"I think you've some of those bugs still crawling in your hair," he teased, gesturing toward her mass of red curls.
With a thoroughly amusing high-pitched squeal, Jenny jumped back, her fingers scraping at her scalp, then clutching at the strands and shaking out their lengths. "Ew, I am never going to get that feeling off of me!"
He couldn't help but chuckle. "Come." He nodded at the hatch leading below. "We'll find you some fresh clothes and I'll show you where you can clean yourself up. That should resolve your crawling skin. We'll have you feeling right as rain in no time at all."
Shaking the entirety of her body in an exaggerated shudder, she grimaced. "I don't think that's possible. I might be permanently infested."
"Let's hope that you're not, or I'll see the need have you thrown you off of my ship for all our sakes, most importantly, my own. Consider this your one opportunity to clean up your act." He waggled his finger at her as he chastised. When she rolled her eyes at him, he experienced a swell of satisfaction. It was proving to be delightfully entertaining each time he got a rise out of her. Unable to resist a final prod before they descended, he swung his hook out toward the tiny puddle of bodily fluid she'd soiled the boards of his ship with. "I'll be having you swab the decks for that, by the way."
"You're not serious." She smirked with overconfidence as she disappeared below.
"Aye, love, I most certainly am." He ducked down after her. "I've half a mind to keep you scrubbing floorboards 'til you've memorized every splinter. Lest you forget, I'm the captain here and what I say aboard goes. Best not to argue. Now come. I'll show you where to find the spare linen cupboard, and teach you to operate the wash room. It's a bit of an unusual design, but I daresay it's quite effective. Far preferable to the workings of other ships I've spent my time on." It was an understatement. In all his travels, he'd never encountered anything remotely like it. More than once, he'd been asked to share the secret of how it functioned, but he'd never obliged, primarily because he couldn't recall. The ship builder had likely told him once upon a time, but the memory must have been supplanted by something more important in the interim. He knew the water went through the pipes, and then that was the extent of his recollection.
He was no better equipped to explain how the small cabinet tucked into the hallway wall was able to produce passable garments for any style or size, but it always proved reliable. Jenny only required a brief moment to rummage before digging out an outfit she felt would suit. Truthfully, he was only mildly puzzled that she located clothes that fit both her body and her unusual mode of dress. Some strange sense of fashion, this lass had, Hook noted. Not that he was one to judge, though it caused him to ponder once again what her origins might be. He'd explored many places over the years, but nowhere that would have manifested one with her manner.
She wasn't even impressed with the Jolly's plumbing, once they arrived at the wash room. Everyone was impressed with his ship's plumbing. It was almost a rule. He loved that part. Jenny behaved as though she'd seen it all before, and that only left him with a deflated feeling as he returned sourly above deck and to the helm.
His curiosity was piqued by the girl. Unable to resist another opportunity to interview her, he'd invited her to share the table in his private quarters for supper. There they'd be able to conduct an actual conversation, away from the bustling hubbub of the noisy crew. Not for the first time, he wished it were possible to sail a vessel such as his single-handedly, but even two hands wouldn't do the trick. Alas, a retreat to his cabin would be necessary if they planned to enjoy a quiet meal.
"Planned" being the operative word, of course. They hadn't even taken a bite yet when that went awry. He was taking breath to propose a toast when that incorrigible cat scrambled across the table. Had they not snatched them up so quickly, it would have sent flying both their dishes and the two glasses of rum the captain had only just poured. Thankfully, Jenny thought to nab both as the two jumped away from the table and up to their feet, giving the flailing creature a wide berth. Whatever it had found was clearly serving as one of the greatest and most enthralling playthings encountered in recent history. After a moment, it tumbled to the floor with its toy.
"Quite in a tizzy, you are then," he scoffed at the cat. "Must be some wind coming."
As though offended at the statement, the cat ceased its motions to cast an eye at Hook. In one swift motion, it uncoiled itself from the object of its entertainment and shook itself off before departing with an indignant stride.
"What?" Jenny's brow furrowed quizzically. "What's wind have to do with anything?"
"Oh, it's just an old sailor's superstition," he dismissed, squatting down to better see what the cat had left behind. "Come take a gander at what had it so riled." He flipped it over gently with the point of his hook as she stepped up behind him. "This is one of those millions of friends that you and I became acquainted with earlier today. This one is dead, though, thankfully."
"It can't be." Her voice spoke beside his ear as she leaned down for a closer view. "That's much larger than those were."
"It's the same shape, see? Perhaps this is a queen. If so, we're lucky the cat got to it. It hardly even looks like an insect at all, though. Look at this. It appears more like some kind of ray."
"You mean like a laser? In what way? I don't see any similarities."
"What on Earth is a 'laser?'"
"Well, maybe they're not on Earth. Not yet, anyway. It's like a beam of light, a strong one. This is just a flat, black thing with a couple of shiny bits on it. It's not even bioluminescent."
"I don't mean a ray of light, I meant like a manta ray. It's a sea creature, something that swims rather than flies. And yet, as we've seen, these fly. I can't help but wonder how that is."
Jenny rose to lay her plate back on the table. "As long as they stay well away from me, I don't so much care what they do."
Following her suit, Hook also stood and laid aside his plate, leaving his hand free to point a finger at her in a parody of accusation. "I should blame you for their appearance in the first place." He was growing fond of the wide-eyed look she adopted when caught off-guard. It was absolutely adorable, and the temptation to invoke it was becoming irresistible.
"Me?" She sputtered. "Why would you blame me?"
"Isn't it obvious? Seems you're a bad omen from the skies, love." He listed off the excuses, counting them on his fingers. "It's bad luck to bring a woman aboard. Bad luck to set sail with a red-haired passenger. You had bad fortune enough to wreck your own ship already." With a sigh, he dropped his hand. "You may as well have brought a banana with you."
A flashback to an old dream floated forward to his conscious mind. He remembered a tall, thin man, with excellent brown hair climbing aboard the Jolly Roger with an entire bushel of bananas tucked beneath his arm. All of Hook's protests were brushed aside with the reasoning that bananas should always be brought to every party. He recalled the same man in the same dream later helping him to frantically bail half-frozen black water out of the sinking ship. "How was I supposed to know?" The man had yelled.
"That all sounds like a fat load of superstition to me," she wrinkled her nose.
"Of course!" Her brows shot up toward her wild hair at that, which encouraged him. "Superstitions are wonderful, especially in places of chaos such as open waters. Things are always going to happen, for better or worse. It's lovely to have something to blame events on when they do occur. Superstitions give a sense of control and foresight where there is none possible. In fact," he plucked one of the glasses she still held out of her hand, and raised it. "Here's to superstition!"
She still appeared a bit perplexed when she smirked back at him, but she lightly tapped her glass against his. "To things happening," she answered, then tossed back the contents of her glass. She made a valiant attempt to suppress the coughing fit induced by the strong spirits, and the effort caused her face to blush a deep crimson.
Hook swallowed his own rum, chuckling as it warmed his throat. She could sneer all she liked, but nearly without fail, he knew when something large lurked near the horizon. He could feel that sensation in his bones now. There was definitely a thing out there preparing to happen, or perhaps even beginning to happen. He'd no inkling of what it might be, but he was starting to get the impression that it was going to be fun.