#what what do you mean you cant report your own murder
So how do we all feel about, say, Frenchie desperately trying to follow Blackbeard’s instructions for the flag update, and fuck, fuck, he needs something red, Blackbeard was very specific about the red, except, like, Dizzy had everything that wasn’t black, leather, or nailed down thrown overboard two days back? So unless Frenchie figures out how to use piss and oranges to dye a bit of spare canvas very quickly–
And maybe there’s a god for captured rascals and songless shanteymen, because on Frenchie’s final hopeless search of the ship he finds it.
Just a little scrap of a thing, it is, pinched somehow in the narrow crevice between the gunport and hull of Stede’s pretty little stern chasers that had never once been shot– but it was red, blood red, and just the right size with a bit of trimming, and soft enough that it wouldn’t be a hardship to sew it on at all.
Yes indeed, thinks Frenchie, as he carefully folds up the bit of salt-logged silk to take back to his bunk, with a bit of a wash and a pair of scissors, this’ll make a very fine heart indeed.
