Lies
"How are you doing, Commodore." They ask.
"Fine." I reply.
The lie is a good one, practised; it is out of my mouth before I can even think about it.
"Splendid, and how are things between you and Elizabeth Swann?"
"Fine."
This lie tastes sour; of course we are far from fine. I struggle to keep the truth out of my face but they barely notice anyway.
"And how are you doing catching Sparrow?"
"Fine."
The lie is unconvincing and unsatisfying but honour keeps them from questioning it further. It's better this way. The truth is seldom what they want to hear.
"Keep up the good work." They say.
"I will." I answer.
"Be careful." They say.
"I will." I lie.
Like they care anyway.