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“Pirates?” Lucius asks, bored. He’s sitting at Stede’s desk, journal open in front of him, but he’s long since stopped taking notes. He’s been over this entire situation since mid-morning, proving that even the most fantastical occurrences can become dull with the application of bureaucracy.
“Beg pardon?” Stede asks. Or rather, this specific Stede asks. Because the Revenge is currently overrun with Stedes and Eds from different times and places, and for some unknown reason Lucius has been tasked with wrangling them.
This Stede is dressed in that strange denim material that Lucius has to admit does things for Stedes’ asses.
“What do you do? Are you pirates?” Lucius elaborates.
“Oh! No, of course not, I work in an office. I’m not…” He trails off. “I’m not actually sure I can be more specific?”
Lucius leans his chin heavily onto his cupped hand. “Most of you can’t.” He scrawls Vague Office Stede #4 on a piece of paper and tells Stede to pin it to his shirt. “And you?” he asks Ed.
“I own a bar.”
“Over by the fireplace is where we’ve set up general office-y types. Bartender Eds have sort of congregated in the mess with the Chef Eds. They’re all pretty horrified about the weevil situation, that’s good for a laugh.”
Stede does not look like he thinks that would be good for a laugh.
“Yep, good, great,” Bartender Ed #7 says. “Maybe back up a smidge and tell us what the actual fuck is happening? We were having dinner in Soho and now we’re on a ship in the middle of the fucking ocean!” He’s yelling by the end, but one good thing about this shitshow of a day—Lucius is no longer fazed by Ed’s tantrums.
“No clue," Lucius says. “One of the Scientist Eds said something about a rip in the space-time continuum? And then Writer Stede #3 mentioned something about an archive going down. Then they started making out.”
“And the um, strange boys in the corner that look like they want to kill everyone?” Stede asks nervously when he spots the two teenagers slouched together, eyeing everyone suspiciously.
“Some kind of psychosexual shared madness? Your guess is as good as mine. I wouldn’t get too close, they’re very stabby.” Lucius shrugs. “The Izzys are generally harmless though, they’re mostly just looking for a different ship.”
He replaces the quill; someone else can be in charge of cataloging. “Look, if you two want to ignore the fact that your universe has tossed you out on your asses, I’m pretty sure there’s a full-blown orgy going on in the auxiliary closet.”
“An auxiliary closet!” Stede’s eyes light up. All the Stedes’ eyes light up at that bit of news, even the Stede who was apparently some kind of songbird.
Whatever. One of the Petes who’s also a werewolf has promised to make Lucius something called a Mai Tai.
Before he can leave, a newly arrived Jim approaches the desk. “The fuck?” they say. “This is bullshit, I’m a fully drawn character with a backstory! There’s more to me than fucking knives!”
“Take it up with the writer,” Lucius snaps. “I’m just a scribe with ill-defined duties who gives fantastic head. And guess what? In every single universe, I’m not getting paid enough for this shit!”
One of the Canon Divergent Luciuses pokes his head in the door. “Keeping track is a lost cause, me, we’re done. Come on, one of the modern Roaches is going to teach us how to make s’mores.”
“Right.” Lucius slams the journal shut and follows himself onto the deck.