It's a dingy little place, the rat and something, Arthur's already forgotten the name. They have surprisingly good drinks though. Not great, but good, and cheap. And as far as he's concerned there's no thief worth their salt who doesn't appreciate cheap.
The place smells of old beer and smoke and it's not exactly Arthur's kind of place, but it's not not his kind of place either. He sits at the bar, nursing a whiskey, already gone ahead and booked a room, if this Israel doesn't show up then he's still got a place to get washed up and rested before he heads out so it's not a total waste of money. Even if he'd prefer to just camp somewhere outside town.
He checks the time so he knows how long this guy takes to show up, if he does.
Dingy isn't Izzy's idea of a good time, but he isn't here looking for a good time. Not exactly. He's here because he's in the middle of a disgusting, ragged dive of self destruction and this random encounter sets his teeth on edge.
He nearly leaves the bloke hanging, but ultimately decides that he hates himself just enough to see it through. If it goes badly then he'll leave. It's as simple as that.
So he arrives five past, quietly, and takes a look at the clientele. The place is lively but not too lively. Just enough that the cast glances at his arrival don't start anything on the immediate. This isn't his territory and he is without his gang, so a man alone could mean any manner of wild cards.
The only person that looks remotely familiar is a man sitting at the bar, so he heads that way, intercepted immediately by the barmaid from who he orders a double measure rum. Neat. Old habits'n all that dross.
"Arthur?" as he perches against the bar, not quite decided if he'll sit. A man of small stature, but great power if that makes sense. He's all harsh angles and hard work from the lean of his lip to the grey in his temples and beard. Say nothing of the branding under his left eye or the swallow on his neck, just peaking up from the collar of his black dress shirt.
Arthur notes the sound of footsteps coming his way catches his attention, part of him wondering if it's some bounty hunter come to collect or the guy he'd been texting, though that's cleared up real quick when he hears his name and looks up.
"Weren't expectin' you to show," he says simply, neither impressed nor disappointed, and looks Izzy up and down. He knows better than to think 'small' and 'weak' are interchangeable — Javier would kick his ass and rightly so if he didn't — and the man doesn't hold himself with the barest hint of that kind of frailty.
Arthur, on the other hand, is built like a battering ram. Broad and round and gruff from the gravel of his voice to his body language, a few scars on his face and a nose that's been broken multiple times that speak volumes about the kind of man he is and the life he's lived, to say nothing about the scars under his clothes.
When the barmaid brings over that double of rum, Arthur takes it, staring the other man right in his eyes and daring him to do something about it before he downs the whole thing. A brief tip of his head in a gesture to the stairs that lead up to the rooms accompanies it with a simple, "c'mon."
From the figure to the attitude, Izzy all at once understands why he drunkenly solicited this man's attention. He is in every way so much like the man he is yearning to beat out of his system, that it is almost joyful to see the drink stolen out from right in front of him.
What a fucking bastard. He's perfect.
Izzy gives Arthur a look, but keeps his mouth shut and peels off to follow. His heart beats faster, but honestly? He's been in worse situations by his own hand and he is just on the other side of a death with these days so what does it fucking matter, anyway.
The only thing he doesn't understand is why he didn't go home with the cunt last night.
Duty, maybe. Or maybe it was the fact he was anticipating another rotten run in with Edward. Izzy's throat is still sore from it, to be honest. Ed is never gentle when they meet like that, always pent up and furious, there's nothing tender about it. There never has been. Izzy tells himself that it suits him fine. He isn't good for more, anyway.
"I have two rules," he says, voice worn and smoky once the door to the room closes behind them. He barely looks at Arthur as he slips his gloves and unbuttons his leather waistcoat, intent of leaving all his clothes in an orderly pile to locate later when his brain is barely firing. Luck providing, of course.
"Don't break anything if you can help it, and no emotions. I'm here to get fucked, I don't care about your life or whether your mum hugged you enough."
Arthur barks a laugh at that, it's loud and sharp and genuinely amused and he shakes his head. "And here I was hopin' to tell you all about how my daddy never loved me," he says, a little wry in the smirk that just barely pulls at his lips. "If I wanted to talk about my feelings I'd pay one of them workin' girls downstairs for their time, don't you worry about that."
He leans back against the door, thumbs tucked in his gun belt as he watches the other man disrobe and makes no move to join him. Doesn't even the minimum courtesy of taking off his weapons, just watches.
A little surprised by the man's age-- not disappointed, not at all, but generally if someone seeks him out this way they're younger than him. Sometimes moreso than he's comfortable with. He wonders what it is that brought him to Izzy's attention, but he figures after a moment that it's the same thing as everyone else. Arthur's built like a brick shithouse, he's sometimes affable but rarely nice, and he just seems like someone who'd be comfortable putting someone in their place.
"You got an out?" A safeword, he means. Doesn't expect he's gonna push this guy even close to too far, but he's been surprised before.
“Basilica,” he answers without hesitation or pause in his efforts. Rough and ready would be fine but Izzy treasures these clothes and they are his only set at present so he must preserve them.
Izzy straightens up and turns to the other man, weight on one hip. He’s got an attitude, even naked, even here to have the hell fucked out of him and then some.
Like his head and beard, the hair on Izzy’s chest and arms are salt and pepper, his skin is marred with hand poked tattoos and scars that could tell a thousand stories.
In truth, he’s about forty or so, but a life at sea is hard. He was turning grey in his first three years at Blackbeard’s side and blames the man entirely.
Arthur takes a moment, just a quick one to give Izzy a quick, appraising look. Approving, though he doesn't say a thing about it as he pushes himself off the door and saunters over to the other man.
"Really got a mouth on you, ain't you," he says, casual as can be as he moves around to his back-- he can practically taste how eager Izzy is for something hard and fast and that makes Arthur certain that this is something to take his time with. "We're gonna have to do somethin' 'bout that."
He takes Izzy's wrists, one by one, grip firm but almost gentle as he juggles them into the grip of one hand and takes his lasso from his belt.
"Now--" Of course, the gentleness is gone the next instant. He just wanted to get his hackles up about this not being what he was looking for for a moment. Arthur ties the rope around his wrists quick and rough, plenty experienced in tying people up so they can't escape, and he wraps the other end of the rope around his hand to make sure he won't lose his grip. "How much are you plannin' to fight me here, Israel?" He asks, not expecting an answer that's worth a damn. Especially not when he pushes at the back of his leg with a boot to drop him to his knees.
Considering half the things I've eaten these last twenty years, wouldn't even phase me.
[ somehow the man has an impressively robust survival instinct and just about the worst one anyone's ever seen, but he's eaten plenty of food well past its best before and not suffered nearly enough for his recklessness. ]
[ arthur offers out the joint to joel after a second drag. ]
[ it's offhand, dismissive even, on the back of an exhale. he just doesn't feel that joel would consider him one of his, not because of anything joel's said or done, arthur just has pretty severe trauma surrounding this kind of thing. ]
[ okay, the pointedly curious look is apparently here to stay. ]
Got some outside loyalties I ought to be worried about? Planning on runnin' off on us any day now? [ not that he wouldn't be well within his rights to. still. ]
[ arthur gives him a confused look, eyebrows pulled as he tries to figure why joel's asking. (arthur's not a stupid man, but he is, unfortunately, an idiot.) leans forward with a shake of his head to pass the joint back. ]
Nah-- just. Figure I'm only here 'til I'm not so useful anymore.
[ again, there's no real weight to the way he says it, could as well just be talking about his plan for the day. arthur knows what he is, he's a workhorse, it's why people like having him around. he's not so trusting anymore to believe anyone wants him around for more than what he can do either. ]
[ that gets a not-really-laugh out of joel, who fixes him with a skeptical look, smouldering joint in hand. arthur might say it like it's as mundane a fact as the weather, but it's still a pretty weird thing to say. ]
Take a look around. Plenty of less useful assholes than you, out here.
[ and none of them have been unceremoniously excommunicated, despite it all. ]
[ arthur cuts himself off with a huffed breath, he doesn't want to sit here and argue about whether these people like him enough not to wanna see the back of him once his usefulness starts to wane. ]
Ain't nothin' worth arguin' about either way-- here, move over will you.
[ with a tired grunt, arthur pushes himself up off the coffee table and nudges joel's ankle with his boot. he's gonna sit himself down in the corner of the couch either way, so it's up to joel if they're squeezing up to eachother or not. ]
[ joel isn't really a pep talk kind of guy, so he's more than willing to let the subject drop. criticizing arthur's nonsensical statement is about as far as he's going down that road, anyway, and half just because it's an opportunity to criticize him.
he makes a vague, acquiescing grunt of affirmation as he shoves over on the couch, scooping up the pack beside him and depositing it back between them. he hands the joint back, after, putting his feet back up on the coffee table. getting back to appreciating the view is just fine by him. ]
Been out here a few days. You run up any new trouble, yet?
Got shot at by some folks holed up in some run down little cabin outside town.
[ they were scared and didn't want to talk, so arthur left them to it. arthur spares a thought to wonder how they're doing as he tucks himself comfortably in the couch corner, but it slips out of his mind just as quickly. ]
Can't tell if there just ain't much worth it round here or if I'm missin' something obvious.
[ annoying, because arthur's usually good at digging shit up. doubly so on account of how he literally was just musing on how his place is weighted against his usefulness, but it hasn't been long. maybe he just needs a little more time to catch a lead. ]
Only thing worth it around here is bein' a few hundred miles away from every-damn-body else.
[ okay, and, well - more than that. but nothing joel is inclined to speak on directly, at the moment, mild intoxication aside. ]
We ought to go back up and see if those folks are still holed up in there. Might want to make sure that they've moved along, already, if they're not looking for trouble.
[ arthur doesn't intend to go anywhere anytime soon, just enough of a high to get him feeling a bit lazy. if he doesn't have to move he won't anytime soon. ]
[ the only way arthur could make a worse impression on somebody would be to try and do so unsober, in joel's estimation. besides, he's not in a rush to get anybody going anywhere, right now. time set aside to just do nothing is a rare commodity, these days. he's not going to go and ruin that. ]
'Specially not if they tried to put a couple new holes in that dumbass [ (fond) ] hat of yours.
[ the mention of his hat makes him take it off and look at it, checking for any damage, but he can't see anything. he dusts it off anyway and seats it back on his head. ]
[ that first bit gives him a little pause. his parents — his mother especially — did always encourage him to pursue education to a point that was sometimes suffocating, but his dad... ]
[ they're similar in a lot of ways, jack has come to learn. maybe that's why the differences feel so sharp. the almost disdain for what they pushed jack to be, even incidentally, cuts pretty deep. ]
According to a feller who works at the school in town. I dunno if I even believe it though.
[ Jack's place in this world (or maybe lack thereof) will always be John's sin to bear. Is there even a chance for Jack considering his parents and their pasts? It's kept John awake more often than not... but many other things do too.
The boy should be more important than that. He is. John's gone through flaming hoops and three-ring circuses for his family. That should surely be enough to have shown he cares is dedicated to his family: much more than the soft-spoken stuff. None of that ever came naturally to him. ]
Someone's telling you that you're smarter than everyone in town? That's just words.
Probably a breath away from asking you to do something. If they want something from you, you make sure they pay you for it or give you something. Flattery doesn't pay debts.
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@ninetoes (and prose just 4 u)
It's a dingy little place, the rat and something, Arthur's already forgotten the name. They have surprisingly good drinks though. Not great, but good, and cheap. And as far as he's concerned there's no thief worth their salt who doesn't appreciate cheap.
The place smells of old beer and smoke and it's not exactly Arthur's kind of place, but it's not not his kind of place either. He sits at the bar, nursing a whiskey, already gone ahead and booked a room, if this Israel doesn't show up then he's still got a place to get washed up and rested before he heads out so it's not a total waste of money. Even if he'd prefer to just camp somewhere outside town.
He checks the time so he knows how long this guy takes to show up, if he does.
you spoil me
He nearly leaves the bloke hanging, but ultimately decides that he hates himself just enough to see it through. If it goes badly then he'll leave. It's as simple as that.
So he arrives five past, quietly, and takes a look at the clientele. The place is lively but not too lively. Just enough that the cast glances at his arrival don't start anything on the immediate. This isn't his territory and he is without his gang, so a man alone could mean any manner of wild cards.
The only person that looks remotely familiar is a man sitting at the bar, so he heads that way, intercepted immediately by the barmaid from who he orders a double measure rum. Neat. Old habits'n all that dross.
"Arthur?" as he perches against the bar, not quite decided if he'll sit. A man of small stature, but great power if that makes sense. He's all harsh angles and hard work from the lean of his lip to the grey in his temples and beard. Say nothing of the branding under his left eye or the swallow on his neck, just peaking up from the collar of his black dress shirt.
😘
"Weren't expectin' you to show," he says simply, neither impressed nor disappointed, and looks Izzy up and down. He knows better than to think 'small' and 'weak' are interchangeable — Javier would kick his ass and rightly so if he didn't — and the man doesn't hold himself with the barest hint of that kind of frailty.
Arthur, on the other hand, is built like a battering ram. Broad and round and gruff from the gravel of his voice to his body language, a few scars on his face and a nose that's been broken multiple times that speak volumes about the kind of man he is and the life he's lived, to say nothing about the scars under his clothes.
When the barmaid brings over that double of rum, Arthur takes it, staring the other man right in his eyes and daring him to do something about it before he downs the whole thing. A brief tip of his head in a gesture to the stairs that lead up to the rooms accompanies it with a simple, "c'mon."
no subject
What a fucking bastard. He's perfect.
Izzy gives Arthur a look, but keeps his mouth shut and peels off to follow. His heart beats faster, but honestly? He's been in worse situations by his own hand and he is just on the other side of a death with these days so what does it fucking matter, anyway.
The only thing he doesn't understand is why he didn't go home with the cunt last night.
Duty, maybe. Or maybe it was the fact he was anticipating another rotten run in with Edward. Izzy's throat is still sore from it, to be honest. Ed is never gentle when they meet like that, always pent up and furious, there's nothing tender about it. There never has been. Izzy tells himself that it suits him fine. He isn't good for more, anyway.
"I have two rules," he says, voice worn and smoky once the door to the room closes behind them. He barely looks at Arthur as he slips his gloves and unbuttons his leather waistcoat, intent of leaving all his clothes in an orderly pile to locate later when his brain is barely firing. Luck providing, of course.
"Don't break anything if you can help it, and no emotions. I'm here to get fucked, I don't care about your life or whether your mum hugged you enough."
no subject
He leans back against the door, thumbs tucked in his gun belt as he watches the other man disrobe and makes no move to join him. Doesn't even the minimum courtesy of taking off his weapons, just watches.
A little surprised by the man's age-- not disappointed, not at all, but generally if someone seeks him out this way they're younger than him. Sometimes moreso than he's comfortable with. He wonders what it is that brought him to Izzy's attention, but he figures after a moment that it's the same thing as everyone else. Arthur's built like a brick shithouse, he's sometimes affable but rarely nice, and he just seems like someone who'd be comfortable putting someone in their place.
"You got an out?" A safeword, he means. Doesn't expect he's gonna push this guy even close to too far, but he's been surprised before.
no subject
Izzy straightens up and turns to the other man, weight on one hip. He’s got an attitude, even naked, even here to have the hell fucked out of him and then some.
Like his head and beard, the hair on Izzy’s chest and arms are salt and pepper, his skin is marred with hand poked tattoos and scars that could tell a thousand stories.
In truth, he’s about forty or so, but a life at sea is hard. He was turning grey in his first three years at Blackbeard’s side and blames the man entirely.
“Put up or fuck off, Arthur.”
no subject
"Really got a mouth on you, ain't you," he says, casual as can be as he moves around to his back-- he can practically taste how eager Izzy is for something hard and fast and that makes Arthur certain that this is something to take his time with. "We're gonna have to do somethin' 'bout that."
He takes Izzy's wrists, one by one, grip firm but almost gentle as he juggles them into the grip of one hand and takes his lasso from his belt.
"Now--" Of course, the gentleness is gone the next instant. He just wanted to get his hackles up about this not being what he was looking for for a moment. Arthur ties the rope around his wrists quick and rough, plenty experienced in tying people up so they can't escape, and he wraps the other end of the rope around his hand to make sure he won't lose his grip. "How much are you plannin' to fight me here, Israel?" He asks, not expecting an answer that's worth a damn. Especially not when he pushes at the back of his leg with a boot to drop him to his knees.
@antifungi
[ somehow the man has an impressively robust survival instinct and just about the worst one anyone's ever seen, but he's eaten plenty of food well past its best before and not suffered nearly enough for his recklessness. ]
[ arthur offers out the joint to joel after a second drag. ]
Be more surprised you'd admit to it, if anythin'.
no subject
[ joel is momentarily surprised by the offer, but takes the joint without comment. at least not about the pot. ]
Havin' some basic common sense?
no subject
Admit to smokin' somethin' you found under someone's floorboards.
[ arthur shrugs a shoulder, it's a dumb joke about a dumb hypothetical. ]
We both know you would. And I'd never let you live it down when it made you sick.
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How would you know to give me shit about something I'd never admit?
[ nitpicking, and doing it deliberately, just to be an ass. ]
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[ arthur leans forward on an elbow to take the joint, takes a slow drag before he continues. ]
But you'd wait 'til I smoked my share to tell me.
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I may be an asshole, but I like to think I'm above deliberately poisoning my own people.
[ at least by a little. ]
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[ it's offhand, dismissive even, on the back of an exhale. he just doesn't feel that joel would consider him one of his, not because of anything joel's said or done, arthur just has pretty severe trauma surrounding this kind of thing. ]
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[ okay, the pointedly curious look is apparently here to stay. ]
Got some outside loyalties I ought to be worried about? Planning on runnin' off on us any day now? [ not that he wouldn't be well within his rights to. still. ]
no subject
[ arthur gives him a confused look, eyebrows pulled as he tries to figure why joel's asking. (arthur's not a stupid man, but he is, unfortunately, an idiot.) leans forward with a shake of his head to pass the joint back. ]
Nah-- just. Figure I'm only here 'til I'm not so useful anymore.
[ again, there's no real weight to the way he says it, could as well just be talking about his plan for the day. arthur knows what he is, he's a workhorse, it's why people like having him around. he's not so trusting anymore to believe anyone wants him around for more than what he can do either. ]
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Take a look around. Plenty of less useful assholes than you, out here.
[ and none of them have been unceremoniously excommunicated, despite it all. ]
You're probably safe.
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[ arthur cuts himself off with a huffed breath, he doesn't want to sit here and argue about whether these people like him enough not to wanna see the back of him once his usefulness starts to wane. ]
Ain't nothin' worth arguin' about either way-- here, move over will you.
[ with a tired grunt, arthur pushes himself up off the coffee table and nudges joel's ankle with his boot. he's gonna sit himself down in the corner of the couch either way, so it's up to joel if they're squeezing up to eachother or not. ]
no subject
he makes a vague, acquiescing grunt of affirmation as he shoves over on the couch, scooping up the pack beside him and depositing it back between them. he hands the joint back, after, putting his feet back up on the coffee table. getting back to appreciating the view is just fine by him. ]
Been out here a few days. You run up any new trouble, yet?
walks back in 6 months later with a sandwich
[ they were scared and didn't want to talk, so arthur left them to it. arthur spares a thought to wonder how they're doing as he tucks himself comfortably in the couch corner, but it slips out of his mind just as quickly. ]
Can't tell if there just ain't much worth it round here or if I'm missin' something obvious.
[ annoying, because arthur's usually good at digging shit up. doubly so on account of how he literally was just musing on how his place is weighted against his usefulness, but it hasn't been long. maybe he just needs a little more time to catch a lead. ]
and nothing for me?? 😤
[ okay, and, well - more than that. but nothing joel is inclined to speak on directly, at the moment, mild intoxication aside. ]
We ought to go back up and see if those folks are still holed up in there. Might want to make sure that they've moved along, already, if they're not looking for trouble.
i got you this: https://i.imgur.com/nyY2DqB.png
[ arthur doesn't intend to go anywhere anytime soon, just enough of a high to get him feeling a bit lazy. if he doesn't have to move he won't anytime soon. ]
Ain't in any rush to see 'em again right now.
thanks i hate it ☺
[ the only way arthur could make a worse impression on somebody would be to try and do so unsober, in joel's estimation. besides, he's not in a rush to get anybody going anywhere, right now. time set aside to just do nothing is a rare commodity, these days. he's not going to go and ruin that. ]
'Specially not if they tried to put a couple new holes in that dumbass [ (fond) ] hat of yours.
🤠💨
You know, most folks like my hat.
[ it's not his fault you have bad taste, joel!! ]
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[ he could draw on 'em real fast, and he always sort of has a look on his face like he might. ]
no subject
[ he is truly suffering, people just... tell him stuff? all the time? ]
@doubts_and_scars
[ they're similar in a lot of ways, jack has come to learn. maybe that's why the differences feel so sharp. the almost disdain for what they pushed jack to be, even incidentally, cuts pretty deep. ]
According to a feller who works at the school in town. I dunno if I even believe it though.
many thanks for the overflow!
The boy should be more important than that. He is. John's gone through flaming hoops and three-ring circuses for his family. That should surely be enough to have shown he
caresis dedicated to his family: much more than the soft-spoken stuff. None of that ever came naturally to him. ]Someone's telling you that you're smarter than everyone in town? That's just words.
Probably a breath away from asking you to do something. If they want something from you, you make sure they pay you for it or give you something. Flattery doesn't pay debts.