[ It feels like a lifetime ago and it shouldn't. Ed's face. The nerves, the tentative excitement, the smiling.
He wants him to be happy. More than anything. He knows that it's possible. He's sure of it.
Ed's not happy now, though, is he? Because Stede is past the point of excusably late, because Stede was Stede and he did something that caused something that made someone miserable, and it caught him up in exactly the right way to make someone else miserable.
He shouldn't have come here. Selfish. ]
There was-- I got-- I ran into--
[ Into nothing. Watched someone kind of run into their own pistol. But he can't dredge the right words up, scrabbles fruitlessly at the metaphorical rock face of them looking for a handhold. Does it even matter? What's an excuse worth? What's talking it through worth? Not nearly enough. He just left Ed here waiting. Ed waited. Longer than he rightfully should have.
Stede Bonnet has always been what he is. He's never known how not to be, never been able to change it. The thread that links miserable, dead people all together. The one who ran away from his family, the one who smiled over Ed coming back and getting captured with the rest of them. The picture of a spoiled little rich boy.
Picking flowers cuts them off from their roots, he thinks. Breaks them. The only path left for them is to wilt and wither. ]
I'm sorry. [ The problem was always him. You defile beautiful things, you defile beautiful things, you defile beautiful things-
Things he thought he might be finished with for now: crying.
Things he can't seem to breathe around: the crying he was wrong about being done with. This is the nightmare scenario. ]
no subject
He wants him to be happy. More than anything. He knows that it's possible. He's sure of it.
Ed's not happy now, though, is he? Because Stede is past the point of excusably late, because Stede was Stede and he did something that caused something that made someone miserable, and it caught him up in exactly the right way to make someone else miserable.
He shouldn't have come here. Selfish. ]
There was-- I got-- I ran into--
[ Into nothing. Watched someone kind of run into their own pistol. But he can't dredge the right words up, scrabbles fruitlessly at the metaphorical rock face of them looking for a handhold. Does it even matter? What's an excuse worth? What's talking it through worth? Not nearly enough. He just left Ed here waiting. Ed waited. Longer than he rightfully should have.
Stede Bonnet has always been what he is. He's never known how not to be, never been able to change it. The thread that links miserable, dead people all together. The one who ran away from his family, the one who smiled over Ed coming back and getting captured with the rest of them. The picture of a spoiled little rich boy.
Picking flowers cuts them off from their roots, he thinks. Breaks them. The only path left for them is to wilt and wither. ]
I'm sorry. [ The problem was always him. You defile beautiful things, you defile beautiful things, you defile beautiful things-
Things he thought he might be finished with for now: crying.
Things he can't seem to breathe around: the crying he was wrong about being done with. This is the nightmare scenario. ]