Me: ducks and covers I'm so sorry! It's been so long gasp I can't believe it... But, hey, there's a HUGE chapter coming up; I'm just still editing it is all... ; Thanks so much for the patience and the comments; it's a fun story to write... X) Anywho, enough's enough, so enjoy...

--ONE WEEK AND SOME PRIOR--

Maccus found himself in the grimy, dimly lit bowels of the ship. The miniature prison cells were empty concerning men, but the air reeked of sweat, salt, and blood—he felt the gills along the sides of his neck twitch excitedly—as his eyes surveyed the cells individually, certain one from them all had a willing prisoner…

His eyes fell upon the second from the back, the cell bars of which had elongated fingers entwined around them. Maccus frowned slightly as he neared the cell; to his dismay, he found the quarry of his search resting with his forehead against the prison bars, hiccupping every so often as an after result from a serious bout of sobbing. Davy's crony growled in dismay; men aren't weak, they shouldn't cry.

"Daniel," Maccus' voice boomed, almost echoing in the damp, nearly-vacant room; the prisoner's head jumped back with a start, and wide eyes pleaded at Maccus; "The Captain says—"

"I didn't do it!" the man whined, his face contorting as he envisioned the new sorts of pain to be endured, as result of whatever trick the others were playing on him now; he messed up enough without their help. "Tell him for me, you're closest, he'll listen! I—"

"—Need to learn to hold your tongue," Maccus finished, his face impassive. Daniel fell quiet, and stared at his knees that rested between the crevices in the bars; his eyes welded with tears as his body shook. Maccus watched, in an almost sort of morbid fascination, as the man removed one of his hands from its grasp on a bar, and placed two fingers between his teeth. The echoing crunch on the man's part disturbed the crony only slightly, as he had remembered himself, those troubling times, when he had begun his transformations into …what he had become…

Maccus resisted the urge to glance down to his own hands, and instead bent down onto his haunches so that he was at a sort of eye-level with the man, if that is what he should like to call himself. He heard himself mutter Daniel's name once more. Daniel shuddered, but looked up regardless of his blatant fear. Maccus' deep blue eyes met the stark brownness of the man's own, and he wondered slightly whether this man saw things differently, due to the variation in their eye color—perhaps?

"Daniel, th' name's Maccus, and," Maccus sighed deeply, "Davy's assigned me t' show you your bearings on this ship. I suppose you know what it's called?" Maccus cocked a brow, curious at the notion that the man didn't even know where he was. He received a hurried nod, however, and the man squeaked the ship's name. "Aye, the Flying Dutchman, that's our ship. You have a hundred years here, might as well work t' make them somevat comfortable."

Daniel looked up curiously, then shook his head. "Yes, somewhat comfortable at least…"—his eyes locked with Maccus's--"and you'll help me? You'll help me accomplish that?"

Maccus glanced away; he wasn't too sure what he would do, since guarding this man from harming himself as he usually did was near impossible—but he could try. Maccus nodded. The man nearly squealed, and did a sign of the cross. The pirate stared at the prison-mate precariously, considered the 't' Daniel had made over hisself, and shrugged as he stood up and ambled off.

Maccus heard his name from behind him, and paused momentarily, glancing over his shoulder and watching silently as the man tweaked open the cell bars and slid through a crack in the door; immediately he was standing to Maccus's right, a clear head and a half shorter than the crony. Daniel gave a sort of sheepish smile.

"So you'll help me then, is that it?" the man asked, his eyes wide, obviously wondering if this was some kind of cruel trick—the small bit of time he had been here on this ship had been nothing short of painful, and it was clearly amazing to him that someone would offer a hand in his aid… "This isn't fantasy?"

Maccus frowned momentarily at the man, studied him shortly, and turned his head as he marched up the steps, with the man at his heels.

Maccus wasn't sure how to answer the man; what if all this, his current life, his current state of being, was just a dream, and he was instead still sleeping at home, his comfortable home in… somewhere…still alive there, and just unconscious? Maccus shook his head at the ridiculous notion; surely not. Surely not.

"You—you didn't ans—"

"I c'n only help you help y'rself," Maccus replied sharply, staring at the man pointedly before leaving him standing on the steps to the lower deck. Daniel remained still, preoccupied with his thoughts. He heaved a small sigh, and nodded to himself assuredly as he hurried himself after Maccus, hoping furiously to God that this was not some sick joke. That whip was far too hideous on his shoulder, he could at least say that much…

--

The Captain of the Flying Dutchman sat, hunched, on a large organ bench, though he leaned forward in a direction opposite of the instrument, so that his back was to the keys. His mind relayed the thoughts and ideas he had presented to himself to combat the issue of a certain lacking element in his crew's functions. Certainly everything would go to plan—

He chuckled to himself at this ludicrous thought. No. Nothing ever went according to plan. Therein lay the fun of the whole thing. He stood up a little straighter, and pulled the pipe out from his mouth for a moment as he narrowed his eyes on the door, across the bench he was seated at. He had never realized how vulnerable a position he was constantly in, with his back to the door, though the door was far as it may be…

Davy shook his head and stood up, before striding across the room and up the stairs, and over to the railings. He took another flight of stairs, nodding at his crewmen every now and then, until he was standing beside Maccus at the helm. Davy had caught the figure of Daniel scrubbing the floor, and the Captain could not help but chuckle to himself; how often had he assigned such a meaningless task to his new subordinates—the barnacles could never come off! Yet, should the man actually succeed…another was bourne in the previous' spot, along with several more. Yes, such a meaningless task; Davy chuckled—and yet Daniel was working furiously, obviously set on succeeding in his assigned mission.

The Captian shook his head as he took his pipe out from his mouth, and glanced over at his crony; Maccus's eyes shifted so that he saw Davy from the corner of his eye, and the pirate nodded.

"Captain."

Davy nodded, and placed the pipe back into his mouth as he surveyed the sea ahead. He wondered, for a moment, why was it he primarily kept above the water's surface, now, when he usually kept himself and his crew beneath the sea? He ignored such a trivial question, and concerned himself to focus on more important matters, ones that were not as minute as the previous…

But would the plan fail miserably, from the beginning, if they should not find a source, as the source of his desired element—or elements—was the crux of all of it?

No matter. His child would deliver soon enough.