Port Royale can catch the fucking plague for all she cares; their heading is New Providence. She says none of this, guiding them out to sea without a fuss. It’s more important they leave this place, anyway, than that they agree on where they make landfall.
Anne relaxes into her duties long before Elizabeth does; it’s well evident that they aren’t being chased, or canon fire would have marked their departure. When they’re out of canon shot Anne breathes easier. Well. Except for where she’s been run through on one side. The wind is strong and in their favor; it won’t be more than a day or two on the water before they reach Anne’s destination, by her own reckoning. Chances are good they’ll meet another crew with her same heading before the coast is even in sight—but whether that’s a good thing or a bad one can only be determined when it happens.
Anne waits until Elizabeth’s done fussing to say her piece, ignoring everything the other woman’s had to say since “Port Royale.” Since they’re taking care of the dire needs first, this comes before wound care.
“We’re headed for New Providence,” Anne announces, deadpan. Had Elizabeth suggested any other port it would have been hers—but the port named is one of only two Anne’s sworn to never dock in again. “I don’t know what kind of pirate ye are, are ye think ye are, but I en’t fuckin’ consigning myself t’death for ye. ‘Will’ can fucking well wait: it’s only a bit further from Providence t’the gallows, I’m sure he’ll survive.”
Who or whatever Will is, he isn’t worth dying for—not for Anne, at least. Port Royale is the bloodiest port in these waters, with its rotten, godforsaken docks soaked through with the blood of pirates hanged there; New Providence, on the other hand, is the capital port of that most dangerous of new ventures, the Republic of Pirates. Anne’s wanted poster hangs in both cities, one in pride and one in infamy. Notorious pirates tend to fare better in one of these ports than in the other, though smuggling ships, privateers, and even some fledgling company sail from one to the other still.
“I can find a ship’s doctor in port and you can find passage to hell for yerself.” On Anne’s tongue, it’s less insult and more barefaced truth, setting aside her vanity and letting Elizabeth see the exhaustion naked on her face. She’d been in that jail for weeks before Elizabeth arrived and made escape possible. She simply won’t give up her freedom again so soon.
“We can fight about it, but let’s call a spade a spade, aye? I paid attention when I were sailed into that port, a’cause I knew it’d be on me t’figure out where in the fuck I’d been landed. I figured it out the next morning, in that jail cell, and been plottin’ a route back out t’open sea ever since. Gotta get there ‘fore ye can get t’either of those ports, and I’m willing t’bet you came up the other way—from the opposite coast. Meanin’ ye don’t know which way’s t’sea and which way’s gonna trap ye in the bay here. Means I gotta be the one navigatin’ either way, so it can be agreed that we’re for Providence or ye can feel deceived when we get there. Choice is yers.”
:33 < idont care if youre anti or pro endo, if you use "delusional" or "p*ychotic" as an insult towards ANY system, YOU ARE ABELIST. you are singlehandedly showing off youdo NOT care for people with psychosis, youdo NOT care for people on the schizospectrum, and you are ABELIST TOWARDS YOUR OWN COMMUNITY. JUST BECAUSE THEY HAD ALTERS AS A DELUSION OF THEIRS, does NOT GIVE YOU THE RIGHT TO BE ABELIST TO THEM. my god, just leave delusional folks alone if youre gonna be uneducated and reality check them.