Chapter Text
June 13, 2023
There weren’t many perks to being immortal these days. Sure, the initial hundred years or so was pretty cool, because it meant one got to watch the progression of society and watch cause-and-effect play out in real time. It also meant learning with technology as it grew, it meant watching seedling businesses boom into capitalistic hellscapes, and it meant living through the cruelties of humanity. Even though his body no longer scarred, his mind certainly did and he would never forget how it felt to live in London during the Blitz.
Truthfully, Edward Teach was tired of immortality, but that was the curse - it would never tire of him. It was tied to him, like a tumor on his soul that promised he’d never see rest, that he would live to watch all great men die, that he would one day bear witness to the inevitable heat death of the universe. At one point, he had asked for this - he had been a fool.
That being said, he’d learned to roll with it. There was no option not to. So he found a new hobby every decade or so, became an expert in it, and moved on. He had two doctorates under his belt: one in Astronomy, and another in Philosophy because why the fuck not. He could play the violin, piano, trombone, flute, drums, you name it. He owned at least one home on nearly every continent and moved whenever he wanted. He had more wealth than he could fathom - three centuries worth of it! Enough for him to funnel money into whatever cause he deemed worthy and enough for him to be comfortable for his indefinite future.
So he found himself as of 2023: freshly moved back into the colonial-style home he owned in Providence, Rhode Island. It was an old home to begin with, built sometime in the 1800s, updated with electricity by the time Ed had purchased it in 1967. It had been the first home he’d bought in the U.S, and still remained one of his favorites, despite his lack of visiting it very often. The United States was not his favorite country, but he loved the charm of New England, so it almost made moving back worth it. Almost. At least it was convenient - he had business to attend to that involved searching for someone he had on good authority to be in the area:
Israel Hands.
Ed hadn’t seen the bastard in nearly two centuries, but if there was one thing about Izzy that remained true through the years, he had a knack for pissing people off. And when one pissed off a dynasty of vampires, one typically fled to an area protected by witches, and Rhode Island was fucken full of ‘em. Luckily for Ed, the coven in Providence was fond of the legendary Blackbeard, and even luckier for him, Izzy wouldn’t know that. The immortal/supernatural community was much smaller than it would seem. People talked. As soon as Izzy was spotted, Ed had been notified.
Izzy was here, somewhere, and he had answers that Ed was looking for. It was only a matter of time before he showed up, and Ed was in no rush. If anything, Ed might be stalling a bit. Izzy was once his first mate and his only friend. When no one else would, the man roped himself into everlasting life with Ed. At one point, he trusted Izzy with his life, but now? Izzy was merely an immortal reminder of everything Edward Teach had fucked up. A reminder of his life of piracy, and the things he lost in 1718.
Ed had spent many years dwelling on those losses, and if he wasn’t careful, he would find himself falling back down into the thick of it. It was hard not to feel guilt and regret swallow him whole when he thought about the first six decades of his life, and Izzy was a sickening, tangible reminder of it all. So, he stalled and kept himself busy with the mundane – like calling the power company to make sure his home had electricity, getting on his hands and knees to scrub every inch of his floors, getting his garden sorted so it looked less like an abandoned squatter hotel, and purchasing furniture to replace the pieces ruined by mice. By the time his home was habitable again, he had yet another mundane thing to take care of: his hair.
This was the true curse, really. If only becoming immortal had frozen his body’s ability to produce hair. Upkeeping one's appearance became monotonous and frankly annoying after the thousandth time. Usually, Ed would simply do it himself, but every once in a while he would book himself an appointment at a salon as a treat.
Today was one of those days. What better way to avoid despair (and to put off searching for an angry little terrier of a man) than with self care? He found a salon called Gilded Grace within walking distance of his home that had an option to book online, and thankfully had an opening that day too. He spent the rest of his afternoon sipping his tea in his newly renovated garden with the scent of freshly planted lilac and lavender filling the air - and when it was time, he meandered his way down to the salon.
Gilded Grace wasn’t the most luxurious salon Ed had ever been to, but it was lovely in its own right. It was light and airy, the floors made of either marble or a marble-adjacent tile, the walls painted in a light gray, golden accents scattered throughout to catch the eye. The waiting area was clean and pristine, and he was offered a glass of wine while he waited for his stylist to finish up with their previous client.
Might make this a regular haunt, Ed thought to himself as he played a game of sudoku on his phone.
“Edward, right?” a voice called, and Ed looked up to see a young man with stylish shaggy brown hair walk up to him. The man paused as soon as he saw Ed look up, his eyes widening minutely, some flash of shock crossing his features, but it was brief. Ed wasn’t naive, he knew he was relatively attractive. This reaction wasn’t that unusual.
Ed stood, offering his hand in greeting. "That's me."
“Oh,” the young man said, awkwardly shaking Ed's hand. “Hi. I’m…your stylist’s assistant. Go ahead and follow me, I’ll be getting you washed.”
Okay. A bit odd. Maybe it was the fellow’s first day. Ed followed, feeling a strange sense of familiarity. That wasn’t entirely uncommon for him - he found that as centuries went on, faces tended to blur together, and genetics could be a surprisingly loud echo. It was absolutely possible he knew an ancestor of this man at one point.
“So, your profile says your name is Edward Tolley?” the young man asked casually, leading Ed to the washing station, where he was delighted to see they had the kind of shampoo sinks you laid back on instead of sitting upright. It would do wonders on his back, as hunched over as he’d been remodeling his home. "Unique name."
“Yeah,” Ed lied easily. It was one of many pseudonyms he cycled through each century. “But you can call me Ed.”
“Ed. Right,” the man said, gesturing for Ed to lay back. As he did, his hair was gathered into the sink, and then the water started. His hair was rinsed, and the young man lathered up some expensive smelling shampoo into his hair. It had been a good choice to come to a salon. It never felt this good washing his own hair. “You must be, ah, new to Providence.”
“What gave it away?”
“The accent, babe.” the man answered, rinsing the suds out of his hair.
“Ah, suppose that’s a dead giveaway”
The man gave a strained sort of laugh, “Not dead enough, don’t you worry.”
Interesting turn of phrase. Conditioner was smoothed through his hair, the man’s fingers expertly working through any tangles to make sure it was properly distributed. Ed didn’t find many social situations awkward these days, but something about this felt awkward . He was determined to fix the vibe.
“Are you from Providence, then?” he asked.
“This go round, yeah. But I’ve spent time all over the place, really. What brings you to the city?”
“Looking for an old friend.”
Conditioner was rinsed from his hair, and then it was wrapped in a towel and Ed was urged to sit up. “An old friend, huh? You know, Providence is smaller than it seems. Maybe I know the guy.”
Ed snorted at that. He highly doubted Izzy would go anywhere near a place called Gilded Grace . “Probably not. Truthfully, I’m not sure what name he goes by these days.” He was guided to a salon chair not far from the sinks. It was private, with walls that separated it from other stations and a big mirror showing Ed with his hair up in a towel as the assistant draped a cape over his shoulders. The more Ed looked, the more familiar this man seemed.
“I'm sorry,” Ed said, “I don’t think I caught your name?”
The man froze in the middle of buttoning the drape, his eyes flickering up to Ed’s in the reflection of the mirror. He wasn’t sure what emotion he caught there - fear? Panic, maybe? Or was it trepidation?
Whatever it was, he didn’t have the chance to answer, when there was a voice from somewhere else in the salon that called, “I’ll be right there, Lucius! Finishing up.”
That’s when it clicked for Ed. Three hundred odd years later, and here he was, looking Lucius Spriggs in the eye in a random salon in the middle of Providence, Rhode Island.
A lot of feelings shot through him at that moment. First, confusion. How in the hell was Lucius here? Was he also immortal? How long had he been immortal? Second, dread. He’d never forgiven himself for pushing the man over the side of the ship, and it had taken him far too long to truly process the guilt from that. It was something that had hung over his head for many, many years. Third, if Lucius was here, did he recognize Ed? How did one even ask that question?
“Hi, remember me? I’m the bastard who killed you in the 1700s. Well, seems you lived after all. Congrats!”
Luckily, Ed was saved by the stylist who finally rounded the corner, drying his hands on a towel. He came in view of the mirror and the first thing Ed saw a head of golden curls, and then a face that had haunted his dreams every night since he’d lost him.
Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no.
“Thank you, Lucius,” the man wearing a ghost’s face said cheerily, before coming round the salon chair to lean against the station with his hip, addressing Ed head-on. “Hello! You must be Edward, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Stede. How are you?”
There was no way. No bloody way this was happening. All Ed had wanted was a haircut. He couldn’t answer, simply staring at the man with what was most certainly a dumbfounded expression. When he had booked his appointment, he had selected the ‘first available stylist’ option. He hadn’t even known a man named Stede worked here, much less that he wore the exact same face, hair, posture, and smile of a Stede Ed hadn’t seen since 1718.
This couldn’t be happening. Stede had died. Ed had witnessed it.
Seemingly nonplussed by Ed’s silence, Stede pulled a comb and pair of shears from his station, stepping back around the chair where Lucius still stood, the boy’s eyes flicking between the two of them like he was waiting for somebody to get stabbed.
“Lucius, you’re free to take a break,” Stede said. “Go get some lunch. I’ll probably have you wash out Julia’s color when you return, but we have thirty more minutes of processing before then.”
“Oh, thank god,” Lucius muttered under his breath, "will do. Want me to bring you anything?”
“If you’re going to Anne’s, an everything bagel, please.”
“Got it.” Lucius spared one last glance between the two before scurrying off. It was obvious now, to Ed, that even if Lucius didn’t recognize him, he knew something was off.
Stede, however, didn’t seem bothered in the slightest .
“What are we doing for you today?” he asked, already running his fingers through Ed’s curls, assessing the density and texture. The motion sent chills down Ed’s spine that he couldn’t quite suss as good or bad. Right. Ed needed to remember how to speak. Needed to roll with this, whatever it was. Maybe it was a dream. A horrific, oddly realistic dream. Or maybe it was karma, an omen sent to make his already hellish existence even more stressful.
“A trim,” he managed to say, though his voice felt foreign to his own ears.
“Oh, certainly.” Stede agreed. “How about some layers?”
Stede was different. It had been a long time, but Ed could swear his eyebrows were fuller, his lips perhaps a tad plumper. He had an American accent that was difficult to reconcile. But the more he stared, the more he was certain of two things:
One, this was definitely the very same Stede Bonnet who had irrevocably changed Ed’s life on the seas of 1717.
“Do what you think will look best, mate,” Ed said weakly.
“Layers it is,” Stede determined with a nod, and then got to work sectioning out Ed’s hair for the trim.
Two, it was clear that Stede had no idea who Ed was.
Ed wasn’t sure which piece of information stressed him out more.
__________________________________________________________
Bully me on twitter :(