The rocking of a boat is not soothing, don't be fooled by idiots that say they love the sea and find it as a metaphorical rocking chair. When you first board a ship, you're excited, nervous, ambitious, and ready for anything; that when sailors will attempt to write in their pathetic journals, the sea is very soothing today... However, to a real sea dog, one that's been on the waters too long, and probably couldn't walk right once they set foot on land, they will tell you the rocking is a curse. Each rock counts the seconds, and as you are there longer and longer on the wooden devil you subconciously start to count each sway. It'll start one day when you're climbing the rat lines, you'll suddenly hear your mind whispering; one, two, three, four... and little by little those numbers ascend until subconciously you're glaring at the warped wood beneath your calloused feet and you're thinking, four hundred, nintey three thousand, and fifty six. That's when you realized you truly are going to be on the sea forever, and that's when you realize you fucking hate how the boat is rocking.

Running a thumb and middle finger over the hills of flesh bunched up above his eyebrows James sighed; he was a man of thirty years old and had migranes everyday before of the insistant irritations of the men that he called his crew, a little whelp of a boy that just can't leave him alone, and the constant ringing of small bells when his treacherous little fairy girlfriend buzzed around his ear. It was always that same with that broad, mad at Pan and coming to him with ideas of frightening proportions and then her backing down and saving Pan in the very last minute. Still, at this point, it was a game because Tink, as she'd asked him to call her, gave him information on one else could so he humors her. Was there any wonder the man was always snappy at the people under him? After all, Smee was a bumbling idiot, though devoted, and the other men looked up to him in such high reverance that they never strived to be better; they accepted they were not that good and did nothing off it.

Vexing, he thought, this is beyond vexing. Once again his fingers travel over the sunkissed skin of his forehead when he hears the distant ringing that the crew has called, St. Peter's Bell. It was the bell they rang before every sunday service and the one they also rang when something Peter Pan related was coming close to them. The irony of having both purposes did not escape James, though as he heard the bell he only sighed instead of run out there like everyone expected him to. Every man was so sure that he hated that Peter boy enough to hunt him down and kill him, but really that was not so. The boy thought it was fun to fuck with him, so on occasion James decided to remind him of his place. Sure, he could fly, but James could just as easily throw a rock in the air and kill two birds with one stone; even if one bird had only the brain of one but not the feathers.

Grabbing his beloved hat he placed it atop long black tresses and meandered onto the deck, looking up into the sky first and then toward the shore line. It seemed that there was smoke rising from within the forest. Raising an eyebrow, he turned to look at his crew with a tired look. They all looked nervous, how pathetic.

"S-s-sir!" The umistakable voice of Mr. Smee stuttered as he came to his side, "Fire, fire, fire!"
"Thank you Smee, your powers of observation are astounding," replied the drool, french accented voice of Captian James M. Hook.
"We th-th-think it's those woodland boys, cap'n!"
"Again, your powers of observation..."
"What should we do, Captain?"
Ahh, finally, a solid voice.
"We ignore it."
"But cap'n!"
"Did you all forget that Peter Pan is not our prime objective?" He snapped in reply, "You blumbering fools, it's gold we're after. If we get to kill the boy it's a plus, if we get to eat humaniod woodland critter's it's a bonus," He stated dryly and then turned to proceed back into his quarters before he heard that same solid voice cut through them all again.
"Sir, we should help them."

There was a stunned silence, and before James turned around his eyebrow propped upward. Did he just say help them? Turning around, James's eyes weeded through the crowd until they landed on something that a child would mistake for a beard. A small, cruel smirk spread on his features, "Really?" He inquired. A few crew men swallowed.
"Sir. I believe we saw them with gold."
Interest perked, he drew it out, "Is that so; well then, what did the gold look like."
"They were bright green gems, gold around them--"
"Come forward!" Hook commanded, eyes wide. This was it, this was what he had been looking for for all these years! The cat's eye. "Where did they get this gem?"
"Um, well, that is."
Rolling his eyes he took a few steps forward, grabbed the long coat on the pirate's shoulders and pulled it off of him... to reveal three boys standing ontop of each other, the one on top's knees knocking against each other.

His upperlip mutated into a sneer, and he threw the coat onto the floor; the smell of urine was evident as one wet the front of his idiotic footy pajamas. Spitting on the frightened boy's face he jerked his head over his shoulder, "Slit their throats and throw them over board for the fishes." Cold, hollow laughter spread over the crew, and then began to approach the boys, the three of them looking horrified and James turned his back on them the second time only to have them call out a second time, their voices now young and scared, "WAIT! Wait, wait, waaaiit! The kids, they need help! That gem, it's killing everyone, everything's turning into something evil on the island--"
"You envoked the power!" Again, a hand came up to rub his head before continuing, talking low into his palm, "It was Peter, wasn't it?"
He didn't have to look to see them nodding.

Anger welled up in him and then flung out in an episode of fury, drawing out his long, thin sword he plunged it into one of the boy's hearts, hearing as it ripped out the back curtain of flesh on the other side of the boy's body. Pulling it out, the middle boy fell forward, falling ontop of an already falling bottom boy. The bottom boy screamed, and as he did so one of the crew memebers plunged a knife into the back of an open mouth. The last boy ran as fast as he could and plunged into the water. The men began to run to the railing when Hook held up his metal, curving hand and said quietly, "Let him go, he'll just go back to an island that turning into a land of death."
"Sir?"
"The Cat's Eye? In the hands of Peter Pan? Men, the fire wasn't started on accident, and I've no doubt by now that many of the once gentely animals they seemed to cuddle up with on cold nights are now out for blood. I suggest you all get ready, I'll be picking six of you to accompany me on shore, the remaing seven will man the ship; we'll get that gem and save those bumbling idiots from themselves."
Nodding in understanding, some of them paling, James walked away toward his cabin just before hearing the familiar splashes of carcasses hitting the water.