Open Door

As the last strains of music danced off on the waves and the crew returned to their respective sleeping places, the deck of the Revenge grew quiet. Calypso's Birthday had been an affair that was at times raucous and at others, quite tender.

The middle, of course, had been punctuated by a murderous madman with a violin, but that got handled fairly quickly thanks to Stede.

Lucius found himself walking along the deck and was surprised to find the door to Izzy's modest cabin open. That was certainly unusual, but considering they'd all been serenaded in French by him not that long ago, it was not the most surprising thing he'd done that night.

The move was still out of character enough that Lucius took it for the invitation that it was.

"Is the door broken, or are you hoping to get laid in payment for your little serenade?" asked Lucius as he leaned on the doorframe.

Rather than snark back at Lucius, Izzy simply smirked. "I'll let you decide." He was sitting at a small table in front of a mirror, his one unicorn leg kicked out to the side. The cabin was threadbare and utilitarian, which was not surprising. Austere was a good way to describe it, revealing very little about the man who called it home.

And he did consider it home. Lucius wouldn't have thought he would have before that night. But something told him that recent events had made him accept his place among the crew.

There was a quietness to Izzy, as if a storm that had been raging inside him for decades had finally settled. He was still wearing the makeup that Wee John had lovingly and expertly applied, though a red mark on his cheek suggested he'd started to remove it.

Lucius straightened up and felt his head spin a bit from an excess of rum. He staggered across the room and perched on the edge of the table in front of Izzy. "That shit isn't coming off with soap and water." He looked around the desk, then plucked up a small glass bottle. He sniffed it. "John gave you this? That's what you're supposed to remove your makeup with. It's grease paint. You could wear that full face in the middle of a hurricane and your brows would still be snatched."

"I was wondering why he gave me that," said Izzy as he reached for the bottle.

Lucius pulled it out of his reach and then held out his hand for the washcloth. "Give it here."

Izzy rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth, but relented.

Lucius scooted over until he was sitting in front of Izzy. He tipped a little of the oil onto the cloth, then gently started to dab at his face. He followed it up with slow, gentle streaks that released the makeup from his skin. "So. Why'd you become a pirate instead of a showgirl? With a voice like that?"

"Why did you become a pirate instead of a scribe for some rich twat?" Izzy countered as he looked Lucius in the eye.

A moment of quiet understanding passed between them. Lucius paused in his work only for a moment, then resumed the gentle strokes. "It really was fucking lovely. The song. Didn't understand most of it, but the melody was beautiful."

Izzy went quiet. He closed his eyes as he let Lucius wipe away at his painted face.

Lucius took to his task with care, using small strokes to loose the makeup from his beard and from his eyes.

"You want to ask me something," Izzy murmured after the silence had dragged on.

Lucius sat up and blinked. "What makes you say that?"

"Because you're not fucking talking."

Lucius bit his lower lip and stamped the floor. He found himself fighting a battle between asking his burning question and letting Izzy be right. "Fine," he groused. "What changed? I mean, I know what..." he gestured vaguely to the prosthetic leg. "But you're different. The same asshole with a leather fetish, but...different, somehow."