Chapter Nine:
Dissent

Disclaimer: I do not own the anime/manga Fullmetal Alchemist. It and all its respectable characters are © to Hiromu Arakawa. I also do not own Pirates of the Caribbean. It is © to Disney and Buena Vista Films. However, all writing contents and semi-plots here are © to me; unless it is stated otherwise. I belong to myself, and Bishquet, my lovely friend here on belongs to herself. All shows/ books/ video games/ songs that are mentioned in this chapter are all © to their respective owners, I do not own them.

Note: [4 May 2016] I am of the school of thought that while Jack is a rather lax leader, he would not stand for outright insubordination from those who have signed onto his ship. Will and Elizabeth are exceptions, of course, because they haven't signed on to sail with him on official record. They're not his crew by contract. While he has the power to abandon, strand, or otherwise refuse passage to them, he was never truly their captain in the way that they signed on in agreement to sail under him. And I also cannot imagine that he wouldn't be fooled a second time with the possibility of a mutiny brewing right up from underneath him. He'd play the fool, but he wouldn't allow himself to be fooled again. Not after Barbossa's betrayal.

Reality ensues with our four wayward individuals because they officially signed on to sail under him. He'll be lax to a point, but once that hint of absolute disrespect or utter disobedience starts creeping in, he'll lash out accordingly to nip it in the bud.

Food for thought.

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"You want to run this ship?"
"Yes!"
"Well…you can't."
-Captain Malcolm Reynolds and Jayne, "Firefly"

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Seagulls were beginning to make their presence known in the coming days. It was a sign of land, even if they were quite a ways away from it. They couldn't even see the mainland, but it was a good sign nonetheless. There was relief colouring the faces of the pirates. A static energy began to take hold in everyone, a second wind in their flagging energies.

And with the following sight of the birds, came the ever increasing sight of ships sailing on the horizon.

Brigantines and galleons, sloops and frigates, even a man-of-war was glimpsed on the far, far horizon. There was all manner of sails they saw drifting about as lazily leisure paces in the distance. Every canvas of sail set the Pearl's crew nearly frothing in giddiness, shouting at the tops of their lungs without abandon. Many jumped ahead of themselves, bursting into a flurry of excited action—prepping the cannons, checking their pistols, readying their swords.

Each and every time they did, Jack was there to have them stand down and put away all their weapons like children with toys, barking at them to sail on. It was difficult to not miss the slowly but surely growing seeds of dissent that took root in most of the crew's expressions when they turned away from Jack's pointed gaze.

"I don't think he's a very good pirate," Edward muttered with mild surprise colouring his tone. Alphonse cast a quick look toward the captain, before ducking his head and nodding as they continued pushing their scrub brushes along the deck. The watery mixture had long since turned grey and questionable with a slight stink to it. A shoulder bumped his and he glanced up to see one of the men moving on ahead, paying no mind to him except for a passing grunt.

"Or maybe he has a schedule to keep," Alphonse inputted. The elder Elric snorted softly.

"Or he's just a lousy captain."

"If he was so lousy, he wouldn't have taken us on or bothered keeping us alive. He would have left us to die. He wouldn't be as lax with us as he is. He's managed to hold his rank for longer than you give him credit for."

Edward stopped scrubbing, if only for a moment to stare at his brother in mild shock. He resumed scrubbing in silence, although he wrinkled his nose at the sight of the grey waters sloshing about to seep into his metal hand. I'll never get the smell out.

The afternoon dragged on and the shadows grew long as the sun sank lower onto the western horizon. The sea around them turned silvery in the distance, shimmering and bright under the light. When the decks were cleaned, the buckets were evicted of their contents and all that really meant was tossing it overboard. When the cleaning supplies were put away below decks, Edward found himself collapsing on a barrel by the galley. Lupin was bustling about away from sight, muttering all along. Or was she singing?

He couldn't really tell, it was too soft and the ambience around him was just a pitch or two higher than the volume of her voice. Either way, it was nice to hear something a bit more temperate than the gruff calls up top, even if he couldn't hear or understand the lyrics. Anything else that wasn't Bully in the Alley or some such was fine by him.

He perked when the song stopped and a string of loud and colourful curses floated up with a series of hisses for emphasis. He noticed Alphonse moseying over just as he was getting up to slink around Bubba the Stove. He was surprised to find Bish there, holding Lupin's hands together underneath a cloth, her brown eyes wide behind her glasses. He was more startled by the blooming of scarlet staining the off-white grunge of the cloth. Bish's sharp eyes spotted him and she waved at him.

"Grab some clean bandages, would you? She cut herself."

"I'm fine, it's just a scratch—! Ow, fucking hell, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"The hell it is, you nearly split your damn hand open! Find the doc too, she might more help!"

Edward turned on his heel and nearly ran headlong into Alphonse.

"Find the doc for us."

"Did someone get hurt?" Alphonse already knew, could hear Lupin cursing up a storm behind Edward, and Bish softly yet firmly telling her to calm down and that she'd be fine. Worry etched itself in his features when he turned his gaze back to his older brother.

"Yeah, but I think she'll be fine—just find the doc, and hurry."

Alphonse nodded, calmly hurrying away while Edward went into the supply locker—the same where they stored food and extra ship repair parts, they also stored quite a number of medical supplies. When he exited with a number of supplies in hand, Alphonse was returning with their makeshift "doctor". Really, he wasn't even an officially licensed medical practitioner—Jack wasn't that lucky to have one on board—but he was close enough to one that he had some knowledge. It was either get busy getting good at it on a ship or get busy dying in a hurry.

"Show him," he heard Bish saying.

"I'm fine," Lupin insisted as he pushed himself to the front. If anything, she didn't look entirely fine. Alphonse was standing just out of the circle and shared a look with him. "It's that stupid fucking knife—it's too dull and that whetstone I try to use is a piss poor joke, it can't even sharpen the blade right anymore."

"Well, that blade is too far gone, that's why. It reached the usefulness of its life a long time ago. I'm surprised it's held up as long as it has."

Edward patted the older man on the shoulder, who spared him a glance of his own and nodded in return to him.

"Here, boy, give me those—ah. These have been boiled clean, yes?"

"I…think so?" How was he supposed to know? He wasn't the one who took care of the supplies.

"Yes, they are." Lupin hissed through clenched teeth. She finally managed to pull her hand away from Bish's mother hen clutches. Bishquet eyeballed her skeptically, but allowed Lupin to have her space. Even in this lighting, it was clear enough to see that Lupin had gone rather pale, most likely from mild shock of slicing her hand. She didn't look ready to move it around anytime soon.

"Let me see the damage then," the old sailor muttered, motioning for her to show him. She watched him through narrowed eyes, clearly hesitant. Slowly but surely, she peeled back the cloth Bish had been helping hold in place over her hand. Tacky but still-wet blood clung stubbornly to the cloth and Lupin's skin, but it was pulled away all the same, revealing the dark mess beneath. By now, most of her hand had been stained red, but it was easy to identify where it was bleeding from. The old man motioned for Bish to grab the lantern hanging above them and she obeyed, bringing the light closer. She hissed and Edward could see why from the get go as he slipped a little closer to the group.

Score-marks had been made along her index and middle finger, revealing where the initial point of contact had started. But the deepest gouge was right along the meaty length of her thumb. The old man, Edward believed his name was Livingston, clucked disapprovingly as he examined the cuts carefully.

"Mmph. What were you doing, prepping the food or prepping some long pork instead, girl?"

"I really don't have an answer to that," Lupin replied back, flinching when he yanked on her a little more gruffly than necessary. Blood dribbled along her fingers, dying them bright red. In the low lighting of the galley, however, it looked black. Edward almost winced himself. "Ow, Christ on a crutch, be careful, would you?"

The older man, predictably, continued ignoring her. He took the bandages from Edward and carefully wrapped them around her hand, none too gentle as he did so and tightened down on the bleeding digits. Lupin winced every time he did, but bit her lip and swallowed down any whimpers she might have had. Bish kept one arm around her friend's shoulders and the other gripping Lupin's cut-free hand, squeezing it on occasion. Alphonse offered his own small words of praise and encouragement. Edward found it a bit awkward for him to say anything that his brother and Bish weren't already saying, so he said nothing at all. He remained close by, and perhaps that was enough for her. He couldn't say for sure, but he hoped it was.

When Livingston finished, he grunted. "That'll do for now, but it won't help it in the long run. I'll be back. I just need to grab my bag."

"What for?" Her voice took on a higher pitch.

"We can't leave the wound open like that, now can we?"

"What, you're gonna stitch me back together?"

"What else are we to do?"

Livingston either ignored her tone, or he hadn't heard the fearful urgency in it at all as he toddled off, muttering about needing his needles and sutures. She hurriedly pulled her hand close, like she could shield it with her body and held it gingerly so at the same time. Even if she wasn't outright panicking yet, Edward could see it forming in her eyes, hear it in her voice. Bish gave her friend another squeeze around the shoulders, telling her that she'd fine, that it probably wouldn't take long.

"Dude—dude, no. I don't mind needles, but then again, if I ever needed stitches back home, I know they'd numb me up first. They don't have that here and I can't exactly down a bottle of rum in place of anesthesia. I'd bleed out faster."

"You'd be pretty sterilized, though," Bish joked back with a slight grin. Lupin scowled and eventually the Hispanic woman's smile faded. She gave her hand a squeeze this time, her grip firm. She glanced up Edward's way for a moment with a ticked brow.

"Lupin, you can't just leave your hand as is. What happens if you did, and after a while, you needed to change the bandages? You'd rip everything open and be back at square one again. Those cuts are pretty deep. You need the stitches." Despite the reservation in Alphonse's voice, he remained on point. The cuts on her hand were too deep to leave alone. Even if Edward himself was adverse to them, he knew that much. She'd lose more blood faster than her body would heal up her wounds.

'Well?' Bish's expectant expression seemed to say. 'Got anything to add?'

He found himself unable to utter anything extraordinarily uplifting or peppy. When it came to needles, Edward wouldn't hesitate to admit he hated them with a passion. Needles reminded him too much of his automail surgery, easily the second worst pain imaginable in his entire life.

Alphonse thankfully swooped in again and in the nick of time. He was always better when it came to these kinds of situations. They were more his forte.

"You'll be fine. I know it'll hurt, a lot, but those cuts look pretty deep. You can feel it, can't you? They won't heal on their own, not quickly enough. I also don't believe anyone would appreciate you constantly bleeding into the food you're preparing for everyone."

Lupin sighed, her shoulders sinking slightly and the faint tinge of fear deflating at the sight of Alphonse grinning amicably at her.

"Fine. Fine, fine, fine. Fine." She muttered back. "Doesn't mean I have to like the fact that I'm about to get a goddamned needle stuck into my hand without anesthesia."

"If you just ask, we can help you out around here for a while, you know," Bish chastised with a cluck of her tongue. "How did you even cut yourself?"

That clicked with Edward as well and he stepped closer, furrowing his brow. "Yeah, how did that happen?"

Lupin looked to him, her lips pulling into a faint frown. It melted into a furious accusatory look as she diverted her gaze toward Bubba. More specifically, she had turned her angry glare onto a cutting board that lay on the stove top.

"The knife I use for prepping food broke. I think I put too much pressure on it and I guess it was time for it to die, and it nearly took my fingers with it. It just snapped. Fat lot of good the whetstone I use to try and sharpen the blade on it was…"

The elder Elric exchanged a quick look with Alphonse as he stepped closer and found the offending object rather quickly on the wooden cutting board. Whatever food had been on it was gone now, perhaps spilled at their feet, but the hilt of the old knife was still there, and only half the blade was still attached, the other broken off and lying askew elsewhere. Blood had spattered the board, leaving its mark where Lupin had cut herself.

"Guess you'll need a new one."

"I only have one more, and it's about as shitty as the one that just broke. Maybe I can weasel in an order of good cutting knives in our order of supplies when we get to Spain."

"And maybe some new clothes while you're at it," Edward drawled, glancing back at Lupin's attire for the first time. Bish snorted and Lupin looked appropriately chagrined as she overlooked herself as well. Her tank top was dark, but it had a wet shine to it from her blood, and her blue jeans weren't any better.

Slowly, Lupin held her hand out a little bit further away from her. Blood had soaked through most of the clothing fibers, and the excess was now dripping on the wooden planks. Bish pulled a face.

"Yeah. Maybe that'd be a good idea, sweetie."

"Awww…but I really liked these jeans! Fuck you, blood."

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Tearlach prepared the food for that night, all the while Lupin got her hand stitched up. Nearly toward the end, nearly half the ship had gone to inspect or ogle the spectacle of watching her getting it done. Several times, they offered her a swig of rum at one point or another, and every time, she steadfastly refused.

"Keep a fucking barrel of it on standby for when I'm done," she kept joking with a strained, tight voice. Most laughed and promised they would. Livingston barely spoke except perhaps to tell her to stop trying to "run away" from him as he worked. Edward suspected he had at least Bish there to do just as much, albeit more physically. He also had to work slowly, timing himself with the gradual swell and ebb of the ship's rocking.

Bish remained by her side, trying to distract her constantly from the pain with tales and stories, some Lupin responded to, others she listened as best she could. Alphonse helped some, somehow designating himself as the secondary foundation to keep the young woman distracted as well. Edward watched with gritted teeth and a tense back, and eventually couldn't bring himself to look at Lupin's hand, but neither could he bring himself to leave.

She sat by us for nearly two weeks straight when we were sick and recovering. The least I can do is sit here for her. It felt rational enough of an argument, if anyone cared to wonder why he was there, although he wasn't as talkative. He listened, though, as Bish regaled in another 'adventure' she and Lupin had partaken in.

"Dude, remember when we went to Borders and we stood in line for hours to get our copies of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows? Remember that excitement in the air, being around our fellow nerds, and reading the previous book, trying to psyche ourselves even more about the release?"

Like her voice, Lupin's smile was timorous and strained, but she nodded and closed her eyes, wincing and fighting back another pained whimper as the needle tugged at her flesh.

"Mmmm, yup, yup, yup. I remember that. Um…I think I actually wore a skirt. Blue or something."

"I think it was blue plaid, yeah."

"I didn't have a red one for Gryffindor, so I kind of did my own thing."

Bish laughed and nodded enthusiastically, smiling broadly. She paused to pull her frizzy, curly hair back into a ponytail. "God, what a night. We waited for what seemed like an eternity to get our books, but it was so worth it! Remember when we went to Denny's afterwards?"

"I didn't have any more money after I got my book, so I had to steal hash browns from everyone we met up with; all I had enough for was coffee. Totally worth it. God, I miss coffee."

Bish laughed. "It was two in the morning by the time we got there! And we skipped through the book while we sat in the booth and when we saw 'NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!', we went nuts! The waitresses thought we were insane!"

"You guys did all that for a book?" Alphonse asked incredulously but not unkindly. He was smiling that smile of easygoing fondness that came so easily to him. Edward tuned in a little more, equally disbelieving. Waiting around for hours just for a book release? That…actually sounded kind of nice. Almost familiar, even.

Livingston continued on, as though he was completely tuning them all out in turn. It was like he wasn't even there to them all at this point. Even the rest of the crew had left at last, which was probably why the two women were speaking more earnestly now. They rarely got this worked up about their home lives, except when things were more private, and this was as close as they could get, given the situation.

Lupin jumped suddenly when the needle seemed to hit a sensitive nerve and she whimpered low in her throat. "Oowwww…for fuck's sake, please be careful!"

Edward could tell she wanted to squirm like there was no tomorrow on the horizon, to jerk back and run away with her offended digits. She was lucky she hadn't lost them. Bishquet squeezed her friend's hand, holding it in that firm grip of hers, talking low and soft reassuring words. She looked ready to cry, and Edward wouldn't have blamed her if she had. He knew firsthand how painful it can having any kind of procedure without anesthesia could be. When Lupin marginally relaxed after a minute or so, albeit she was still sucking down stressed breaths, she glanced back at Alphonse with that same fervent light in her eyes.

"Al, this book release was for Harry Potter. The absolute best series in the world in our time, hands down." She said this as quickly as she could, like she was trying to hold her breath, and yet she was able to stress her point. Bish told her to breathe, patting her shoulder.

"I'm not sure who Harry Potter is, but I guess I'll have to keep an eye out when it comes around."

"It's a seven-book series, and it starts with an eleven-year-old boy in England who's being raised by his abusive aunt and uncle and also has to live with his insufferable cousin whom they spoil rotten. He finds out he's really a wizard in the first book, and not only that, he's pretty famous. He goes to a school to learn how to perform magic properly and in the interim, he finds out why he's famous. It gets a lot darker as the series goes on. The author manages to kill off a lot of loved characters."

Edward snorted loudly, drawing mild glares from the two women.

"Magic," he scoffed with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. And there's the catch.

"Clearly, you're not a fan of fictional stories. Try to avoid it when the first book comes out, then. It'll be obvious by its title. It'll be called Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone."

"Sorcerer's Stone? What's it do, cast thunder and lightning spells at whoever picks it up?"

His brother frowned at him, but Edward, for the most part, ignored him.

"No, actually. It was titled that when it published in the States. It's actually titled Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone overseas, where it was first published. You know, it's the stone that makes you immortal and can heal any ailment you might have sustained."

Edward froze and felt like he'd forgotten how to breathe. Alphonse stiffened up similarly, staring at the two women in quiet shock. The atmosphere had turned tense in a split second. Now that was a name he hadn't heard in years. It was a name he almost wanted to forget about. The Philosopher's Stone.

"What…happened in the story?" Alphonse spoke first, quiet and barely audible.

"It…was made by Nicholas Flamel about six hundred years prior to the book's events. It was an item that the villain of the series, Voldemort, was seeking so he could use it to restore his body. He was called the Dark Lord, and he was a really bad wizard who killed people because he could, or because he deemed them unworthy or because they weren't pureblooded witches or wizards. Whatever," Lupin started off slowly, occasionally casting spare glances at Livingston. The old man made no show of his listening in, and she bit her lip when he gave an especially harsh tug of the needle into her skin.

"The Stone was being hidden in Harry's school because it was believed to be safest there. Voldemort nearly got his hands on it, but Harry stopped him. Nicholas deemed it too dangerous to keep around anymore and destroyed it after Voldemort was dispatched of. He finds another way to come back, but that's in a book later on down the line. The fourth one." Bish picked up right where Lupin had left of. The latter was currently clenched all around, sweat glistening on her skin. "Breathe, Loopy. You have lungs for a reason."

"How about I poke you with a needle and lace you up with sutures without anesthesia a couple of times, see how well you do."

"No thanks. I'm fine from where I'm sitting," the Hispanic woman glanced at the other woman's hand and wrinkled her nose. "Yeah. I'm fine. That's totally gross but awesome. Hey, remember when my puppy's eyeball popped out and we had to rush him to the vet?"

They hardly noticed when he left, but he had caught Alphonse's eye moments before he did. The sound of the two women's voices faded as he carried himself away and up to the top deck. The smell of blood was finally getting to him and he needed the fresh air. At least, that's what he kept telling himself.

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"You looked kind of spooked back there, brother."

Edward gave a cursory glance over his shoulder to find Alphonse approaching. He leaned on the gunwale next to him. The sun was bleeding out into the ocean, casting dark bruises across the water and the skies. Pretty soon night would engulf them again, and by morning they'd be one day closer to Spain's coastline.

"Nah, it's…just hearing that name. I guess you could call it an old ghost I didn't expect to stir up for a while longer."

"You don't believe in ghosts," Alphonse retorted back with a light teasing tone. Edward didn't need to look at his brother to see the smile he most likely was sporting. He could hear it plainly enough in his voice.

"I didn't believe in time travel, either, and yet, here we are. We're sailing on an old galleon ship with 17th-century pirates. This would seem a bit oddly conspicuous if this were an elaborate prank. We'd have seen more modernized ships by now if it was."

"Next thing you know, you'll believe magic's real, too," Alphonse continued, grinning. Edward snorted derisively.

"Now that's just taking it too far, Al." He chided, but his own voice was just as teasing as his brother's. They shared a small laugh but soon his own smile faded quicker than he would have liked. "Life's strange."

"What do you mean by that?"

"The parallels between our world and this one. Like the Philosopher's Stone, for example. I never once really looked into it when I was here. But hearing the name just now…it brought up a lot of old memories," Edward said softly, before shaking his head. When he smiled, it was thin and humourless. "I once thought I was living in a strange dream world and didn't bother looking for a way out. I mean, I did, but it was…half-hearted, almost. I didn't have the same drive like when we were looking for the Philosopher's Stone. Not until everything that happened when Eckhart tried prying her way into our world."

Alphonse stood beside him in companionable silence for a minute or two, letting the ambient noise fill the space between them. The lines rattled and creaked and the sheets snapped as the wind billowed and pulled and tugged. The ship hurled herself forward, carried by the wind's careless whim, singing an old song all on her own in accompaniment to the low rumble of the ocean and the sigh of the wind.

"I guess there are still plenty of things we'll never figure out in our lifetime," Alphonse said slowly. "Which is a shame. There are some things I'd like to know. Like how we really got here. If time travel is impossible, then how is it we ended up in middle of the 17th-century? That's a question that needs answering."

"It doesn't look like we'll get any answers by floating around in this tub, though," Edward conceded with a half-hearted scowl. He would have loved to know the answer to that too and would have given just about almost anything to know it. But past experiences were a bitch to forget, and being careful what they wished for was an adage they wouldn't forget either. Too many sacrifices had been made in the pursuit of a forbidden knowledge that had nearly cost them their lives one too many times.

Shaking the thoughts from his mind, Edward asked how Lupin finished.

"Bish shooed me away right before Livingston finished. From what I saw, she was doing well, though. And without the anesthesia, too."

"Yeah…but until she loses a limb or two and goes under the knife to replace them without the anesthesia, then you can talk to me."

"Give her some credit. Those cuts were pretty deep…"

"I suppose. She'll be more careful in the future from now on, that much I can guarantee."

"At least she can sit still with a needle in her hand. You looked ready to bolt as soon as he pulled out his tools," Alphonse chuckled, lightly bumping Edward's shoulder. The elder Elric grunted, scowling at him.

"That's a low blow, even for you, Al."

"It's the truth! She's braver around needles than you are." He continued chiding with a broad smile. Edward shivered at the thought of a needle getting anywhere near his skin the same way Lupin had done today. He shook his head.

"Put me under; that's all I ask. Put me under if I'm forced to ever be near them."

Alphonse only laughed in response.

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The soft light of lantern light affixed the cabin in a perpetual glow of gold. There were candles flicking brightly here and there, their wax melted to whatever platform they clung to, like pale roots of trees. Tearlach had cooked the meal for the night while Lupin had her hand fixed up. She was glad that Livingston hadn't deemed her fingers unsalvageable and merely chopped them off.

He did say he once trained to be a doctor, but he never got the accreditation or degree of one. Maybe I should count myself really lucky and doubly so. Maybe Jack really did score good with him.

Jack was staring at the open bay window when she came slinking inside, carrying the metal plate and utensils Tearlach had slopped their nightly meal onto before sending her off. He didn't turn when she ventured near, even when her presence had been made. When she gently, oh so gingerly, laid the plate down and then the utensils, only then did he turn to greet her.

The first thing his eyes went to was her bandaged hand. Spots of red were already peeping their way up to the world in greeting. She tried to ignore the pointed gaze and gave a vague wave to the plate with her good hand.

"Ah, dinner. Delivered, like you asked."

"Good girl," he nodded, alighting her face with a cursory glance and a nod.

I'm not a damned dog, she almost wanted to say. Lupin nearly soured at that, but let it slide instead. She was still hurting and even the slightest bump or graze hurt like her hand was on fire. The flesh was so agitated; she was almost willing to let herself be fooled into believing her hand had been sliced open and set on fire. It certainly felt like it.

Jack ignored the plate of food for the time being and motioned for her to come closer, twirling his hand as he went. "Come, come, darlin'. Let me see."

"It's fine," Lupin said stiffly, reluctant to let someone else handle it other than herself at this point. Jack tilted his head to peer down at her and it was hard, it really wasn't. She was so much shorter than he was, but it felt worse when he gazed down his nose to look at her. She pursed her lips and stepped forward regardless, holding out the bandaged hand.

He was surprisingly gentle when his hand—roughened by years at sea and hardened by work—engulfed her wrist and part of her bound hand, eyeing the bloodied spots appearing already.

"How bad was it?"

"Sliced open two of my fingers, and most of my thumb."

"How deep?"

"Didn't Livingston tell you all this?"

"He did," Jack confirmed, flicking his dark gaze to meet hers. "I want to hear it from you."

"It…it was an accident. Some of the knives in the kitchen—" she stopped and sighed. "The galley, sorry. The knives, they ain't all that sharp. And even when I sharpen them on the whetstone, they ain't getting their old edge back. Livingston said that they were too far gone for recovery, that…that it was only a matter of time. I put too much pressure down when I was cutting and had my hand in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Hmm. Shame. Be more careful in the future, then, I suppose."

"At least I'm not a southpaw. I'm a righty." She wiggled her right hand for emphasis. "My dominant hand. Drawing hand."

"'Drawrings?'" Jack parroted, brows raising slightly as he finished examining and released Lupin's hand. "You're an artist."

"I…try to be." She replied, feeling a mite embarrassed, shrugging.

"Are you any good?"

"I don't exactly have examples to show you. I was getting good though. I guess," she replied modestly.

"Hmm. Perhaps when you have the time, you can show me. Until then…" He lapsed into silence, pausing. "I'll be sure to add an order for some proper new knives for the galley. As I understand it, Mister Tearlach had been going on about them long afore we picked you an' your lot up. It was a long time coming."

"Thanks, cap'n," she replied in earnest. He turned to replace himself in his seat, eyeing the food on his plate with a passing glance. Lupin waited for an awkward moment before adding, "Is…there anything else?"

"As a matter of fact, there is," he said in response, flitting his gaze toward her. "If you happen to hear any manner of…disturbance amongst the men, I would highly appreciate it if you reported it to me."

She sucked in a breath and held it, words sticking in her throat as she processed his words.

"Could you…clarify that for me, please? What kind of disturbances? Like, the happiness levels of everyone on board, or…?"

"If you wish to describe it as such, you can," Jack said. He faltered in continuing, long enough to swipe up a bite of food and to chase it with a drink of rum. "I'm of a mind, that when one's crew is unhappy, they either do one of two things: they hide it an' let it fester until one day, pop. They mutiny against their once beloved cap'n an' leave 'im on a godforsaken spit o' sand with nothing but a pistol an' single shot while they sail away with his ship. The second option they could partake is to simply show their discontent on the surface, wear it on their sleeves, quite blatantly, until it is addressed and confronted about in the most painstakingly forward of manner as possible."

When he looked at her again, the devil-may-care air that usually kept his company fled. Lupin felt entirely too exposed under that piercing gaze. It showed a harder side that he rarely exposed, a kind of darkness, almost, that he kept hidden and only let out in glimpses like now. It made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle and a chill sweep over her skin.

"I believe my men are unhappy. Oh, I have Mister Gibbs keeping an eye on things, but they know he's searching, looking, foraging for any signs of distress. There are times when they hide it even from him. But you…you, they ignore almost entirely. You're a woman. For the most part, they ignore women. They already dislike having you around, so they don't register your presence as readily as they would Mister Gibbs."

His dark eyes seemed to glitter with an expectant light behind them as he waited, his lips nearly twitching into a faint smile. Lupin processed his words more thoroughly this time around and it clicked rather suddenly.

"You want me to spy on your crew," she concluded. "That's why you want me to deliver you meals personally, too. So I can report anything to you throughout the day."

He offered a tight smile, like she was only just beginning to see the whole picture, the secret in the open that only he had been seeing so far and his eyes flickered with a mischievous light. It was very much akin to a 'cat-got-the-canary' smile if there ever was one.

"If you so wish to label it as such, I can't stop you. But I prefer to think of it as having an eye everywhere, even if I'm not there personally meself, savvy?"

"Like a Schrödinger's cat?"

Jack's face morphed into confusion. "A what?"

"Erm…it's a physics thing. It's-it's a paradox. If you look in a box that has a cat, either the cat alive or dead. A Schrödinger's cat…?" She shook her head, as though to wave away the failed joke. "You…you don't get it. It's a more modern concept."

His lips twitched, and she could see the gears clicking away in his head at that baffling statement. He seemed to choose to ignore it, thankfully. Lupin cleared her throat.

"You can call what I am asking you to do spying if you like, but as I've stated, I prefer to think of it as having my eyes and ears everywhere so's I can assess the proper form of action to take if something is amiss. I can't know how to fix something if I don't know what the problem is, now can I?"

Asking. He was 'asking'. Which really meant he wanted it done. He would just get it done some other way that didn't include the direct route. Lupin could choose not to do anything of the sort, mind. But then again…he was sort of right.

In the second movie…the crew was on the verge of mutiny in the beginning. They weren't doing any proper pirating. Even Gibbs was starting to doubt him.

The idea of getting blown away from a cannonball wasn't very appealing. Neither was being run through with a sword, being shot by a pistol, or being taken prisoner by another crew—or worse, the Royal Navy.

Just because they're in the navy doesn't mean they're any less noble. And they'd hang me just for being in proximity of Jack and the Black Pearl.

Maybe she should count a few more lucky stars that they hadn't done anything of the sort just yet. Jack stood and swept himself around the table, drawing himself besides Lupin and casually wrapping an arm around her shoulders. His hand gripped her firmly as he led her away to his cabin doors.

"Tell you what—think on it for the night. Bring me an answer in the morning. How does that sound?"

I'd prefer not to spy on people, even if it was for you, she thought in mild discontent.

"I'll…think on it," she said, with a vague sense of promise behind her words. He smiled more broadly this time, showing off the flecks of gold teeth he had hiding behind his lips.

"Good lass," he said, patting the shoulder he had been gripping moments before. "I'll see you in the mornin', Miss Lupin."

With that last said, he shooed her out of his cabin and promptly closed the doors behind her, leaving her standing on the main deck, with a cool Atlantic wind tugging at her hair and chilling her skin.

OoOoOoOoOoO

Addendum Notes: For those not in the know or completely missed it the first few times (like me for a long time), "long pork" was a kind of slang term for "human flesh". So, in the second film, when the term was used by a shrimper who spoke of trading his spices for "long pork" with the Pelegostos tribe, he was trading for "delicious [human flesh]". He was essentially making himself and anyone he served or traded it to, second-hand cannibals. The more you know!