The Preserve, Sunday Afternoon
Thorin and Anders both had their own ways of dealing with a hangover. Edward? Edward had his.
... Which was to say that at some point last night, he'd gotten it into his head he wanted to climb a tree. And he had. Quite deftly, in fact. Edward Kenway knew how to hold his drink, thank you very much, even if he hadn't been able to walk in anything even remotely resembling a straight line.
He just... hadn't remembered how to get out of the tree again.
He was still in there by Sunday afternoon, legs stretched out over a thick branch, his head pillowed against the trunk. He'd woken up once or twice, but somehow, magically, he'd managed to turn over and fall back asleep each time.
Now he was stirring again.
Largely because there was a squirrel sitting on his chest. "What the--" The animal's little pencil went skittering over its paper, and then it looked up again expectantly. "...Are you writing this down?"
The squirrel shrugged. Of course it was.
[[ open! ]]
... Which was to say that at some point last night, he'd gotten it into his head he wanted to climb a tree. And he had. Quite deftly, in fact. Edward Kenway knew how to hold his drink, thank you very much, even if he hadn't been able to walk in anything even remotely resembling a straight line.
He just... hadn't remembered how to get out of the tree again.
He was still in there by Sunday afternoon, legs stretched out over a thick branch, his head pillowed against the trunk. He'd woken up once or twice, but somehow, magically, he'd managed to turn over and fall back asleep each time.
Now he was stirring again.
Largely because there was a squirrel sitting on his chest. "What the--" The animal's little pencil went skittering over its paper, and then it looked up again expectantly. "...Are you writing this down?"
The squirrel shrugged. Of course it was.
[[ open! ]]