Work Text:
Stede stood on the quarterdeck as The Revenge sliced through the water, leaving the English ship in their wake. Buttons had assured him that the wind was in their favor and he would do a bit of bobbing and weaving to put as much distance between them as he could that night. As Stede gazed out at the sunset sparkling atop the wide expanse of sea stretching out before him, he considered how very far he had come. How very far he was from home. Memories of all that he had left behind flashed before him. The sound of laughter around the dinner table echoed through his mind. Mary, Alma, Louis. And him. All huddled together at one end of the table, giggling as he made up silly voices for the animals on their estate.
Stede shook himself from his reverie. He couldn’t go back there now, even if he wanted to. Especially not after Nigel’s mur–not after Nigel’s unfortunate demise. Stede sighed and curled in on himself. He was probably remembering it all wrong anyway. He was never really part of the conversation, he was just an unwelcome intrusion. Mary and Alma always rolled their eyes at his silly voices, and Louis would just stare at him like he had two heads.
No, he didn’t belong in Bridgetown anymore, if he ever did in the first place. And while he had indeed come quite far already, the events of today had shown him how much further he had yet to go if he was going to succeed as a pirate captain.
He lifted his head, squared his shoulders, and took a steadying breath.
“My family’s here now. At sea.”
***
Stede had shed his overcoat and was settled on top of the capstan. The crew had gathered around below him, as had become their evening custom over the past several weeks, save for Buttons, who was manning the wheel.
“So, for tonight’s reading, we have the thrilling conclusion to…” Stede paused dramatically. “Pinocchio!” He held the book aloft and waggled it back and forth.
He was met with stony silence and even stonier glares.
Frenchie nudged Lucius in the stomach with his elbow. Hard.
“Ow, what the fuck?”
“Ask him,” Frenchie hissed.
Lucius rolled his eyes and raised his hand.
“Erm. Yes, Lucius?”
Lucius dropped his hand and sighed. “I’ve been voluntold to remind you about the vote.”
“The vote?” Stede furrowed his brow. Then his eyes widened with understanding. “Oh. The vote. Well, I suppose if you want to have a vote to mutiny, I should rather make myself scarce, shouldn’t I? Wouldn't want to interfere with the results. Though I would appreciate an opportunity to argue why—”
Lucius pinched his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Christ. No, Stede. We don’t want a vote to mutiny.”
“Not today, anyway,” Pete added hastily. “We’re leaving it open-ended.”
Stede nodded. “I see. Well then, what vote precisely are we talking about?”
“The flags!” Wee John cried, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “You promised the winner would be the official flag for The Revenge.”
Stede heaved a sigh of relief as a fond smile crept over his face. “Oh, but of course! It completely slipped my mind, what with all the…” he glanced up at the two English soldiers currently bound, gagged, and glaring at him from the mizzenmast. “All the, uh, excitement today. Do forgive me.” Stede set the book down at his side and clapped his hands together. “Right, so, we’ll have a quick round of show and tell and then we’ll commence with the voting!”
“What is show and tell?” asked Swede timidly.
“Oh! Well, it’s rather in the name, I suppose. If you have a flag you’d like for us to consider, you’ll stand up, show it to us, and tell us why your flag best represents us, the hale and hearty crew of The Revenge!”
There was some murmuring amongst the crew. Once again, Lucius raised his hand.
“They want me to tell you that they don’t want to stand up in front of everyone.”
“Ah, yes, I can understand that. Public speaking can be a bit daunting, can’t it? How about this? Why don’t you all bring me your flags and I’ll hold each one up and you can talk from wherever you’re comfortable?”
After some more murmuring and nodding, Swede was sent to the dining room to fetch the flags. He handed them to Stede and then quickly took his seat again.
“Alright,” Stede said, unfurling the first flag and holding it up so everyone could see. “Here we have…hmm, this appears to be a skull and he is, ah, vomiting buttons? A great many of them, it would seem. Whose is this?”
Wee John raised his hand.
“Wee John! What can you tell us about your flag?”
“It’s a skull vomiting buttons.”
Stede looked from the flag to Wee John and back to the flag. “Right. Anything else?”
Wee John shook his head.
“Well, the craftsmanship is exquisite.” Stede waved the flag a bit, and the buttons clicked and clacked against each other. “Quite a nice little effect!”
Stede pulled out the next flag. “Oh! Look at that! This one’s quite scary! Who is responsible for this masterpiece?”
Swede cleared his throat and blushed. “That would be me,” he said, looking bashfully at the ground.
“What can you tell us about it?” Stede asked gently.
“Well, he’s a skeleton?” Swede said. Stede nodded encouragingly. “And he’s holding his own head?”
“Yes, that is an accurate description. But I wonder, can we go deeper? Is there perhaps more going on here? Is this some kind of metaphor?” Stede asked.
“A what-a-for?” Swede asked.
“A metaphor,” Stede repeated. “You know, a symbol. What does the skeleton represent?”
“Bones?”
“Yes, and…?” Stede prodded.
“And…bones are scary? Especially when they are holding other bones?”
“That’s not scary!” Pete interjected.
Stede frowned. “Pete, please don’t interrupt. I don’t believe Swede was finished.”
“No, I’m done,” Swede said quickly, fiddling with the frayed hem of his shirt.
“Good,” Pete said, leaping to his feet. “Now, this is a scary flag.” He snatched his own flag from Stede’s lap and held it aloft. Stede craned his neck to look at it.
“Ah, I see you also went with a skull motif, Pete. And it appears one skull is eating the other?”
“Exactly,” Pete said, puffing out his chest. “No one’s gonna mess with a ship flying this flag.”
“Well, the threat of cannibalism certainly is a very, erm, spirited direction in which to take our brand. You know, Pete, given your initial reluctance, I have to say I’m quite impressed with the work you’ve produced here!” Stede beamed at him.
Pete started to smile and then quickly schooled his face into a grimace. He balled up his flag and tossed it back to Stede, where it bounced off his head and landed in his lap.
“Yeah, whatever, not like I care,” he said, returning to his seat at Lucius’s side.
“Yes, we can all see how much you don’t care,” Stede mumbled under his breath. “Okay, crew, here’s our final flag. Oh, and look at that! Quite the departure from what we’ve seen so far!” Stede frowned. “Wait a moment, didn’t we…didn’t we send this one off in the dinghy? Frenchie?”
“Oh, yeah, but I made a backup.”
“Wow! Two flags! You sure do work fast!”
“Yup,” Frenchie said. “Sew like the wind. Anyway, that’s a cat. Cats are terrifying.”
“Are they?” Stede asked.
“Yeah, because–”
“They’re witches and they’ve got knives in their feet,” everyone else in the crew spoke in unison.
“I see,” Stede nodded.
“And,” Frenchie added, raising his hand. “Don’t forget that they steal children’s breath.”
“You’re quite superstitious, aren’t you, Frenchie?”
“I wouldn’t say that, Cap’n. Just a normal amount of stitches there.”
Stede stared at him for a moment. “Well, I say they are super stitches indeed. You’re very talented.” Frenchie ducked his head and waved off the compliment as Stede folded up his flag. “Okay, so we’ve heard from Wee John, Swede, Pete, and Frenchie. But I know there were more of you in the sewing circle than that! Olu, what about your one? I seem to recall you working on something quite exciting!”
“Ah, nah, takin’ myself out of the runnin’, Captain. Flag extender was better in theory than in practice.”
“Oh, that’s a shame. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained, as I always say! And, Roach, what about you?”
Roach looked up from the cleaver he was busy sharpening. “Keeping mine and turning it into an apron.”
“How clever!”
“Yeah, that fabric really soaks up blood nicely.”
Stede blanched. “Charming.” He turned to face Jim, but before he could even ask, Jim leveled him with a steely gaze and shook their head. Stede tried not to focus on the menacing way Jim was flipping their dagger.
“Can we get on with it?” Pete huffed impatiently.
“Yes, of course. Now, we have four wonderful options here. I’ll hold up each flag again and you raise your hand for the one you like best. As the crew, this is your decision, so of course as Captain, I shall abstain.”
Pete snorted. “Of course as Captain, I shall abstain,” he mimicked. “Blackbeard would never,” he muttered under his breath.
“What was that, Pete?” Stede asked.
“Nothing.”
***
The first round of voting resulted in a tie because only the four flag makers voted, and each for their own creation. The next round also resulted in a tie. The flag makers still voted for their own, but each had wrangled another crew member to vote along with them. Wee John had raised a menacing fist in Roach’s direction and gotten his vote; Pete had whispered something in Lucius’s ear that had him grinning like the cat that got the cream and Lucius raised his hand so fast that he tweaked his shoulder; Swede had voted with Frenchie, and then promptly burst into tears when he realized that he had used up his own vote on someone else’s flag. This led to Olu offering his and Jim’s votes for Swede, if only to stop him crying. Stede thanked them for their kindness, but pointed out they’d have to all vote again anyway since that would still result in a four-way tie. This announcement led to groans and cursing and the unsheathing of weapons. Stede’s nerves couldn’t take any further violence today and he decided he needed to act quickly. He leapt down from the capstan and raised his hands to quiet the crew.
“Alright! Calm down now, that’s enough! Put those knives away. Come on, now, put them away. Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “It seems to me that here on The Revenge, we are spoiled for choice when it comes to flags! So many wonderful contenders, and each so lovingly and thoughtfully crafted!” Stede paced back and forth in front of the capstan. “Traditionally, a pirate ship only has one flag. But!” he raised a finger and then pointed at Lucius. “Lucius, what do I always say about tradition?”
“Your thought is, ‘Why? And also, what if it weren’t like that?’” Lucius recited in a monotone.
“Exactly!” he cried, with a snap of his fingers. “Therefore, I think that instead of one winner, we shall have four! Oluwande! Would you be so kind as to help me string up our four beautiful flags?”
“Sure thing, Cap.” Oluwande got to his feet and retrieved a length of rope.
“There can’t be four winners!” Pete yelled, as Stede and Olu began tying the flags to the rope. “Four winners is the same as four losers!”
Stede paused his work tying on the flags. He turned his head slowly and looked Pete in the eye. “Shall we leave yours off, then, Pete? You seem to be the only one objecting to my rather ingenious creative problem solving.”
Pete grumbled and fidgeted with his hands. “No, no, I’m not saying that. Mine has to be up there. Otherwise there’s no element of danger.”
“Wonderful!” Stede gave him a bright smile.
***
Later that evening, lanterns lit and crew snuggled into their hammocks and blankets, Stede was once again perched on the capstan. “His wish had come true! At long last, he’d become a real boy. The wooden puppet looked down at his legs. His hands. His feet! Whatever would he tell the woodsman when he came ‘round for breakfast?”
Wee John sniffled and wiped at his eyes. “Stupid poppet pulled it off!”
Stede grinned fondly as he continued to read. “‘Morning, Mr. Woodsman!’ said the wooden boy. ‘Don’t panic! I can explain everything!’” The crew chuckled sleepily at his silly wooden boy voice. Stede snapped the book closed. “Right. Lights out!”
“Can’t we just have one more?” Frenchie asked around a yawn.
“I know you love it, but you’ve got a big day tomorrow!” He knew they didn’t really have a specific agenda for tomorrow, but in Stede’s mind, every day was a big day when you were a pirate. He grabbed the lantern and started making his way towards his cabin, stepping carefully over the crew members on deck. “Night night!”
Just as he reached his cabin door, a gust of wind ruffled his hair. Stede turned and looked up. His chest swelled with pride as he watched the flags–their flags–all four of them, fluttering in the breeze under the moonlight. Perhaps, just maybe, he could make a go of this captaining thing after all.