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Dread Eve (Izzy Hands x OC)

The Gentleman pirate and his crew weren't exactly known for their sharp minds, except for Jim, who would often exchange secretive and knowing looks with Eve when no one was watching.

Men could take their odd appearance at face value, but they each recognised the signs; the red marks and chest pains from a binder, the unusually long hair and the layered clothes despite the sweltering heat. Jim played the role of a mute with remarkable finesse, providing a brilliant cover. On the other hand, Eve chose a more theatrical approach, mimicking the lower register of her fellow crew members with moderate success. Her deeper voice did attract a few raised eyebrows, but amidst the eccentric menagerie that Captain Bonnet had assembled, no one dared question it.

It had all been the perfect ruse, the performance of a lifetime for the former Lady, until the Spanish attacked and a stray bullet lodged itself in her shoulder.

The pain speared her with such speed that her scream died in her throat, her body seizing as she fell to the deck with a clatter and thud. She heard the distant shouts of her crew mates calling her name as the thudding of her heart echoed in her ears. All she could do was lie in the growing puddle of her blood and stare into the open, blue sky in shock.

"Henry!" The crew began yelling, cowering in fear as the Spanish soldiers swarmed them. Their hands outstretched to their fallen friend, watching helplessly as she continued to lay there, a blank and empty look in her eyes. Some feared she'd passed there and then, unable to catch sight of the shallow rise and fall of her bound chest.

There was another voice shouting over the cries to "Kill them all", though she couldn't see the owner of the strange voice through the cannon smoke and ringing of swords. It grew louder, or perhaps she was getting quieter, finding herself dimming as the pain rooted itself deeper into her arm and side. Any other person might have reached for the shoddy rapier at her hip, might have tried to fight back, but they'd taken out her right arm; her sword arm.

"Henry! Get up!" She was sure it was Jim, their familiar accent tugging at her ears. More men were swarming the deck now, a seemingly endless supply of soldiers and swords pouring over the railing as they climbed aboard.

A final wordless bark rang out, and the screaming changed direction. A blur of blue and claret rushed past her eye line just as fires broke out around her. The chaos reached a sort of pinnacle, in a maelstrom of noise, the scent of burning wood, and the acrid taste of smoke filling the air.

Eve was not resigned to her fate; she did not want to die here, in smelly clothes and lying in a puddle of filth. This was not the plan. She should have gone out in an epic tale of alcohol-infused hedonism. Instead, the shock had turned her body to stone, turned her limbs to lead, and left her a shell. She should get up. She should move — no, she needed to move.

But slowly, the fires faded out of her sight, and the encroaching dark crept in like death - though she was sure she felt someone kick her ribs before she lost consciousness.

"This one's still breathing."

By the time Eve stirred, everything had gone silent, and she looked down to find her shift gone, with a musty blanket thrown over her body. The sting of pain in her shoulder intensified as her consciousness slowly returned. Blinking to adjust her eyes, she found herself in an unfamiliar room, surrounded by crates, rope, and a singular dim lantern. As she struggled to sit up, Jim's concerned face came into view, their eyes filled with a mix of relief and worry. "Easy now," they whispered.

Seeing Jim eased the immediate worry, but her face remained pensive and unsure. "I made sure no one saw you..." they started, motioning to her binding straps, "Spanish Jackie's lackey made me, but it wasn't worth us both being exposed." As her eyes adjusted, she realised the fake beard and nose had been done away with, their slim features casting sharp shadows in the candlelight. Jim was quite beautiful.

Mustering some sympathy through the pain, Eve just about managed a soft expression, "I'm so sorry, Jim. I don't know how to thank you..." The pain ebbed as she leaned forward to gently grasp Jim's hand, soothing a finger over their knuckles in comfort. It was hard to keep the grip gentle, gritting her teeth instead of clenching her fist as the ache built deep into her muscles. "What happened to the crew? And the ship?"

"You should rest up." was all they said, their stern expression meaning they would not elaborate any further. Eve desperately wanted to probe further, to ask what on earth had happened, how the Spanish had even found them; and why the hell there was a boot-shaped mark on her right side. But Jim merely tilted their hat back onto their face and leaned back on the crate, pulling their hands away with a swift movement.

Eve sighed, the frustration and curiosity burning beneath her skin. She knew Jim well enough to sense when pressing further would be futile. Reluctantly, she reclined against the makeshift bed, wincing as the pain shot through her shoulder once more. Jim's watchful gaze lingered on her, though she couldn't see it, she could feel it.

With a shaking hand, Eve reached for the bandages, tugging tentatively with her right hand. She could already feel the wound, felt it trying to clot through the heavy layers of gauze. It was a hot, sticky feeling, like trying to peel herself out of wet clothes. Jim let out a warning grunt, but Eve ignored it. She could still feel her left hand—though faintly through the pain and obvious swelling. The damage couldn't be that bad... surely? The arm was still there.

"I wouldn't."

Even the slightest knock to the bandage, however gentle, felt like the bullet was piercing her all over again, a sharp pain shooting up her side.

"You're going to make it worse." Watching her wince was making Jim squirm in their spot, crossing and uncrossing their legs.

"I need to see it, Jim."

"Henry..."

They moved too late. Eve's frightful gasp filled the room as she caught sight of Roach's ghastly work. Tears filled her eyes. The skin was taut and knotted together, held there by thick wire and thread. "Oh god!" She cried, the deeper voice gone as she shrieked.

Before the next scream could burst from her mouth, Jim's clammy hand clamped over her mouth. "Keep your mouth shut! They will hear you!" It didn't occur to Eve to ask whom they were referring to; all she could focus on was the gore on her shoulder. She was butchered. She was mutilated. It hadn't occurred to her that the injury would leave a mark, that a bullet might do actual damage. It certainly hurt enough.

Unravelling a small, faded handkerchief, Jim began to wipe the tears from Eve's cheeks gently, their expression a mix of sympathy and urgency. "We can't afford to draw attention," Jim whispered, their eyes darting nervously around the dimly lit space.

"I'm hideous..." Eve sighed, blowing her snotty nose into the tissue - much to Jim's disgust. "I'm a monster."

"You're not hideous," they offered her a strained pat on her good shoulder, and then soothed the top of her head wrap with a rigid palm, "Every pirate has scars, it means they're... uh... they're experienced." Jim wanted to be anywhere but in this room. They'd left the others too long and feared what sort of mess they'd gotten themselves into. Olu could hardly handle them by himself.

This made Eve blubber, blowing more snot into the handkerchief and turning it over for a fresh spot to wipe her tears, "But what about the ladies?" Her sad eyes went as big as dinner plates, and her bottom lip poked out as she sniffled.

Sighing through their teeth, Jim looked at her with as neutral expression as they could, "If ladies didn't like scars, how would men like Pete, John, or even Blackbeard get a leg over? Think about it... " It stopped her crying, but she was still firmly of the opinion that she was ruined. She had other scars, tiny ones from years of wedging hatpins in place or fixing broaches to her blouse - but nothing as large, or as ghastly.

"I'm never going to be touched again." It would not be until later that month that Eve would swing drunkenly into Jim's rooms and change her mind on the matter, her face puckered with rouge kisses and several indented teeth marks along her collarbone and arms.