#trans izzy

He had been helping ships unload cargo at port for a while now, making measly earnings but still enough to supplement their lost wages when their father left. It wouldn’t be enough now that Israel was gone, just him and their mother. His. There was no second Hands child anymore, just him. It was a shame his mother was left with a girl, even if he did his best to make himself a boy.

It’s apparent very quickly that the cost of feeding him is simply too high now that Israel is gone, now that he can’t help pay for his weird sister’s life. So, he leaves in the middle of the night with nothing but his mother’s ring jostling in his pocket – she never wore it anyway, and if worse comes to worse it’ll buy him a meal or two.

He arrives at a dock in the early hours of the morning and waits for ships to come in. He’s left with his own thoughts, his own feelings on inadequacy and waste. If he hadn’t cut his pretty hair, hidden his figure, perhaps he could have been a wife by now, unburdening his mother of him entirely. If he’d tried harder, Israel would still be here. What life was he to live without his brother? It’d been months now, his body was cold and buried, but the thought had never resolved itself or left him. It just grew larger and larger in his small body, and it was close to fully consuming him.

He is jostled awake in the middle of the day, the sun beating down on him. A man is standing over him, shirt littered with holes and dirt and brownish stains he immediately recognizes as dried blood, and he gives him a once-over.

“Can you clean?” He asks in a gruff voice.

He clears his throat and puts on a deeper affect to his own. “Yes.”

“Are ye able-bodied?” He kicks the bottom of his foot again.

“Yes.”

“Have ye ever sailed before?”

“No.” He chokes out, but quickly continues his thought. “But I’ve unloaded cargo for fishermen for ages, I’m strong and I can learn.”

The sailor thinks for a moment and shrugs. “Good enough for my boss. We just lost some men on a raid, and you look like a spry little fucker. C’mere.”

He brings himself up onto his feet and follows the sailor onto a large, fearsome-looking ship, completely unlike the fishing boats he’d been paid to unload back at home. Men are moving all about the deck, and he is brought over to a sandy-haired man with a ruddy face, standing tall and barking out orders to other sailors. His eyes fall over him, and quickly he feels his stomach knot up unpleasantly.

“What d’you think of this one, boss?” The sailor standing behind him asks, and the bigger man regards him with a smirk. His stomach knots grow tighter.

“Small, but he doesn’t look weak.” He looks him over again. “Put him on deck duty today – moving crates, polishing the deck, the works. And where’s Teach?”

Suddenly, the sandy-haired man disappears, and he is sent to move crates.

They’re filled with cargo, and he’s supposed to load them down into the bowels of the ship with the rest. Some crates are filled with silks, some with spices, some with food that is taken to the kitchen, and once those are all packed away he is sent to polish the deck with a rag and some very aromatic liquid. Dark stains have seeped into the wood, and no matter how hard he scrubs he can see that it’s just moving the dried blood on the surface around. According to another sailor, that’s normal, and the planks that make up the deck weren’t this color originally.

It’s night when he finishes, and he’s given one hard biscuit and a metal cup of rum. He gags on the stuff, but it’s alright when he dips his biscuit into it. The dining area has multiple tables but he’s nestled off into a corner, sitting on the floor and trying to keep his space from the other sailors. He’s soon joined, someone slides down the wall and plops down beside him, carrying a plate with the same biscuit and cup of rum in his hands.

He puts the plate in his lap and breaks his biscuit up before dipping the pieces into his drink.

“Good idea,” he says to him through a mouth of soggy hardtack.

He doesn’t say anything back, he simply keeps eating.

“I haven’t seen you before. It’s exciting, we haven’t gotten anyone new in ages.” He takes a long drink of his rum, and he looks up at him. He has tan skin and dark hair skimming his shoulders, and his eyes are utterly massive, like two eclipsed suns. His heart beats irregularly.

“Just started today,” he says back in his deepest voice, stumbling slightly.

“Cool, I’ve been here for a couple of months now. It’s pretty sweet, but Captain’s kinda strict. Don’t get on his bad side, okay?” He is incredibly serious when he says this.

He nods once, putting a dry fragment of hardtack into his mouth. After a brief but fidgety pause, his new companion continues.

“Oh, you’ve gotta meet Jack. I dunno where he is, but I think he’ll like you. Quiet, broody type, it’ll be like a challenge for him.” He smiles, the expression turning smaller, a little coyer as he fully fixes his gaze on him again.

In his brown eyes he can see some shadow of Israel’s, and when he smiles, warmth pours into them like rays of sunshine spilling across the waves. There’s something about him that makes him feel safe, even though they’ve barely exchanged words. He can’t say he’s felt this way about a boy before. He looks down from the pretty boy, feeling his cheeks go warm at that thought.

“What’s your name?” He asks in a voice licked with an accent that’s wholly unfamiliar, but he loves the sound of.

He thinks on this for a moment. He can be honest, he can say that he’s a girl posing as a boy, that underneath this shirt and breeches he looks different than Pretty Boy, but his throat goes dry at the thought of admitting that to him. He’s only just met him, who’s to say he can trust him with that knowledge?

“Israel,” he says shakily, suddenly losing control of his voice. He’s certain Pretty Boy can tell he’s lying, that it’s not his name, it’s his brother’s, and perhaps he’s being nice when he smiles at him and reaches his hand out.

“I’m Edward. Ed. Whichever you like.” He meets Edward’s hand halfway and he shakes his pale, clammy hand twice before chuckling. “Nervous?”

He locks eyes with him for a moment and pulls his hand away, but he notes how firm his grip was. “A little.”

“Don’t be. We’re gonna be legends, Israel, I just know it.” The warm smile transfers onto his, Israel’s, face. “Tomorrow, I’m going to teach you everything there is to know so you don’t stay on deck duty forever.”

He looks down into his lap to hide the way his face lights up. Has the rum gone to his head? Has he forgotten what compassion feels like? He’s sure it’s a little of both, but it still makes his stomach do flips when he and Edward retire to the sleeping quarters, his hand gripped firmly onto his arm so he doesn’t lose him in the winding pathways of the ship.