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The ones that are lost

Posted on Thu Dec 27th, 2012 @ 8:27pm by Captain Daenelia Bradley

Mission: Chapter 6: Desperate Times
Location: Captain's Quarters
Timeline: Day 4, afternoon
Tags: Ed's Death

Daenelia sat down and opened up the tattered envelop. She ripped it open years ago. She was younger, impatient, maybe more cruel. She had blamed that on Jack Stallion for so long. She sighed as she unfolded the old paper of the letter. The flowery words, or what passed for them, made her smile. The adoration that spoke from this keepsake, from a different time, when she was a different woman, made her feel warm. She never answered that ardour in kind with the man who wrote her the passionate letter.

He had been young, impatient, maybe slightly cruel, but he had made her feel wanted, needed, loved. And then she lost him. She had not cared at the time. He was only one of the first she lost, before she understood what it meant when people left you. It meant they might never come back.

The words on the paper could not hold her attention as the nearer past clawed its way back. The death of Jack Stallion, losing so many of her crew again, and then, losing Ed. She still did not know what happened. She always had imagined she'd find Ed blown to bits by a new gun he tried to perfect, or an explosion of some kind. Not a knife. Not by the hand of that bitch. At least, that's what she assumed. She had ordered the body of Elizabeth to be dumped out in sea, by some of the crew in a small boat.

But she had not known what to do with Ed. Rosita had offered to have a padre perform a burial rite, and with no other options or ideas that came to her, Daenelia had agreed. She still saw the young man's face, almost as if he was just sleeping. He'd been dressed in some clothes donated by Rosita's family. His brown hair had been combed, his green eyes had been closed.

Forever.

The crew had gathered around the small graveyard. Not everyone knew Ed, as he had kept to himself a lot on board. But the hardened men and women of the Steamhawke wanted to pay respect to one of their own. Pirate crews do not get to bury their mates often. For many of them Ed's funeral was about the ones they lost and never got to say goodbye to. And some, well, "some of us knew Ed," Daenelia had said, "as a quiet but clever young man. The kind that stays out of trouble, and survives against all odds." But trouble had found him.

"And I couldn't protect him," she whispered to herself. She clutched the letter from another young man to her chest, crumpling the paper once again.

 

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