The Arrival

[jackdaws_master]

"Our helmsman's dead! Someone take the wheel!"

There was a storm, a colossal one, and a frigate looming up out of it. He can remember that. (And a figure- a man in a white hood? He thinks.)

There's no more powder-stench in his nostrils. The air's not sizzling with lightning the more. His ears've stopped ringing, though whether that's true quiet or deafness he can't say. But he's not pitching and rolling about, nor is the water tumbling him arse over teakettle like a kitten's play-thing. There's just sand...

His ribs heaving in a mighty cough that brings up near as much salt-water as air, Edward Kenway pushes himself up on an unfamiliar bit of Caribbean inlet and opens his eyes.

Comments

[jackdaws_master]

The last thing Edward expected from the actor was a fight; he goes down hard, with a startled oath. He kicks out at the other man's legs, more by habit than anything else. "Jaysus, man, are you mad?" is all he has time to say.

You don't talk during a fight. You fight.

[andinfluencepeople]

Chuck avoids the kick, but that doesn't mean it doesn't do its job. Chuck's used to fighting with a steady footing -- on a mat (with bare feet, usually) -- or as a 1.85 kiloton jaeger when ground conditions all but completely irrelevant.

He slips, slamming into the ground. He manages to grab the front of Beckett's shirt, though, aiming a surprisingly controlled punch at his jaw.

[jackdaws_master]

Edward's head snaps back, stars flashing across his vision at the impact. So like every bar brawl he's ever been in, really, which means that the only sensible thing to do is haul off and strike back with all his might in the general direction of the last place he saw the madman's head

[andinfluencepeople]

Chuck's struggling to hold onto Beckett's shirt -- his gloves are made to protect his hands from electrical, chemical, and mechanical damage, not hold onto fabric.

Even trying was probably the wrong idea; Edward's blow slams into Chuck's left cheekbone, sending him sprawling.

That wouldn't be a problem -- a brawl is a brawl, and like hell is Chuck going to let Beckett get the better of him again, especially a Beckett who's weirdly convinced he's some sort of old fashioned pirate.

But this is outside, and there are rocks in the ground, and he's not wearing his helmet.

Thunk.

Chuck groans.

[jackdaws_master]

Edward takes the opportunity to roll the other way, panting a little and getting his vision to stop swimming. Who knew an actor could throw a punch like that? They grow them strong in Holland.

Not, however, strong enough to bounce back from a proper blow right away. The other man's gasping something awful, like he's had the wind knocked out of him. If this were at home and the lunatic had washed up alongside Edward, this would be the point where swords got drawn and fights got permanently ended, before the other man got to his feet again.

But it's not, and the man never drew a weapon on Edward anyway. No need to escalate matters further. Besides, for an actor he's made a hell of a mess of Edward's nose.

"You're just lucky I've got to see to this," he says, gesturing to his nose. "You're on your own from here, mate."

And with that he staggers off into the trees. The lights in the distance can wait.

[andinfluencepeople]

Chuck lies on the ground. Sense returns pretty quickly, but for a long time it hurts to even think about moving.

He slowly sits up after around five minutes, and one hand goes to touch the wound almost instinctively. He flinches, and draws his hand away -- there's blood on the glove, but not much.

Once he can breathe without feeling like he's going to throw up or pass out, he reaches out for his helmet, and stands. He does not want to go into a building (probably full of people, and definitely full of light) with a headache like this, but it's cold and he's looking for the Marshall.

The Marshall. Right. This is his memory, anyway. Chucks snarls quietly, and makes his way towards civilization.