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Summary
The lookout spots the ship just after dawn: a little schooner sailing due east, flying Dutch colors and with a storm brewing in her wake. Waste of time, Izzy thinks, but Edward gets some wild fucking hair and decides to chase the fucking thing. All of Izzy's extremely valid points about the (very large) size of the storm and the (very small) size of the ship in question are roundly ignored in favor of a growled imprecation about his parentage and a backhand that knocks him halfway across the cabin, so he takes his smarting cheek and battered pride and limps up to the deck to order the pursuit.
Izzy Hands and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad
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