After a successful hunt, Vane likes to watch Eleanor's face while the goods are put on record, listed out in value with numbers that make her catch his eye and promise everything, rewarding him for providing. For being an earner. She gives him the tips, he makes the play. Their system is perfect, and the sex that follows is even fucking better because of it.
If there is a more shamelessly wanton lover in Nassau than Eleanor Guthrie when her position on the island is reinforced, he hasn't met them yet.
He'd been on edge about Flint's growing influence on her, but the son of a bitch hasn't been to port in months now, and in his absence it's easy to wonder what he was so concerned about in the first place. Eleanor has already gone back to inspect the next haul, leaving Vane to stroll out of her office at his leisure, heading straight toward the bar for the mug that's waiting for him.
Nassau isn't what Angelo imagined it would be, though he isn't sure he'd be able to describe what he expected to see before he stepped off the ship. Dead bodies lying in the street, maybe, or perhaps on their way in they might've sailed past a few ships loosing cannonballs at each other. Instead, the sense of control running under the surface is almost disappointing as much as it is impressive; he knows Eleanor Guthrie has this place firmly under the heel of her shoe, but there's enough unrest here to make it seem to the pirates who frequent it like it's just as uncivilised as other people think it is.
He's keeping a low profile for now, just watching the town move as normal. Guthrie's in charge ā though nominally it's her father who makes the decisions, she's the one seeing things being done her way. It seems to have got to her head, but Angelo can't blame her for that. A little while ago, he watched her disappear into her office with a long-haired man behind her, and after asking a particularly friendly woman a little way down the bar who he was, he's decided Charles Vane might be a good place to start. Either he's Eleanor Guthrie's guard dog, or he's biding his time by kissing the hand that feeds him before he goes in for a bite. Angelo can figure that out.
"How do you know nobody put anything in that?" he asks Vane curiously, turning a little towards him. "Your drink."
He's already popped the cork and taken a swig when he hears that, so his eyes quickly narrow when he turns his head to look at Angelo beside him. There's an edge in his voice, accusatory, as he holds up the bottle.
Angelo shakes his head. "I was just wondering. It's been sitting there all this time I was here. I thought either someone might put something in it or someone might take it."
What the fuck kind of question is that, in Vane's humble opinion. He looks Angelo up and down. Not a pirate. Looks and sounds educated. And apparently hasn't been here long enough to know who he's talking to.
"Can't think of anyone stupid enough to try." He very deliberately takes another long drink, watching Angelo the whole time from the corner of his eye. Then he tilts the bottle toward him like it's a dare. "Are you?"
"I'm asking you if you were stupid enough to put something in my drink," says Vane, without batting an eyelash, "since you spend so much goddamn time thinking about it."
"Why would I put something in your drink and then make you aware that I did it?" Angelo asks politely. "Captain Vane, I'm new in town, but I'm not stupid."
"I'll be the judge of that." Since he's not actually going anywhere. The blithe impertinence is irritating, but Vane finds it more interesting that this is a... civilized person who isn't recoiling at the mere sight of him. Whether that'll be interesting enough to keep him from breaking his nose remains to be seen. "Who the hell are you?"
[ Charles Vane's quartermaster is a fucking idiot.
And what's worse, Charles Vane doesn't even see it. Jack, actually, might be the only person on this goddamn ship who can.
This man, Mr. Mills, he's been on this crew longer than Jack and Anne have. Through some freak accident of nature, everything on him is hard and chiseled but his face, puffy and round and strongly bearded in a failed attempt to cover up that fact. Last prize, he stabbed a man and kept walking before making sure he was dead, and that man went on to kill the Ranger's own Mr. Alvarez, a competent carpenter and one of the few other men on this crew who could fucking read, meaning that Jack liked him more than most of these people.
This time, he shot through three barrels of rum, spilling them all over the prize ship's deck and costing all of them money, and worst of all, the man could barely convince a starving man to fucking eat. How on Earth he managed to stumble into this position is beyond Jack's comprehension.
Vane must have backed him. Jack's been digging, looking for an in, quietly, subtly endearing himself to the men with stories, entertaining gossip, feigning interest in them, enduring the horrifying shit they said about Anne before she proved herself proper. They say the captain sailed with Mr. Mills under Edward Teach. It's a more sentimental reason than he would expect, but he certainly didn't become quartermaster on his own merit.
He's tired of waiting. At some point, he has to take a gamble, or he'll be mending sails until his dying day, which will be sooner rather than later, at this rate. Jack goes now, before he can change his mind, before the entirety of the cargo has even been relieved from the prize's hold. ]
[ Taking on Jack was always a gamble; in fact, Teach had been cautioning him against it - or rather, simply refusing to consider the worth of the matter entirely - right up until Vane and Eleanor ousted him from the island.
It had grated him raw, having his decisions as captain of his own ship questioned by the man who taught him to be one. Maybe it was only stubbornness that made him dig his heels in, secure a spot for Jack and his shadow on the crew of the Ranger when both of them were still virgin pirates. But Vane hasn't regretted it yet. Anne Bonny is quick and fearless in a fight, while Jack Rackham... has other strengths.
No man is rich who could make more by doing less. Teach said that to him one time, when Vane was a younger man, questioning why they didn't just launch themselves onto a prize and hack the crew to bits. Be smart, be sneaky; Jack seems to be of a pragmatic sort that is in short supply, and Vane likes to get his hands on rare things. Besides, Jack came to Nassau looking for him, to join his crew; at a time when he was still earning his own reputation, Jack's very presence was so incredibly god damn flattering that he was, from the very beginning, more inclined to listen to whatever came out of Jack's mouth.
Turns out, a lot of it has been worth listening to. He hadn't thought he'd ever bother to take it seriously, but Jack has a skill for manipulating situations to his advantage that Vane recognized very early on as something to be wary of. And a man he should be wary of is a man worth having on his crew, taking his orders.
That he's found himself enjoying the conversations they do have, every so often when they happen to be alone in the same place at the same time, has been enough of a bonus so far to keep him from reconsidering the investment.
He's wiping blood off his sword, sheathing it just as the other pirate approaches. ]
What's on your mind, Jack?
Edited (forgot a dang sentence) 2022-03-13 04:16 (UTC)
[ Anne had questioned it, Jack's desire to be on this crew, with this captain. Surely, any crew at all would be better than their early days pickpocketing through London, or running card schemes in Boston, or watching her kill men over pocket change in Kingston. All of the exhausting shit they had to do to get here, and he would accept no other outcome than Charles Vane and his crew.
He was Edward Teach's protege before striking out on his own. Experienced enough to trust that his captaincy won't go down in flames before he can become the person who has his ear, and young enough not to be too set in his ways before he can do so. Someone strong, but that Jack could influence, who has started making a name for himself and will be looking for something, or someone, to help him solidify it.
Of course he came looking for him. He'd be a fool to let that opportunity pass him up. Slowly, but surely, he's been making his way into Vane's good graces, communicating in more than just orders and affirmatives, building some kind of rapport, even if Jack is still half suspecting that he's only keeping him on because he and Anne are a packaged deal.
But...Jack, huh? It may be this his position with the captain is stronger than he'd thought. He chances a glance over at Mr. Mills, taking inventory of sugar barrels in a ledger Jack has not had the privilege of glancing at, but that he doesn't believe for a moment is being properly maintained. ]
[ Watching Jack as he is, he notices the glance, and only follows it enough to see where it's going. So either Jack is concerned that Mr. Mills will eavesdrop, or... the issue is with Mr. Mills himself.
And Jack brings it to him, clandestine-like. Vane doesn't love the idea of being responsible for petty squabbles among the crew, and as long as Eleanor doesn't have complaints about their prizes, he doesn't either. But once again, Jack's attention feels like flattery, and he seems earnest enough not to make Vane suspicious that this is just some roundabout attempt to blow smoke up his ass.
So he finishes wiping his sword clean, sheathes it, and then gestures for Jack to follow him.
The unloading shouldn't take much longer - most of their prize has been stripped down and the Ranger might actually be nearing her capacity with the size of this haul. He ignores the other men who part for him like water, heading straight for the captain's quarters. In fact this was one of the first places to be ransacked, stripped of the valuable things a captain keeps separate from the crew, and no one is there to kick out when they enter. Ledgers and captain's logs are taken to be perused on land by someone with more know-how and inclination, but otherwise the books have been left in disarray, ignored.
Vane shoves an empty crate aside with his boot, and then leans against the desk, facing Jack. ]
[ Jack Rackham, effete beanpole of a man, outmatched in all of the obvious, surface-level qualities that make a good pirate by a woman who serves as his shadow, is well-practiced in appearing fearless. Heās got no choice but to be, itās a poker face honed as much to advance his own position as it is to ensure survival at the most basic levels. Many think him a fool for it, and he lets them. He'll never match the Flints and the Teaches of the world on pure brawn, but he wonāt be able to wheel and deal with them either, if they catch even a whiff of fear off him.
Itās not clear yet, if Charles Vane will join their ranks as one of the giants. Maybe, if Jack can manage to turn things around here. Itās now or never, on the tail of a good haul that could have been better, while the Captainās appetite has been whetted, and the sizable bloc of Spaniards on this crew are dissatisfied. Strike now, and he can solidify himself, not just on this crew, but on that island, a real stake for he and Anne. People will know his name, standing beside Vane instead of under him.
He starts his ambitious leap forward by crouching on the ground, and picking up the mess of books littered on the floor. He speaks coolly, confidently, scanning the spines for anything interesting or useful, as much for the crewās sake as for his own downtime entertainment. Those brutes left behind a Dampier he hasnāt read yet, heāll be taking that. ]
I wanted to tell you, as a professional courtesy, that I intend to challenge Mr. Millsā position once we make landfall.
[ His plan had not gotten that far until he opened his mouth, but he canāt take it back now. Jack picks up a few more books that promise something interesting, along with a more recent and better-detailed map of the Florida coast than he believes the Ranger has in her possession, and hands that to Vane, before dropping the rest onto the desk and leaning against it with one hand, facing the Captain from his side. Forcing his eye to chase him. ]
The Spanish bloc considers him responsible for Alvarez. Thatās twenty-seven men willing to walk off this crew because it hasnāt been answered for, and thatās if Mr. Moreno doesnāt start a war on the beach over it beforehand.
[ He might be exaggerating. He might be pulling it out of his ass entirely. But Moreno and Alvarez were matelots, and Moreno is a strong member of the vanguard with a nasty temper. If itās a lie, itās got enough truth to it to be believable, and enough threat to be worth considering. Thatās the idea, at least. ]
So, a third option, which will not cripple this crew through desertion or unnecessary bloodshed, which will, in fact, strengthen it. We do away with the quartermaster too foolish to see his own men plotting his demise, too complacent to do anything but wait for leads from the Guthries, and too afraid of you to do anything but nod and roll over like a dog.
[ Jackās stare is challenging, unwavering. Determined to see this through now, the ball is rolling too far ahead of him for him to stop it now. His voice is entirely without malice, and without question, simply stating the āfactsā that Charles can accept or not. ]
Iāll have the votes without your backing, but in the interest of unity among a divided crew, I would like it.
[ Considering how much of the entertainment he pursues revolves around either fighting or fucking, Vane himself didn't expect to enjoy listening to Jack as much as he does. It hits him the same way clean water does, or that first taste of fruit, after too long at sea, like it's fulfilling some need he never notices otherwise, because what pirate considers himself starved for decent conversation?
Not that he's much of a conversationalist himself most of the time, but Jack does enough talking for the both of them, plus Anne Bonny for good measure. Vane can tell he's just like that as a person, but he's also seen Jack use it to his own advantage, particularly with his crewmates, and that's what Vane finds so interesting. Sometimes the clever way that Jack talks speeds up so fast and becomes so sharply incisive that all he needs to do is end it with a leading question to get a very bewildered sort of agreement from the man he's talking to - or, at the very least, it definitely distracts people long enough for a swift getaway.
He's seen it fail, too, because smooth talking doesn't matter much to a brick wall and some of the men on their island are equally as dense. And Jack can't seem to put aside his own cleverness any more than Vane can turn the other cheek. There's a restlessness in Jack that he recognizes as well, because he feels it himself, sees it mirrored back to him when Jack talks about setting sail. They're not just out here for the chance of treasure, or even just to stick it to England: they intend to grab life in both hands and throttle it, with all the will and determination to wring it out to the very last breath.
Someone to be wary of, indeed. Jack Rackham could do a lot of damage in the right position... provided he doesn't get in his own way first.
To the situation at hand, Vane listens without comment, though his brow furrows and it would be difficult to say immediately whether it's displeasure or disbelief. Part of it is just trying to keep things straight as Jack explains things to him, but Vane is ready to push back on several points almost immediately: their Spaniards are riled up, to be sure, but they'll calm down eventually, like they always do; for all of Mr. Mills' faults - and Charles would have to be stupid not to see them, but a good quartermaster is hard to find - they've been managing well enough to keep their business fruitful (and Eleanor's regard for him favorable); and he would love to know how Jack plans to get the votes without his support, which might sound to him like fomenting mutiny if he was a more suspicious man.
But those are gut reactions, born of a complacency that makes him ill as soon as he realizes it. They're good now, but they could be better. Much better, even, with someone as cunning as Jack looking after their interests. What would that even look like? And would it be worth the risk of dividing the crew? Because Mr. Mills isn't the only one whose ties go back to the Queen Anne's Revenge.
It's true that Charles Vane values loyalty. But a ship with ranks based on friendships over merit won't sail for long. ]
Mr. Mills has been sailing for decades.
[ Just because he knows Jack has a point, doesn't mean he's going to make it easy. Vane tucks the rolled map under one arm as he folds them across his chest, meeting that challenging stare and holding it with his own. ]
What makes you think you could step up and do better?
[ Charles Vane is smarter than people give him credit for. Smarter than Jack gave him credit for, at first, when he wasnāt sure if the captain actually saw his value or was just whipped into a frenzy by his sweet-talking. If he was unsure of that when he walked in here, he isnāt now, not when he could dismiss Jack, threaten him, even run him through for turning the heat up on a potential mutiny. But heās listening. Heās smart enough to consider that Jack could have value at his side, but whether heās smart enough to utilize him properly will be decided in the next few moments.
He shrugs and tilts his head in acknowledgement, as if heās granting Vane a leg to stand on that they both know isnāt his to grant. ]
He has. And itās made him comfortable. Heās slipping, and itās not just myself and the Spaniards who can see it. If he had the grip over the men that heās supposed to, you would be hearing about this mess from him. Heās so comfortable, heās telling the men that the two of you agree on nearly everything. No challenges, no improvements, just smooth sailing.
[ Jack spits those words out with a mean disdain that heās gambling the captain will share. Why shouldnāt he? If he wanted to take the easy path to steady profit with no resistance, he should have studied under the brothel owner, Noonan, instead of Edward Teach. The tilt in his eyebrows suggests that heāll be different, that they could be different. If Mills thinks the same way that Vane does, heās not an asset, heās a redundancy. One that spills perfectly good rum all over the deck because heās a bad shot. ]
Mills is experienced, though, youāre right about that. Heās a fine quartermaster, and weāre taking decent hauls, despite some avoidable injury payments, as of late. But if I can be frank, I donāt believe those men should have to risk their necks every day for fine, and I, for one, want to be more than fucking decent. Donāt you?
[ Vane isn't an idiot, but he's not the best poker player because his tell is easy to catch, the way his eyes narrow as Jack talks about Mr. Mills speaking on behalf of the captain.
No one speaks on his behalf. Vane delivers his messages himself, whether good or bad.
He's so close to saying yes, just agreeing with everything Jack is saying that is absolutely fucking correct and true, that he's the first one to break the challenging stare just so he can give it some actual thought. Because Jack is right, on all counts to which Vane himself can attest, and it's not like anyone else is standing here, laying everything all out with plans to correct it. In fact, he knows there are some men on the crew who wouldn't think twice about fair or decent for the rest of their thieving lives. Maybe even the majority of them. Except Jack is talking about the kind of improvements that would make things easier in ways they don't even realize, simply because they've never known any different.
But how fast is Jack Rackham's star rising, exactly? If he has the votes to outbalance even Vane's opinion on the situation, then maybe it's only a matter of time before he sets his sights higher. And what does that mean for Vane himself in the meantime, suddenly seeing entire horizons opening up before him with Jack's support that he had scarcely envisioned before?
Finally he looks over at Jack again, brow furrowed. ]
Show me you have the votes, and I'll back your play.
[ Word given, he's honor-bound to uphold it now. But Jack is still new to the crew, still an other in ways he'll have to work hard to surmount. And Mills has allies of his own. Hard not to wonder if Jack is overplaying his hand, and how much. ]
But if you fracture my crew, then both you and your shadow will be mending sails on the streets. Is that understood?
All of the Spaniards, Smith the carpenter, Smith the cook, Barnes, Ryan, Burr, Sager, Baker, Yoder, Crouch, and Wright for sure. And Anne, of course. I can have ten more by supper.
[ He doesn't quite have all of them. He doesn't officially have any of them, given that he's inventing this plan on the spot, but he sounds confident about it. He looks confident, his eyes lively and not leaving Vane's for a second. Those men he knows for sure he can get, because he pays attention to every one of them, finding out what grievances he can exploit, what they value, what they need to hear to come around to his side. Jack can make this work.
If there's anything to worry about, it's Anne, who would much rather spend the evening after a fight drinking and fucking than indulging his politicking. Sorry, darling... ]
It's already fractured. Let me put it back together for you, Charles, before it snaps clean.
[ He musters up a smirk, as if this is old hat to him, deposing quartermasters who are holding good captains back from becoming great. But, he doesn't linger enough to look any cockier than he already does. He's got a lot of work to do. ]
[Nassau is a remarkable place; one where the strangest of people, the most mixed and strange backgrounds can show up, establish themselves, and make a life. Daphne is no different. She's been in Nassau for almost a year, having established herself as the kind of negotiator for crews that aren't as fortunate as Flint and Vane's, acting as a go-between from crew to crew or between the crews and the Guthries, a neutral third party who is still a bit of a mystery.
No one knows where she came from. No one knows how she got to Nassau. She keeps everything about herself under tight wraps, behind a brilliant smile.
She's in her office, the heat getting to her, so she looks vaguely annoyed as she's writing something.]
[ Turns out that taking Jack Rackham and Anne Bonny onto the crew of the Ranger might have been one of the best decisions he ever made.
Both of them pull their weight, which is important enough to begin with. But once Jack was given the opportunity to flex his mind instead of his muscles, it seemed like nothing could stop them. Vane doesn't have much to do with Anne, which seems to be how she likes it and suits him fine as well, but the more he engages with Jack, the more he feels like a blade being struck with a whetstone, honed to a razor edge - and Jack is gaining a sharper edge of his own.
Vane keeps him out of the vanguard, and the more miracles Jack works with his position as quartermaster, the more freedom Vane gives him to do it. It's astounding, how quickly Jack learned to anticipate him and in what ways; often all he has to do is put a thought in front of Jack, and in minutes all the useless fat has been shaved away, leaving only the prime cut, the battle plan, the right stuff. And in return, he's the one who keeps Jack from getting so carried away by ambition that he loses sight of the more immediate goal.
Because Jack has ambitions. Oh yes. And real ambition is tough to contain; it's catching, easily addictive, and the higher they climb together the higher they both want to go.
It's a moonless night when they stop in Tortuga to bring on fresh water, and he gives some of the men permission to go ashore while the rest stay behind to guard the spoils in their hold. The prize they've taken on this voyage is substantial; some of the older crewmates are talking about retirement on the funds they've gathered over the last few years, while the younger and fiercer men call them fools for backing out when there's still so much to be taken out there. Vane doesn't begrudge the old-timers their readiness to give up the life, but he's planted firmly in the second camp himself.
Vane watches the faint ripples of the light from the port in the water, shaping out the silhouette of his men rowing toward the docks, and draws a deep breath inward. He feels unstoppable. And so much the better because Eleanor had been in a hellish mood when he'd left, accusing him of talking down to her and treating her like a little girl who doesn't know anything (which isn't true most of the time, but sometimes it is, and how is that his fault exactly), which only makes him want to remind her just how valuable he is to her on that island. No chance she manages to turn her nose up at this haul. Maybe he'll see if Jack thinks he ought to negotiate--
As if summoned by the thought of him, Jack emerges from the hold, lamp in one hand. Already losing interest in the problems he left in Nassau, he calls Jack over to join him by the side. ]
Oh, no, not tonight. They're content, they don't need me minding them while they chase whores.
[ Being quartermaster to a crew filled with the rowdiest, nastiest shits in the New World is a 24/7 kind of job, not just managing them, but managing Charles, chasing leads, convincing Eleanor Guthrie not to fuck them when she and their dear captain are on the outs, pretending to care about every man's nonsense opinions and petty complaints, not to mention the physical labor of piracy, the hauling and the heaving and the violence. He's proven his worth to the point where he's stopped getting shit for not being cut out for the vanguard, but there are still all-hands situations, even for a crew boldly booming in notoriety, such as this one.
It's hard work. But so much more rewarding than mending sails. Last time they stopped in Tortuga, the man next seat over at the tavern knew his name.
Captain Vane's man, aren't you?
Jack's half tempted to go to shore, see if he can find that man, if he'd say anything more flattering than that after a few more high-earning months. Still, it was something, and something's more than he had when he and Anne crawled onto the shore of Nassau like drowned rats, barely a year ago now. ]
I'm looking forward to a quiet night, actually. It'll be the first since the fucking storm season.
[ Now that he's double checked that the cargo matches the manifests of the prize ships they took, tallied it up, calculated the shares, and thrilled Smith (the cook) with the number, Jack can finally emerge from the hold and enjoy some quiet and cool air. And Charles' company, while unexpected, doesn't hurt. Jack joined this crew looking at Charles Vane like a stepping stone, one that he would eventually outgrow and overtake, but as his quartermaster, he's come to see him differently. They work well together, have complimentary strengths, and can share a drink and a laugh together.
And every so often...a look. On occasion, Jack finds himself watching Charles for no conceivable reason, not doing anything in particular. Watching his body shine with sun and sweat as he stomps shirtless through Nassau, or his hands as he sharpens his blades, or the red in his face after they've reached the bottom of a bottle and have spent longer than they thought talking shit about other crews.
Nothing long. Nothing that lingers enough for their eyes to meet longer than a split second, nothing that he even thinks about afterwards. Just looks. Sometimes. ]
Thought for sure you would. No reason not to celebrate, after the haul we've got down there.
[ Part of him knows that Jack will outgrow him one day. Vane himself outgrew Edward Teach, and that certainly wasn't for a lack of capability, or even loyalty. Of course Jack will want to be a captain of his own ship, sooner or later, and it will mean leaving Vane's crew behind to do it. He didn't take Jack on to have a permanent errand boy running his books for him.
The trouble is that it's getting harder to imagine running any kind of worthy ship without Jack. And if not harder, then certainly more unpleasant.
It's such a dark night that for a moment, looking away from the port, all Vane can see of Jack's face is what's illuminated by the lamp he's carrying. It makes the pointed sideburns he styles for himself look darker and deeper. It occurs to him, very clearly, that he'd rather enjoy Jack's company tonight than anyone else's. So he straightens up, turning toward the other man and giving a tilt of his head in the direction of the captain's cabin. ]
In fact, I'm gonna have a drink. [ Translation: several drinks. He raises a pointed eyebrow, like it's a challenge. ] Would you care to join me?
[ Yeah, he doesn't need that translated. One drink turns to several and before long, the bottle's empty and he's got to find his way back to Anne before he says something stupid, something vulnerable. Tonight, she's made her way to shore to buy herself a nice new set of short swords, after one of them broke gutting a Dutch mercenary.
She's not particular about a lot of things, but her blades is one of them. Won't be back for hours, and that's if she doesn't find a room in town. ]
Sure. [ Not as quiet as his original plan, a bit of reading and an early night, but a hell of a lot more relaxing than breaking up barfights. ] The captain of the Keeper have anything good stashed away?
[ Although he recognizes the manufacturer seals on plenty of different liquor stores, it'll help to have Jack identify further which ones are worth popping open to enjoy tonight. Captain gets first pick, obviously, but the rest will still go to the men to be distributed. One of the non-monetary perks of being a pirate - not everything has to be sold to the Guthries.
There are no books in the captain's cabin of the Ranger, but that doesn't mean it's bare of all personality. The desk is cluttered with maps, including the Florida coastline that Jack had foisted upon him that day he spoke to him about Mr. Mills. Spare weapons hang from one wall, with several others hidden out of sight, and the bed is well-cushioned by brightly-colored pillows and blankets stolen from textile traders over the years, because Charles Vane may be a savage sort of pirate but that doesn't mean he doesn't relish certain creature comforts.
Several crates have been stacked somewhat haphazardly along the wall behind the door: straw poking out from two of them indicates something fragile, and beneath those is a chest containing the last captain's belongings. Vane hasn't bothered with any of it yet, but this time he goes right to the first crate and pries the top off with a solid crack.
Cushioned by the hay are four tall amber bottles. Vane pops the cork on one, and takes a whiff. ]
Irish whiskey. [ Oh, fuck yes. Immediately he passes a bottle to Jack, and takes another one for himself. ] If this isn't getting harder and harder to find.
[ Jackās no stranger to the captainās cabin, obviously. Itās where most of their strategizing and plenty of their drinking takes place, but itās quieter tonight, without the dull roar of the men and the rocking of the open sea. Heās not sure if heās spent much time at all here, while at port. He usually spends this time with Anne.
He takes it upon himself to light some candles, brighten things up a bit so he can get an eye on the labels. Itās as Charles said, as if the scent wasnāt enough. ]
Fantastic. Whenās the last time we found any good liquor in one of these cabins?
[ Heās not a straight from the bottle type, typically, a glass is just more convenient when heās a man prone to dramatics and gesticulation, but Charles brings it out of him. Whether itās a matching of energy, or he really is changing into something more feral as a result of his influence, he doesnāt know, and isnāt examining. ]
[ An excellent toast, but he feels it's important to add one thing. ]
And a thriving partnership.
[ He takes a heavy swallow, and the whiskey sears his throat but still manages to go down as smooth as melted butter. When he swallows and exhales, he half-expects to see a puff of smoke come out of his mouth. Phwoar. ]
Let's see what else the poor bastard socked away. [ He takes another drink, and then sets the bottle down so he can move the second crate to the floor and pry it open. ] Looks like wine. A man with expensive tastes.
[ A thriving partnership. It shouldn't thrill him so much to hear Charles say it. It's the truth. But it's just the two of them out here, no terms to negotiate or crew to convince, no theatre and no posturing. He's saying it right to him, which makes it true. He knows the man well enough by now to know he's not the sort to issue undue praise.
It makes him smile. It shouldn't matter so much, but it's been a long road to get to this point, barely scraping by amidst all manner of humiliation and ridicule, that it feels good for it to be acknowledged. For Charles to acknowledge it. ]
That's the one.
[ Jack plucks a bottle of wine from the barrel and sits on the edge of Charles' desk, holding it closer to the light to read the label. This is good stuff. Expensive enough that he'd be foolish to drink it now instead of sell it to the Guthries, but...fuck it, they're celebrating, aren't they? Jack's never had the means to have expensive tastes, but now that he's a proper pirate, he's just got to reach out and take it.
So he does. He uncorks the bottle and has a deep swig of it, right there on the captain's desk, without another thought. ]
Jesus. This'll put you under the table.
[ Which Jack, clearly, is unbothered by, because he's drinking more. ]
[ Shooting a glance over at him, Vane just snorts in amusement to think that Jack's going to be on his ass sooner than later if that's the stuff, but who gives a shit when it's a party (sort of)? There looks to be several bottles packed very snugly into the hay, so they might still be able to get a decent payment for the vintage if they don't drown themselves in money tonight.
Which, again. It's a party.
It takes some grunt work to break the lock off of the chest that was underneath the two crates, but he pries at it with a dagger until eventually the metal latch and the blade both snap. Fuck, but oh well. He tosses the broken hilt aside and kicks the lid open, revealing the late captain's personal effects: a bundle of papers, which he shoves aside; several books, which he collects and dumps unceremoniously in the direction of Jack's feet, since Jack is the only one who ever makes noises about keeping books; an old compass; a spare clock, and a spare tricorne hat.
Vane straightens up with his bottle in one hand and the hat in the other, tossing the latter at Jack's chest. ]
Look at this - I wonder if you wouldn't have found our dearly departed prize captain to be a kindred spirit, in another life.
[ Jack has a laugh at him right back, watching him break his blade in two just to get at some sentimental knick-knacks and a damn hat. It is a nice hat, though, he realizes, taking a good look at it ā a sturdy felt, attractive lace pattern, well-crafted from what he can tell in the candlelight ā makes sense that it was tucked away, instead of worn while the man was being boarded by pirates. He puts it right on his head, and drinks from the bottle in his hand again, before he sets it down next to him on the desk. ]
The late Captain...Gibson? [ Or was it Gibbons? He's usually good with names, and this was his damn lead in the first place...itās been a long day. ] I donāt think so. Just because he could afford fine things, doesnāt mean he knew what to do with them. Those books have hardly been touched.
[ Spines straight as the day they were bound, pages uncreased and pristine. He's not sure what he could have possibly been saving them for, with so many long nights at sea. Likely just trying to appear smarter than he was, based on his questionable tactics, in trying to evade them. ]
Youāve seen my kindred spirit, in any case. An enlightened back and forth is hardly something I require.
[ Anne challenges him in other ways. As does Charles, now that heās looking at him and thinking about it. ]
Maybe he was hoping to make a grand entrance at Charles Town.
[ Hilarious! Because he's dead now, obviously. ]
At least his hat will have a chance to impress people.
[ As long as Jack's wearing it, anyway, which Vane toasts with the briefest lift of his bottle in Jack's direction before taking another enthusiastic swig from it. This one makes his eyes water a little. Another breath that should have smoke in it.
He doesn't know what, exactly, binds Jack and Anne to each other, except that Anne seems to have as much to prove as Jack does, so he's always assumed that kindred spirits was more or less the whole of it. Vane sighs dramatically, bringing his whiskey bottle around the desk to lounge in his captain's chair. ]
Must be nice to have a kindred spirit who's not a risk for biting your bloody tongue off. [ He pauses, giving Jack a look of obvious consideration. ] Unless I've underestimated how rough you two like to play.
[ It strikes him as odd, that it would be more impressive on his head than the late Captain's. But if he's not even wearing it... ]
Thought about it, have you?
[ Why on earth Charles would have any estimation at all about he and Anne's sex life is beyond him. But, she is the only woman in sight for weeks at a time sometimes, maybe it's natural to wonder. ]
I'm sure you can guess, from what you know of her. [ They're...adventurous. Although Anne being the rougher of the two of them does translate over, Jack's into it. ] She won't wreck my tongue, at least, she knows that's where most of my talents lay.
[ It's said like a challenge, although it came out like an instinct; he doesn't know what he'd be challenging Jack about right now or why. It's not like he's got any interest in Anne, who probably keeps a snare trap in her cunt. No thank you. He takes another drink. ]
Suppose you've got her trained well enough. Otherwise you wouldn't have lasted this long.
[ That's not just an assumption, it's a fact. If either one of them had given him genuine problems, he'd have obliged their attachment to each other and tossed them both overboard. Now it'd be a shame to lose either one. ]
But you take it from me, Jack - there's no telling when a woman's moods will change, or why. You just pray she doesn't realize one day that she likes the taste of your blood.
[ As much as it might seem that way, the way she follows him wherever he goes, carries out his plans, and goes for the throat like nobody else. Still, the idea that he could train her - that he could force her - to do anything, is patently ridiculous. Anne's never learned a damn thing from him that she didn't want to, and certain things she surpassed him in, quickly and easily. ]
Perhaps you've got rotten taste in women. Have you ever considered that?
[ Not that he's in any position to discourage him from staying friendly with the lady Guthrie, but...he's seen how Charles gets when it isn't so friendly. It make him itch, somewhere inside that he can't quite point to. Watching them from the outside, it's clear that she draws blood more than he does. It's not like that with he and Anne, they don't scratch at each other just for the damn sake of it. ]
[ The traces of an early-drunk smile drop off of his face, and for a moment Vane might well look like he's going to take that personally. It's one thing for him to complain about Eleanor, he's earned the right. Listening to other people complain about her pleases him less.
But... eh. Eleanor was being a hellcat when he left, and he'd rather have Jack stick around and help him finish these bottles. So he takes a deep breath and another drink, gesturing toward the sack carrying his own belongings hanging from a hook on the wall. ]
Fetch my tobacco.
[ His tobacco case is made of brass, not particularly fancy but polished to a fine shine with use and very sturdy. Vane leans forward and sets the bottle down on the desk; they're anchored close enough to shore that the gentle swaying of the boat can scarcely be felt. ]
[ Jack feels, personally, that he's proved his value more than enough to be considered above being ordered to fetch things because Charles can't be assed to get up, but the drinking's made him amenable. His only protest is a brief roll of his eyes, before he has another drink and starts rifling through the captain's things. ]
Nothing but whores until Eleanor Guthrie?
[ It might sound judgmental, but only because of some lingering defensiveness over Anne. Jack himself, had never been involved in anything serious before her. A few girls from dance halls he'd managed to sweet talk into bed, or a couple dates. He was barely more than a boy when he met her, anyhow.
Holding out the tobacco case for Charles, he remembers someone he hasn't thought about in years - an officer in his Navy days that used to look at him in a way he couldn't quite describe, but he inexplicably liked. A couple of tense, too-close interactions where nothing actually happened, but there was a sense that something might. Who knows what, exactly. Lieutenant West.
Why that name crosses his mind again after so long, right now, with his eyes studying Charles and his hand gripping a bottle is anyone's guess, really. ]
[ If he'd been willing, a few minutes ago, to admit that he'd been having certain considerations about Jack, he's not now; a man so loyal as to bristle over some light ribbing about the nature of feral women is a man too loyal for... other things. Things that Vane himself doesn't often indulge, any more than he visits the whores on the island while Eleanor's bed is open to him.
It's respectable, if extremely inconvenient for reasons he is not willing to examine closely.
He takes the case from Jack and pops it open in front of him so he can roll a cigarette. Normally he's judicious with this particular tobacco-hemp blend at sea, but the money they'll bring in from this haul will let him replenish his stock for a good while ahead, and smoking while drinking is more fun than doing either one alone. ]
Not everyone's as lucky as you, Jack.
[ It's definitely said with a scornful bite in it, mirrored in the way his eyes narrow at the other man for a moment. But then he finishes rolling the cigarette, and offers it to Jack first. ]
No lovers stay happy forever. But I will acknowledge it's worth it to find one who makes you better than you are.
[ Oh, doesnāt he know it. Jack must be the luckiest pirate in the New World, not just for the scraps of affection he manages to wrangle from Anne, but for the honor of her loyalty and companionship, to get to grow alongside her and adapt to make up for the things she lacks, and watch her do the same. Without each other, they wouldnāt have made it...and Jack looks down, at the bottle in his hand, realizing with a sullen expression that just how unique that is, among their kind, to have someone you can rely on unconditionally. Even if they werenāt lovers, Jack is sure that he and Anne would have the strongest bond on the beach.
Of course Charles would say it canāt last. Heās never truly known it. If the most love heās ever felt is from Eleanor Guthrie, then...God help this man.
But heās not deep enough in his bottle to get sentimental about it. Although, he is working on it, chipping away at an ill-advised pace, drinking again before setting it down and picking up the candle to light the cigarette heās placed between his lips. He takes a deep drag from it, and exhales slow, handing it back over. ]
Well, Iāve done that. If you can find me with a cunt out there, youāll be all set, wonāt you?
[ Even now, Vane can't imagine doing better than Eleanor. Surely there is better woman than her, or at least not better for him, nearly matching him for ruthlessness, never flinching away from his temper (although more often than not, she's the one to rile it).
But he doesn't see the future so well. Never looked that far ahead. Charles Vane lives in pursuit of instant gratification, like most pirates who know that any day on the treacherous sea could be the last. The only plans he makes serve immediate goals - usually some form of take that ship - and he has no patience for any sort of diplomacy more complicated than give me what I want or I'll kill you.
He has Jack for that.
Jack is the planner, the schemer, the one who knows when to say don't do this now so that you may do that later, and more often than not he's exactly right. Of course Vane still weighs the delayed reward against the expedient one, and sometimes it's simply not worth the trade in his eyes, but he'd never even consider them without Jack standing beside him. Ever the voice of reason.
He weighs it now, taking a long pull of his own, regarding Jack through the tendrils of smoke. ]
[ Thatās a strange response to an obvious joke. So strange that Jack doesnāt even have a witty retort for it, just a wide-eyed look, like if he opens them more, he might be able to see something heās missing. Something in the way Charles holds himself, in the way he looks at him, that tells him that he really did just hear what he thought he heard.
Heās used to that look from Charles, the one heās getting now. Somewhere between challenging and fond, like heās interested to see if Jack has what it takes for whatās to come next. Not in the disparaging, degrading way that Teach looked at him when he first joined the crew of the Ranger, but in a way that pushes him to be better, invites him to earn his respect, and lately, his friendship. And now...what?
Jack takes another drink, purely buying time. ]
Sorry, standing in your way of what, exactly?
[ Maybe if he were to cool it with the drinking, he could laugh it off or twist it into something else, but itās the best he can do. ]
Maybe he should take pity on him. It's not often that Jack is out of his depth, and Vane has made it a point to try not to alienate him any more than he alienates himself by virtue of his own nature. Vane considers it through another drag, before finally offering the cigarette back to Jack, without taking his eyes off him.
If Jack can pick up on just a touch of amusement, it's definitely there. ]
Of whatever it is you think I'd do if I found you with a cunt out there somewhere.
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the smell of the money my strangest addiction -
If there is a more shamelessly wanton lover in Nassau than Eleanor Guthrie when her position on the island is reinforced, he hasn't met them yet.
He'd been on edge about Flint's growing influence on her, but the son of a bitch hasn't been to port in months now, and in his absence it's easy to wonder what he was so concerned about in the first place. Eleanor has already gone back to inspect the next haul, leaving Vane to stroll out of her office at his leisure, heading straight toward the bar for the mug that's waiting for him.
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He's keeping a low profile for now, just watching the town move as normal. Guthrie's in charge ā though nominally it's her father who makes the decisions, she's the one seeing things being done her way. It seems to have got to her head, but Angelo can't blame her for that. A little while ago, he watched her disappear into her office with a long-haired man behind her, and after asking a particularly friendly woman a little way down the bar who he was, he's decided Charles Vane might be a good place to start. Either he's Eleanor Guthrie's guard dog, or he's biding his time by kissing the hand that feeds him before he goes in for a bite. Angelo can figure that out.
"How do you know nobody put anything in that?" he asks Vane curiously, turning a little towards him. "Your drink."
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"Did you see somebody put something in this?"
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"Can't think of anyone stupid enough to try." He very deliberately takes another long drink, watching Angelo the whole time from the corner of his eye. Then he tilts the bottle toward him like it's a dare. "Are you?"
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@chaz, back in the day...
And what's worse, Charles Vane doesn't even see it. Jack, actually, might be the only person on this goddamn ship who can.
This man, Mr. Mills, he's been on this crew longer than Jack and Anne have. Through some freak accident of nature, everything on him is hard and chiseled but his face, puffy and round and strongly bearded in a failed attempt to cover up that fact. Last prize, he stabbed a man and kept walking before making sure he was dead, and that man went on to kill the Ranger's own Mr. Alvarez, a competent carpenter and one of the few other men on this crew who could fucking read, meaning that Jack liked him more than most of these people.
This time, he shot through three barrels of rum, spilling them all over the prize ship's deck and costing all of them money, and worst of all, the man could barely convince a starving man to fucking eat. How on Earth he managed to stumble into this position is beyond Jack's comprehension.
Vane must have backed him. Jack's been digging, looking for an in, quietly, subtly endearing himself to the men with stories, entertaining gossip, feigning interest in them, enduring the horrifying shit they said about Anne before she proved herself proper. They say the captain sailed with Mr. Mills under Edward Teach. It's a more sentimental reason than he would expect, but he certainly didn't become quartermaster on his own merit.
He's tired of waiting. At some point, he has to take a gamble, or he'll be mending sails until his dying day, which will be sooner rather than later, at this rate. Jack goes now, before he can change his mind, before the entirety of the cargo has even been relieved from the prize's hold. ]
Captain. A word, please?
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It had grated him raw, having his decisions as captain of his own ship questioned by the man who taught him to be one. Maybe it was only stubbornness that made him dig his heels in, secure a spot for Jack and his shadow on the crew of the Ranger when both of them were still virgin pirates. But Vane hasn't regretted it yet. Anne Bonny is quick and fearless in a fight, while Jack Rackham... has other strengths.
No man is rich who could make more by doing less. Teach said that to him one time, when Vane was a younger man, questioning why they didn't just launch themselves onto a prize and hack the crew to bits. Be smart, be sneaky; Jack seems to be of a pragmatic sort that is in short supply, and Vane likes to get his hands on rare things. Besides, Jack came to Nassau looking for him, to join his crew; at a time when he was still earning his own reputation, Jack's very presence was so incredibly god damn flattering that he was, from the very beginning, more inclined to listen to whatever came out of Jack's mouth.
Turns out, a lot of it has been worth listening to. He hadn't thought he'd ever bother to take it seriously, but Jack has a skill for manipulating situations to his advantage that Vane recognized very early on as something to be wary of. And a man he should be wary of is a man worth having on his crew, taking his orders.
That he's found himself enjoying the conversations they do have, every so often when they happen to be alone in the same place at the same time, has been enough of a bonus so far to keep him from reconsidering the investment.
He's wiping blood off his sword, sheathing it just as the other pirate approaches. ]
What's on your mind, Jack?
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He was Edward Teach's protege before striking out on his own. Experienced enough to trust that his captaincy won't go down in flames before he can become the person who has his ear, and young enough not to be too set in his ways before he can do so. Someone strong, but that Jack could influence, who has started making a name for himself and will be looking for something, or someone, to help him solidify it.
Of course he came looking for him. He'd be a fool to let that opportunity pass him up. Slowly, but surely, he's been making his way into Vane's good graces, communicating in more than just orders and affirmatives, building some kind of rapport, even if Jack is still half suspecting that he's only keeping him on because he and Anne are a packaged deal.
But...Jack, huh? It may be this his position with the captain is stronger than he'd thought. He chances a glance over at Mr. Mills, taking inventory of sugar barrels in a ledger Jack has not had the privilege of glancing at, but that he doesn't believe for a moment is being properly maintained. ]
...privately, if you don't mind.
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And Jack brings it to him, clandestine-like. Vane doesn't love the idea of being responsible for petty squabbles among the crew, and as long as Eleanor doesn't have complaints about their prizes, he doesn't either. But once again, Jack's attention feels like flattery, and he seems earnest enough not to make Vane suspicious that this is just some roundabout attempt to blow smoke up his ass.
So he finishes wiping his sword clean, sheathes it, and then gestures for Jack to follow him.
The unloading shouldn't take much longer - most of their prize has been stripped down and the Ranger might actually be nearing her capacity with the size of this haul. He ignores the other men who part for him like water, heading straight for the captain's quarters. In fact this was one of the first places to be ransacked, stripped of the valuable things a captain keeps separate from the crew, and no one is there to kick out when they enter. Ledgers and captain's logs are taken to be perused on land by someone with more know-how and inclination, but otherwise the books have been left in disarray, ignored.
Vane shoves an empty crate aside with his boot, and then leans against the desk, facing Jack. ]
Private enough?
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[ Jack Rackham, effete beanpole of a man, outmatched in all of the obvious, surface-level qualities that make a good pirate by a woman who serves as his shadow, is well-practiced in appearing fearless. Heās got no choice but to be, itās a poker face honed as much to advance his own position as it is to ensure survival at the most basic levels. Many think him a fool for it, and he lets them. He'll never match the Flints and the Teaches of the world on pure brawn, but he wonāt be able to wheel and deal with them either, if they catch even a whiff of fear off him.
Itās not clear yet, if Charles Vane will join their ranks as one of the giants. Maybe, if Jack can manage to turn things around here. Itās now or never, on the tail of a good haul that could have been better, while the Captainās appetite has been whetted, and the sizable bloc of Spaniards on this crew are dissatisfied. Strike now, and he can solidify himself, not just on this crew, but on that island, a real stake for he and Anne. People will know his name, standing beside Vane instead of under him.
He starts his ambitious leap forward by crouching on the ground, and picking up the mess of books littered on the floor. He speaks coolly, confidently, scanning the spines for anything interesting or useful, as much for the crewās sake as for his own downtime entertainment. Those brutes left behind a Dampier he hasnāt read yet, heāll be taking that. ]
I wanted to tell you, as a professional courtesy, that I intend to challenge Mr. Millsā position once we make landfall.
[ His plan had not gotten that far until he opened his mouth, but he canāt take it back now. Jack picks up a few more books that promise something interesting, along with a more recent and better-detailed map of the Florida coast than he believes the Ranger has in her possession, and hands that to Vane, before dropping the rest onto the desk and leaning against it with one hand, facing the Captain from his side. Forcing his eye to chase him. ]
The Spanish bloc considers him responsible for Alvarez. Thatās twenty-seven men willing to walk off this crew because it hasnāt been answered for, and thatās if Mr. Moreno doesnāt start a war on the beach over it beforehand.
[ He might be exaggerating. He might be pulling it out of his ass entirely. But Moreno and Alvarez were matelots, and Moreno is a strong member of the vanguard with a nasty temper. If itās a lie, itās got enough truth to it to be believable, and enough threat to be worth considering. Thatās the idea, at least. ]
So, a third option, which will not cripple this crew through desertion or unnecessary bloodshed, which will, in fact, strengthen it. We do away with the quartermaster too foolish to see his own men plotting his demise, too complacent to do anything but wait for leads from the Guthries, and too afraid of you to do anything but nod and roll over like a dog.
[ Jackās stare is challenging, unwavering. Determined to see this through now, the ball is rolling too far ahead of him for him to stop it now. His voice is entirely without malice, and without question, simply stating the āfactsā that Charles can accept or not. ]
Iāll have the votes without your backing, but in the interest of unity among a divided crew, I would like it.
[ Jack does not have the votes. But he will. ]
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Not that he's much of a conversationalist himself most of the time, but Jack does enough talking for the both of them, plus Anne Bonny for good measure. Vane can tell he's just like that as a person, but he's also seen Jack use it to his own advantage, particularly with his crewmates, and that's what Vane finds so interesting. Sometimes the clever way that Jack talks speeds up so fast and becomes so sharply incisive that all he needs to do is end it with a leading question to get a very bewildered sort of agreement from the man he's talking to - or, at the very least, it definitely distracts people long enough for a swift getaway.
He's seen it fail, too, because smooth talking doesn't matter much to a brick wall and some of the men on their island are equally as dense. And Jack can't seem to put aside his own cleverness any more than Vane can turn the other cheek. There's a restlessness in Jack that he recognizes as well, because he feels it himself, sees it mirrored back to him when Jack talks about setting sail. They're not just out here for the chance of treasure, or even just to stick it to England: they intend to grab life in both hands and throttle it, with all the will and determination to wring it out to the very last breath.
Someone to be wary of, indeed. Jack Rackham could do a lot of damage in the right position... provided he doesn't get in his own way first.
To the situation at hand, Vane listens without comment, though his brow furrows and it would be difficult to say immediately whether it's displeasure or disbelief. Part of it is just trying to keep things straight as Jack explains things to him, but Vane is ready to push back on several points almost immediately: their Spaniards are riled up, to be sure, but they'll calm down eventually, like they always do; for all of Mr. Mills' faults - and Charles would have to be stupid not to see them, but a good quartermaster is hard to find - they've been managing well enough to keep their business fruitful (and Eleanor's regard for him favorable); and he would love to know how Jack plans to get the votes without his support, which might sound to him like fomenting mutiny if he was a more suspicious man.
But those are gut reactions, born of a complacency that makes him ill as soon as he realizes it. They're good now, but they could be better. Much better, even, with someone as cunning as Jack looking after their interests. What would that even look like? And would it be worth the risk of dividing the crew? Because Mr. Mills isn't the only one whose ties go back to the Queen Anne's Revenge.
It's true that Charles Vane values loyalty. But a ship with ranks based on friendships over merit won't sail for long. ]
Mr. Mills has been sailing for decades.
[ Just because he knows Jack has a point, doesn't mean he's going to make it easy. Vane tucks the rolled map under one arm as he folds them across his chest, meeting that challenging stare and holding it with his own. ]
What makes you think you could step up and do better?
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He shrugs and tilts his head in acknowledgement, as if heās granting Vane a leg to stand on that they both know isnāt his to grant. ]
He has. And itās made him comfortable. Heās slipping, and itās not just myself and the Spaniards who can see it. If he had the grip over the men that heās supposed to, you would be hearing about this mess from him. Heās so comfortable, heās telling the men that the two of you agree on nearly everything. No challenges, no improvements, just smooth sailing.
[ Jack spits those words out with a mean disdain that heās gambling the captain will share. Why shouldnāt he? If he wanted to take the easy path to steady profit with no resistance, he should have studied under the brothel owner, Noonan, instead of Edward Teach. The tilt in his eyebrows suggests that heāll be different, that they could be different. If Mills thinks the same way that Vane does, heās not an asset, heās a redundancy. One that spills perfectly good rum all over the deck because heās a bad shot. ]
Mills is experienced, though, youāre right about that. Heās a fine quartermaster, and weāre taking decent hauls, despite some avoidable injury payments, as of late. But if I can be frank, I donāt believe those men should have to risk their necks every day for fine, and I, for one, want to be more than fucking decent. Donāt you?
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No one speaks on his behalf. Vane delivers his messages himself, whether good or bad.
He's so close to saying yes, just agreeing with everything Jack is saying that is absolutely fucking correct and true, that he's the first one to break the challenging stare just so he can give it some actual thought. Because Jack is right, on all counts to which Vane himself can attest, and it's not like anyone else is standing here, laying everything all out with plans to correct it. In fact, he knows there are some men on the crew who wouldn't think twice about fair or decent for the rest of their thieving lives. Maybe even the majority of them. Except Jack is talking about the kind of improvements that would make things easier in ways they don't even realize, simply because they've never known any different.
But how fast is Jack Rackham's star rising, exactly? If he has the votes to outbalance even Vane's opinion on the situation, then maybe it's only a matter of time before he sets his sights higher. And what does that mean for Vane himself in the meantime, suddenly seeing entire horizons opening up before him with Jack's support that he had scarcely envisioned before?
Finally he looks over at Jack again, brow furrowed. ]
Show me you have the votes, and I'll back your play.
[ Word given, he's honor-bound to uphold it now. But Jack is still new to the crew, still an other in ways he'll have to work hard to surmount. And Mills has allies of his own. Hard not to wonder if Jack is overplaying his hand, and how much. ]
But if you fracture my crew, then both you and your shadow will be mending sails on the streets. Is that understood?
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[ He doesn't quite have all of them. He doesn't officially have any of them, given that he's inventing this plan on the spot, but he sounds confident about it. He looks confident, his eyes lively and not leaving Vane's for a second. Those men he knows for sure he can get, because he pays attention to every one of them, finding out what grievances he can exploit, what they value, what they need to hear to come around to his side. Jack can make this work.
If there's anything to worry about, it's Anne, who would much rather spend the evening after a fight drinking and fucking than indulging his politicking. Sorry, darling... ]
It's already fractured. Let me put it back together for you, Charles, before it snaps clean.
[ He musters up a smirk, as if this is old hat to him, deposing quartermasters who are holding good captains back from becoming great. But, he doesn't linger enough to look any cockier than he already does. He's got a lot of work to do. ]
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No one knows where she came from. No one knows how she got to Nassau. She keeps everything about herself under tight wraps, behind a brilliant smile.
She's in her office, the heat getting to her, so she looks vaguely annoyed as she's writing something.]
Sit, what do you need?
[She doesn't even look up.]
I get feisty whenever I'm with him [@calicoat]
Both of them pull their weight, which is important enough to begin with. But once Jack was given the opportunity to flex his mind instead of his muscles, it seemed like nothing could stop them. Vane doesn't have much to do with Anne, which seems to be how she likes it and suits him fine as well, but the more he engages with Jack, the more he feels like a blade being struck with a whetstone, honed to a razor edge - and Jack is gaining a sharper edge of his own.
Vane keeps him out of the vanguard, and the more miracles Jack works with his position as quartermaster, the more freedom Vane gives him to do it. It's astounding, how quickly Jack learned to anticipate him and in what ways; often all he has to do is put a thought in front of Jack, and in minutes all the useless fat has been shaved away, leaving only the prime cut, the battle plan, the right stuff. And in return, he's the one who keeps Jack from getting so carried away by ambition that he loses sight of the more immediate goal.
Because Jack has ambitions. Oh yes. And real ambition is tough to contain; it's catching, easily addictive, and the higher they climb together the higher they both want to go.
It's a moonless night when they stop in Tortuga to bring on fresh water, and he gives some of the men permission to go ashore while the rest stay behind to guard the spoils in their hold. The prize they've taken on this voyage is substantial; some of the older crewmates are talking about retirement on the funds they've gathered over the last few years, while the younger and fiercer men call them fools for backing out when there's still so much to be taken out there. Vane doesn't begrudge the old-timers their readiness to give up the life, but he's planted firmly in the second camp himself.
Vane watches the faint ripples of the light from the port in the water, shaping out the silhouette of his men rowing toward the docks, and draws a deep breath inward. He feels unstoppable. And so much the better because Eleanor had been in a hellish mood when he'd left, accusing him of talking down to her and treating her like a little girl who doesn't know anything (which isn't true most of the time, but sometimes it is, and how is that his fault exactly), which only makes him want to remind her just how valuable he is to her on that island. No chance she manages to turn her nose up at this haul. Maybe he'll see if Jack thinks he ought to negotiate--
As if summoned by the thought of him, Jack emerges from the hold, lamp in one hand. Already losing interest in the problems he left in Nassau, he calls Jack over to join him by the side. ]
Not going ashore?
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[ Being quartermaster to a crew filled with the rowdiest, nastiest shits in the New World is a 24/7 kind of job, not just managing them, but managing Charles, chasing leads, convincing Eleanor Guthrie not to fuck them when she and their dear captain are on the outs, pretending to care about every man's nonsense opinions and petty complaints, not to mention the physical labor of piracy, the hauling and the heaving and the violence. He's proven his worth to the point where he's stopped getting shit for not being cut out for the vanguard, but there are still all-hands situations, even for a crew boldly booming in notoriety, such as this one.
It's hard work. But so much more rewarding than mending sails. Last time they stopped in Tortuga, the man next seat over at the tavern knew his name.
Captain Vane's man, aren't you?
Jack's half tempted to go to shore, see if he can find that man, if he'd say anything more flattering than that after a few more high-earning months. Still, it was something, and something's more than he had when he and Anne crawled onto the shore of Nassau like drowned rats, barely a year ago now. ]
I'm looking forward to a quiet night, actually. It'll be the first since the fucking storm season.
[ Now that he's double checked that the cargo matches the manifests of the prize ships they took, tallied it up, calculated the shares, and thrilled Smith (the cook) with the number, Jack can finally emerge from the hold and enjoy some quiet and cool air. And Charles' company, while unexpected, doesn't hurt. Jack joined this crew looking at Charles Vane like a stepping stone, one that he would eventually outgrow and overtake, but as his quartermaster, he's come to see him differently. They work well together, have complimentary strengths, and can share a drink and a laugh together.
And every so often...a look. On occasion, Jack finds himself watching Charles for no conceivable reason, not doing anything in particular. Watching his body shine with sun and sweat as he stomps shirtless through Nassau, or his hands as he sharpens his blades, or the red in his face after they've reached the bottom of a bottle and have spent longer than they thought talking shit about other crews.
Nothing long. Nothing that lingers enough for their eyes to meet longer than a split second, nothing that he even thinks about afterwards. Just looks. Sometimes. ]
Thought for sure you would. No reason not to celebrate, after the haul we've got down there.
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[ Part of him knows that Jack will outgrow him one day. Vane himself outgrew Edward Teach, and that certainly wasn't for a lack of capability, or even loyalty. Of course Jack will want to be a captain of his own ship, sooner or later, and it will mean leaving Vane's crew behind to do it. He didn't take Jack on to have a permanent errand boy running his books for him.
The trouble is that it's getting harder to imagine running any kind of worthy ship without Jack. And if not harder, then certainly more unpleasant.
It's such a dark night that for a moment, looking away from the port, all Vane can see of Jack's face is what's illuminated by the lamp he's carrying. It makes the pointed sideburns he styles for himself look darker and deeper. It occurs to him, very clearly, that he'd rather enjoy Jack's company tonight than anyone else's. So he straightens up, turning toward the other man and giving a tilt of his head in the direction of the captain's cabin. ]
In fact, I'm gonna have a drink. [ Translation: several drinks. He raises a pointed eyebrow, like it's a challenge. ] Would you care to join me?
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She's not particular about a lot of things, but her blades is one of them. Won't be back for hours, and that's if she doesn't find a room in town. ]
Sure. [ Not as quiet as his original plan, a bit of reading and an early night, but a hell of a lot more relaxing than breaking up barfights. ] The captain of the Keeper have anything good stashed away?
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[ Although he recognizes the manufacturer seals on plenty of different liquor stores, it'll help to have Jack identify further which ones are worth popping open to enjoy tonight. Captain gets first pick, obviously, but the rest will still go to the men to be distributed. One of the non-monetary perks of being a pirate - not everything has to be sold to the Guthries.
There are no books in the captain's cabin of the Ranger, but that doesn't mean it's bare of all personality. The desk is cluttered with maps, including the Florida coastline that Jack had foisted upon him that day he spoke to him about Mr. Mills. Spare weapons hang from one wall, with several others hidden out of sight, and the bed is well-cushioned by brightly-colored pillows and blankets stolen from textile traders over the years, because Charles Vane may be a savage sort of pirate but that doesn't mean he doesn't relish certain creature comforts.
Several crates have been stacked somewhat haphazardly along the wall behind the door: straw poking out from two of them indicates something fragile, and beneath those is a chest containing the last captain's belongings. Vane hasn't bothered with any of it yet, but this time he goes right to the first crate and pries the top off with a solid crack.
Cushioned by the hay are four tall amber bottles. Vane pops the cork on one, and takes a whiff. ]
Irish whiskey. [ Oh, fuck yes. Immediately he passes a bottle to Jack, and takes another one for himself. ] If this isn't getting harder and harder to find.
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He takes it upon himself to light some candles, brighten things up a bit so he can get an eye on the labels. Itās as Charles said, as if the scent wasnāt enough. ]
Fantastic. Whenās the last time we found any good liquor in one of these cabins?
[ Heās not a straight from the bottle type, typically, a glass is just more convenient when heās a man prone to dramatics and gesticulation, but Charles brings it out of him. Whether itās a matching of energy, or he really is changing into something more feral as a result of his influence, he doesnāt know, and isnāt examining. ]
Cheers. To a profitable hunt.
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And a thriving partnership.
[ He takes a heavy swallow, and the whiskey sears his throat but still manages to go down as smooth as melted butter. When he swallows and exhales, he half-expects to see a puff of smoke come out of his mouth. Phwoar. ]
Let's see what else the poor bastard socked away. [ He takes another drink, and then sets the bottle down so he can move the second crate to the floor and pry it open. ] Looks like wine. A man with expensive tastes.
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It makes him smile. It shouldn't matter so much, but it's been a long road to get to this point, barely scraping by amidst all manner of humiliation and ridicule, that it feels good for it to be acknowledged. For Charles to acknowledge it. ]
That's the one.
[ Jack plucks a bottle of wine from the barrel and sits on the edge of Charles' desk, holding it closer to the light to read the label. This is good stuff. Expensive enough that he'd be foolish to drink it now instead of sell it to the Guthries, but...fuck it, they're celebrating, aren't they? Jack's never had the means to have expensive tastes, but now that he's a proper pirate, he's just got to reach out and take it.
So he does. He uncorks the bottle and has a deep swig of it, right there on the captain's desk, without another thought. ]
Jesus. This'll put you under the table.
[ Which Jack, clearly, is unbothered by, because he's drinking more. ]
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Which, again. It's a party.
It takes some grunt work to break the lock off of the chest that was underneath the two crates, but he pries at it with a dagger until eventually the metal latch and the blade both snap. Fuck, but oh well. He tosses the broken hilt aside and kicks the lid open, revealing the late captain's personal effects: a bundle of papers, which he shoves aside; several books, which he collects and dumps unceremoniously in the direction of Jack's feet, since Jack is the only one who ever makes noises about keeping books; an old compass; a spare clock, and a spare tricorne hat.
Vane straightens up with his bottle in one hand and the hat in the other, tossing the latter at Jack's chest. ]
Look at this - I wonder if you wouldn't have found our dearly departed prize captain to be a kindred spirit, in another life.
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The late Captain...Gibson? [ Or was it Gibbons? He's usually good with names, and this was his damn lead in the first place...itās been a long day. ] I donāt think so. Just because he could afford fine things, doesnāt mean he knew what to do with them. Those books have hardly been touched.
[ Spines straight as the day they were bound, pages uncreased and pristine. He's not sure what he could have possibly been saving them for, with so many long nights at sea. Likely just trying to appear smarter than he was, based on his questionable tactics, in trying to evade them. ]
Youāve seen my kindred spirit, in any case. An enlightened back and forth is hardly something I require.
[ Anne challenges him in other ways. As does Charles, now that heās looking at him and thinking about it. ]
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[ Hilarious! Because he's dead now, obviously. ]
At least his hat will have a chance to impress people.
[ As long as Jack's wearing it, anyway, which Vane toasts with the briefest lift of his bottle in Jack's direction before taking another enthusiastic swig from it. This one makes his eyes water a little. Another breath that should have smoke in it.
He doesn't know what, exactly, binds Jack and Anne to each other, except that Anne seems to have as much to prove as Jack does, so he's always assumed that kindred spirits was more or less the whole of it. Vane sighs dramatically, bringing his whiskey bottle around the desk to lounge in his captain's chair. ]
Must be nice to have a kindred spirit who's not a risk for biting your bloody tongue off. [ He pauses, giving Jack a look of obvious consideration. ] Unless I've underestimated how rough you two like to play.
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Thought about it, have you?
[ Why on earth Charles would have any estimation at all about he and Anne's sex life is beyond him. But, she is the only woman in sight for weeks at a time sometimes, maybe it's natural to wonder. ]
I'm sure you can guess, from what you know of her. [ They're...adventurous. Although Anne being the rougher of the two of them does translate over, Jack's into it. ] She won't wreck my tongue, at least, she knows that's where most of my talents lay.
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[ It's said like a challenge, although it came out like an instinct; he doesn't know what he'd be challenging Jack about right now or why. It's not like he's got any interest in Anne, who probably keeps a snare trap in her cunt. No thank you. He takes another drink. ]
Suppose you've got her trained well enough. Otherwise you wouldn't have lasted this long.
[ That's not just an assumption, it's a fact. If either one of them had given him genuine problems, he'd have obliged their attachment to each other and tossed them both overboard. Now it'd be a shame to lose either one. ]
But you take it from me, Jack - there's no telling when a woman's moods will change, or why. You just pray she doesn't realize one day that she likes the taste of your blood.
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[ As much as it might seem that way, the way she follows him wherever he goes, carries out his plans, and goes for the throat like nobody else. Still, the idea that he could train her - that he could force her - to do anything, is patently ridiculous. Anne's never learned a damn thing from him that she didn't want to, and certain things she surpassed him in, quickly and easily. ]
Perhaps you've got rotten taste in women. Have you ever considered that?
[ Not that he's in any position to discourage him from staying friendly with the lady Guthrie, but...he's seen how Charles gets when it isn't so friendly. It make him itch, somewhere inside that he can't quite point to. Watching them from the outside, it's clear that she draws blood more than he does. It's not like that with he and Anne, they don't scratch at each other just for the damn sake of it. ]
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But... eh. Eleanor was being a hellcat when he left, and he'd rather have Jack stick around and help him finish these bottles. So he takes a deep breath and another drink, gesturing toward the sack carrying his own belongings hanging from a hook on the wall. ]
Fetch my tobacco.
[ His tobacco case is made of brass, not particularly fancy but polished to a fine shine with use and very sturdy. Vane leans forward and sets the bottle down on the desk; they're anchored close enough to shore that the gentle swaying of the boat can scarcely be felt. ]
Maybe I do. Don't suppose I would know if I did.
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Nothing but whores until Eleanor Guthrie?
[ It might sound judgmental, but only because of some lingering defensiveness over Anne. Jack himself, had never been involved in anything serious before her. A few girls from dance halls he'd managed to sweet talk into bed, or a couple dates. He was barely more than a boy when he met her, anyhow.
Holding out the tobacco case for Charles, he remembers someone he hasn't thought about in years - an officer in his Navy days that used to look at him in a way he couldn't quite describe, but he inexplicably liked. A couple of tense, too-close interactions where nothing actually happened, but there was a sense that something might. Who knows what, exactly. Lieutenant West.
Why that name crosses his mind again after so long, right now, with his eyes studying Charles and his hand gripping a bottle is anyone's guess, really. ]
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It's respectable, if extremely inconvenient for reasons he is not willing to examine closely.
He takes the case from Jack and pops it open in front of him so he can roll a cigarette. Normally he's judicious with this particular tobacco-hemp blend at sea, but the money they'll bring in from this haul will let him replenish his stock for a good while ahead, and smoking while drinking is more fun than doing either one alone. ]
Not everyone's as lucky as you, Jack.
[ It's definitely said with a scornful bite in it, mirrored in the way his eyes narrow at the other man for a moment. But then he finishes rolling the cigarette, and offers it to Jack first. ]
No lovers stay happy forever. But I will acknowledge it's worth it to find one who makes you better than you are.
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Of course Charles would say it canāt last. Heās never truly known it. If the most love heās ever felt is from Eleanor Guthrie, then...God help this man.
But heās not deep enough in his bottle to get sentimental about it. Although, he is working on it, chipping away at an ill-advised pace, drinking again before setting it down and picking up the candle to light the cigarette heās placed between his lips. He takes a deep drag from it, and exhales slow, handing it back over. ]
Well, Iāve done that. If you can find me with a cunt out there, youāll be all set, wonāt you?
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But he doesn't see the future so well. Never looked that far ahead. Charles Vane lives in pursuit of instant gratification, like most pirates who know that any day on the treacherous sea could be the last. The only plans he makes serve immediate goals - usually some form of take that ship - and he has no patience for any sort of diplomacy more complicated than give me what I want or I'll kill you.
He has Jack for that.
Jack is the planner, the schemer, the one who knows when to say don't do this now so that you may do that later, and more often than not he's exactly right. Of course Vane still weighs the delayed reward against the expedient one, and sometimes it's simply not worth the trade in his eyes, but he'd never even consider them without Jack standing beside him. Ever the voice of reason.
He weighs it now, taking a long pull of his own, regarding Jack through the tendrils of smoke. ]
Is that all that's standing in my way? Your cock?
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Heās used to that look from Charles, the one heās getting now. Somewhere between challenging and fond, like heās interested to see if Jack has what it takes for whatās to come next. Not in the disparaging, degrading way that Teach looked at him when he first joined the crew of the Ranger, but in a way that pushes him to be better, invites him to earn his respect, and lately, his friendship. And now...what?
Jack takes another drink, purely buying time. ]
Sorry, standing in your way of what, exactly?
[ Maybe if he were to cool it with the drinking, he could laugh it off or twist it into something else, but itās the best he can do. ]
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He could get used to seeing Jack speechless.
Maybe he should take pity on him. It's not often that Jack is out of his depth, and Vane has made it a point to try not to alienate him any more than he alienates himself by virtue of his own nature. Vane considers it through another drag, before finally offering the cigarette back to Jack, without taking his eyes off him.
If Jack can pick up on just a touch of amusement, it's definitely there. ]
Of whatever it is you think I'd do if I found you with a cunt out there somewhere.