closed | everything I love gets lost in drawers

[unmanned]

Who: James Kidd and Edward Kenway
What: Someone hasn't been coping in the best of ways.
When: Tonight.
Where: Edward's room.
Rating: R for Rum


[Drinking is better than sitting alone with her thoughts. Each day brings something more to add to her schedule, to keep herself busy, be it training Connor or changing her decor in her room. But there are still times when there's nothing but silence and the scent of herself wasting away in a prison threaten to come back. She'd been accepting, at the time, but to have that acceptance thrown aside with this second life is so jarring that Mary drinks until her mind is too muddy to process much thought, let alone show her images that burn her eyes.

Usually, she keeps it to her room, but lately she's been venturing out to change things up. It's a sorry excuse for a terrible habit. Tonight, she's had too much of something too strong in the city, and even the cold from the stumble back to the castle isn't enough to sober her up.

What else is up? Her room. She's not in the state for up, so she heads to Edward's room because it's closer and better than passing out in the lobby. She hopes she's not mistaken for Rackham, the way she clumsily gets the door open and announces herself by flopping into the nearest chair.

Such a put-together mess.]

Comments

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Did I give you a fright? [Even with half-lidded, sleepy eyes, and limbs that feel pleasantly tingly yet heavy as mortar rounds, her voice is clear of any slurring. She might look more tired than drunk. It's the smell of alcohol on her breath that gives it away.]

Don't mind me. Go back to bed, Edward. I'll be off in a few.

[Just as soon as the world stops moving as if she were on a ship.]

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[Messy blonde hair back lit by the fire reminds Mary of a shaggy dog she'd found endearing once, in Havana. Maybe a few years ago she'd compare Edward to a dog chasing his own tail, spinning in circles going after something unattainable, but that's not very true anymore.]

Your room is closer than my own.

[To the city, really. She doesn't mind his company, either, but she didn't expect him to be awake--or so make so much noise when entering. His company is the easiest and the most difficult here, a familiarity and a guilt gripping her whenever they were together. She's had more than a couple drinks because of that.

That thought is mildly sobering, at least for the moment.]

I'm sorry.

[For dying, mostly, but for disturbing his sleep also.]

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[She pushes his hands away, determined to stand on her own to show him how much control she has... despite just admitting that she needed to crash in his room to regain her senses.

After taking the water, of course. Best to begin flushing out the things she drank now so the pain won't be as bad in the morning. He would know how to do that.]

I've got it.

[Quite a different tune from the last time he tried to help her balance, when she was insisting he leave her because the pain from being upright was unbearable. It's easier when it's him leaning on her, her urging him to get up, urging him to do something. He doesn't need to take care of her when all she needs is a place that isn't so public to rest in for a time.

Now... where is she going?]

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[Edward gets a look that's part annoyance and part pure squint because this whole situation is wrong. She's standing, two glasses of water sloshing around in her belly, and she's pretty sure she's not good enough to make it out into the hallway and up the stairs.

So, she just sits again. It's a very controlled sit, and she makes herself comfortable in the chair.]

You don't look very confident.

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Then go back to bed. I'll let myself out. Got in easy enough. [Learn to lock the door, Kenway. God forbid if any once-dead Templars show up. But then she'd have to do some more work to get in, so that would be no good. Templars, Templars, locks. Mary sighs.]

Let me be, Edward. Let me be.

[Says the woman that barged into his quarters.]

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This how you get the ladies into your sheets, Kenway?

[There's a half-hearted swat at his hands before he grabs her arm. It's a strange sensation, strong hands on limbs that don't feel like they're there, but Edward's bigger and stronger and she's slowly realizing she's pretty fucking drunk.]

I've broke Auditore's fingers for less. [More? Less. More. No, it was more. Less? Whatever. It's not much of a threat when her scrunched up brows relax into a vaguely puzzled look.]

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[The moment she's on her feet she wants nothing more to be off them again, so she'll go along willingly. Scoundrel of the sea and pirate he may be, but Kenway's more of a gentleman than any enemy would expect. Perhaps ally, too. She trusts him with leading her and helping her more than anyone else. Mary doesn't like being in the position of being gentlemanned at, though right now she decides to save being pissed off at herself for the morning. It's her own fault.

She already knows she'll be upset at her own foolishness. The drinking. The letting him see her like this.]

It was a slight misunderstanding that involved his cock against my arse and his hand sliding down my trousers. [She chuckles, remembering his reaction. Good times.]

Mind you, he still only knows me as James Kidd.

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Good luck getting it. Poor thing hid away like a turtle in its shell. [Mary laughs at her own joke. Poor Auditore, terrified he had felt up a man. One day he'll be able to put that memory behind him. Either way, she doesn't seem too bothered about her Valentine's Day bonding session.

She sits when he applies pressure to her shoulders, momentarily lost because where did her coat go? But when she sees what he's doing, she once more tries to shove his hands away.]

Stop. I'm not a damned child, I can take off my own boots.

[Except when she leans down to reach for them, her stomach lurches with the movement of the room.]

Hell.

[That was her swallowing down some vomit at the back of her throat that threatened to spill out. Just give her a moment of sitting there with three fingers pressed to her lips.

Okay, okay. She's good.]

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[She can't remember the last time anyone had done such a thing like this. Oh, wait, she can--her mother, years and years ago, when her brother was still alive and she'd gotten ill from something or other. If she weren't such a mess right now she'd be protesting loudly (and violently), but if she weren't such a mess she wouldn't be in this embarrassing position right now.

Anne wasn't wrong about Edward making a fine father, if this was any indication.]

No.

[Trousers stay on, because God forbid if she pisses herself in Kenway's bed, she'll have one more layer to absorb it. She's already pressing her check into the pillows.]

I'll break your crooked nose if you try.

[No negotiating on this matter.]

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[There's a quiet little huff as Mary's hair falls into her face. Thanks for that, Kenway. He's lucky she's too comfortable to care right now. The bed is warm from the fireplace and where he'd been occupying it previously, and none of it made her head spin or her stomach threaten to expel its contents.

Her face is turned away from him, her body resting on her front. She waits, and waits, and then he finally speaks up.]

Don't act like you don't know it, Edward.

[If he could, he'd be right there drowning in the drink with her. Seeing ghosts and being a ghost are two very good excuses to drink yourself stupid.]

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[Don't try to make this about you, because it already is.]

I'm the ghost. I'm dead. [Strange to say it aloud. That's sobering, isn't it?] Each day this bloody castle could deem it my time to be dead once more. No say in it, no chance to fight it. Each day I remember those last moments. [The guilt. She died on him.] Things I could deal with if you didn't watch me each day like I have a noose around my neck. Christ, Kenway. You think I don't notice it?

[She twists around so that her face is towards him, though the motion is much slower than she imagines it to be.]

Getting pissed don't work as much as it did.

[The more time passes, the deeper the guilt digs.]

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[It sounds like what she'd say to him were their positions reversed. A thought that tempts her to roll over and spew into that pail, because it's so absurd that he's the one lecturing her, urging her to get up off her knees.

How low she must be, and how much lower she sinks with his disappointment.]

You don't belong here. You've got your Jenny for you at home. [He's got a life. A family, now. His greatest of treasures.] I look at you, and I see that prison. You, stubbornly dragging me along. It shouldn't have ended that way, and I'm sorry you saw it.

[Alone in a cell would have been kinder for him, but she was glad to not be alone at the end.]

If I could change it, I would.

[Then maybe this now wouldn't be so miserable and the guilt wouldn't weigh her down more than the drink.]

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[Indeed, it's hours later when Mary stirs. The taste in her mouth is cotton, and the sunlight warming the room makes her eyes burn. For a few minutes after rolling onto her back on the bed, she can only press her fingers into her eyes, willing the ache to stop. She knows she's not in her room. The last night is a blur of bottles and snow and Edward and more or less admissions of how scared she is and how dying left its mark.

She shouldn't have come here. She shouldn't have said a damn thing.

A hand leaves her eyes to run over her forehead, smoothing her hair back.

Christ. She needs to get out of here.

Mary pushes herself up with a groan. No Edward in sight, and for that, she's glad. She's had enough of his pity and enough of his words. She grabs the glass and forces the water down her throat, swishing the last bit in her mouth before spitting it back into the glass and setting it aside. Better already.

The food is ignored in favor of the note. Mary reads it once, twice, then crumples it up in her hand.

That bastard.

After an angry search for her scarf, coat, and boots, Mary is making her way out of the castle. Even with the pounding in her head and the sickness she feels, Edward's a damn fool if he thinks she won't be able to find him.]

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[His steps are easy to find even without her Sight. She makes note to tell him to mind them if he ever want to be truly hidden from someone. Once in the city she takes to the rooftops, careful of their snow-slicked tiles, and catches sight of Edward as he walks along, pulling that familiar hood over his head. It fit him more, that she can tell, but she still wants to knock his whole damn head off.

There's a sort of predatory thrill when he passes into an alleyway. Easy. Still on the rooftops, she quickens her pace so that she's ahead of him--and then she drops. Suffering from the night before she may be, but it doesn't stop her from a catlike landing.

It just hurts her watery brain a bit.

But she's too annoyed to let that stop her.]

--Kenway.

[It's almost a growl, and that's all the warning he gets before she advances. As much as she wants to shove, kick his feet out from under him, she's discovered something else that can convey how much she's not pleased with him. The snow.

She's got a handful of it, and you best believe it's going down the front of his trousers.

And, if she can manage it, it's getting introduced to his jewels.]

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[Mary shakes her hand once it's out of Edward's pants. Yeah, she left most of the snow in there to keep his testicles company.]

The hell kind of game you trying to play, Kenway?

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[Were she not so annoyed, she'd be laughing her ass off at his face. So mad, Edward. You so mad.]

Get your arse back to the castle, Kenway. And keep it there.

[None of this running off nonsense. She doesn't like it. It's no solution to any of their problems.]

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You're making it mighty tempting.

[MANCHILD. Mary just follows along after him.]

It's your home as much as it is mine, now.

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And what a fine place that turned out to be, Edward. And your home in Inagua. Face the reality of it, mate, the castle is as good as it gets.

[Just turn around.]

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[That stings more than she'd admit, though maybe she does just that by falling silent.

She stops following.]

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[Hard eyes watch him trail back to her. Stupid, all of this. Stupid that she's so worked up, that she's been so worked up and unsteady under the surface, drowning herself in drink. The very thing she used to get on his ass about.]

I'm dead, Kenway.

[Easier to say sober, in the daylight. Easier to swallow. She crosses her arms over her chest, eyes on his face.]

I'm dead, yet here I've found myself with a second life. Could be a short one. I'm sure you'd hang yourself if you missed out on being a pain in my arse for even one day.

Let it not come to that.

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[Mary doesn't smile. In fact, she stiffens a little at the touch, though after a moment she's putting a hand over one of his.]

I know what I could do with, Edward, and that ain't it. Don't be a fool.

[unmanned]

My friend staying near.

[They've been friends for a long time now, but she's never really called him such to his face. It's more than that, of course, because when a man risks his life for yours, dwindling and doomed, he's not just a friend. But Mary's not very good with being sentimental.]

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[The small smile that appears on her face has some more staying power to it, as she knows what he wants (needs?) to hear. She leans in, so that only he can hear.]

None as dear as you, Edward.

[The tone is playful, but the words are sincere. She has no one closer to her heart than Edward.]

[unmanned]

[She lets him. Edward has her full trust, now more than ever, so she's not bothered by the control he's allowed. He won't misuse it.]

And who would these one or two people be?