captainfuckingflint:

Today, James Flint is muttering because Hal told him to be nicer to his crew. Except he didn’t phrase it like that, it was more a suggestion to be less abrasive, but either way it came down to the same thing; Be nicer to the crew, else there wouldn’t be one.

“I’m Captain fucking Flint,” he grumbles to himself, shoving past a crew member as he strides up the beach, towards town. “I run one of the most successful pirate ships that trades out of Nassau,” he says, as he definitely doesn’t kick at the sand. “Any man should be lucky to be a part of my crew.”

He glances back at the Walrus, docked in the harbour as the crew enjoyed a week on shore. See – he’d given them a week’s leave in Nassau, wasn’t that enough?

Stalking further into town, he makes his way into the Guthrie’s tavern, quickly signalling for a drink and finding a semi-secluded table to sit at; Negotiations are settled, but he isn’t quite ready to go back to Miranda yet, there are still more layers of Flint to shed and he doesn’t want to bring his frustrations with the crew back to her.

A cup of rum is placed in front of him, and the figure who delivered it seems to longer. He looks up to see none other than Eleanor Guthrie herself looking down at him, hands on her hips as if she owns the place.

Oh, James thinks, she does.

“Tell me, why is one of our greatest earners looking so miserable, after such a profitable haul?” 

James takes the cup and holds it between his hands, staring down into it and feeling oddly like he’s being reprimanded by a superior.

“Gates says I shouldn’t be so harsh on the crew,” he mumbles, before realising he isn’t in fact twelve years old. He sits up straighter, and pronounces more clearly, this time; “I’m of the opinion that so long as I’m filling their pockets with gold, I can be as harsh as I want.”

Eleanor nods at this, and its nice to see they’re on the same page. “Couldn’t have said it better myself. If they’re too weak to handle it, they can go fuck themselves and join Naft’s crew.”

She turns to go without further comment, and James smiles to himself. For some reason he can’t quite place, he almost feels proud of her. She’s done well for herself, to handle herself and the company so well with little to no support from her disgrace of a father.

Downing the rest of his drink, he stands and tosses a coin to the barkeep. His spirits have been lifted by Eleanor’s validation, and maybe he is ready to see Miranda after all.