flintsredhair:

The holiday came and went, and with it at least one appointment I had meant to keep and completely forgot about. In order to distract myself from the part of me that’s banging pots and pans in my head and chanting “You fucked up, you fucked up, You Fucked Up, YOU FUCKED UP!” I’m posting this chapter before the next one’s ready. As usual, the update’s also available on Ao3, and I really, really adore comments and kudos (they make me write faster. I swear, they do – for some reason feedback equals writing). 

The rest of the parts are here on Tumblr.

Chapter Twelve: Where the Tall Fig Tree Grew

John Silver, Thomas thought, was not at all what he had expected.

He was not sure what to make of him – this man that had, from what James had said, attempted to put together what was left of James after Miranda’s death. This man, who had faced torture and death and come out the other side more serious and infinitely more stubborn and loyal to James and his crew to the point of lunacy. When James had described his quartermaster, he had painted quite a picture. The man, he had said, was quick and clever – an opportunist of the first caliber. Now that Thomas had met him, he could think of several other appellations. Mercurial, came to mind, as did infectiously cheerful and, well – slippery little shit. James, he thought, had possibly understated that part a bit, but then James had not been in the position of being raked over the proverbial coals by the man.

He was younger than Thomas had expected, and older all at the same time. The latter, he attributed to the simple fact that John Silver, like James and Miranda, was not entirely what he seemed. He had, it seemed, come back in time as well, although from what time, Thomas was not altogether sure. There was something in his eyes – something darker, somehow, and more weary than he had seen from anyone other than James, who had apparently spent the past ten years from his own point of view perpetually exhausted. Silver covered it well – his grin was a brilliant, distracting thing. It demanded attention, drawing Thomas’ gaze away from the man’s eyes, and yet it was his eyes that told the real story.

“How far back is this, for you?” he asked, and saw Silver miss a step.

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