Though she now felt far more comfortable on the Dutchman, Rose was still denied any duties by Will, who insisted that she remain "resting," despite two weeks having passed. She had done enough resting for her entire life, she was convinced. While the rest of her crew were often very hard at work, she was permitted to do nothing but try and harness her powers, which failed every time and make her feel completely idiotic.
Soon, the sun would set, and because of instinct, Rose would disappear to her room before the night blindness took hold. While there, she would blankly stare at the wall, immersed in her own boredom until she eventually fell asleep before beginning another wearisome, monotonous day of more nothingness. This night, however, she decided to stay up late. Having nowhere else to put her energy, Rose grabbed some parchment and and a ink quill she had found and began to write all of the tasks she knew how to do in order of how well she could perform them. Chief among them was manning the wheel, as well as sail repairs, knots, loading the guns, and healing. She didn't do it for any other purpose but to thoroughly convince herself that she had talent and ability. She worked by the light of a candle, and was unaware that she was drafting this document long into the morning.
When she couldn't think of any more actions, she finally allowed herself to sleep. She woke up in what she presumed was the morning, got dressed, then walked outside for some fresh air. When she opened the door to the main deck, however, Rose nearly fell over in surprise.
Her first thought was, What happened to the sun? She could see everything before her, but it appeared to all be enshrouded in a dark blanket. Millions of bright spots dotted the sky above her, and lanterns on deck made out the figures and forms of the men gambling, drinking, conversing, or simply relaxing after a hard day's work.
Suddenly, Rose realized…what she was experiencing was night! Her poor eyesight had always rendered her vision null in darkness. But how could she see now? That was when she remembered. When the rain in the vision she had of Calypso that cleared her of the black magic, Rose felt her eyes grow incredibly cold. Calypso must have used her powers to reverse her eyesight as well.
Rose was in tears as she took in everything around her for the first time. This was what night looked like. She no longer had to fear the darkness. There was nothing holding her back now.
Now, Rose was more predisposed to spending more time on deck, especially at night. Rose would join the men, watching from afar or idly listening in on a tale someone told, just so that her presence was, well...present. One of these nights, Rose was brave enough to join in the conversation. A man known to the men as Gunner was in the midst of a tall tale about zombies.
"There's not but a thin layer o' flesh on 'em," he told them, "And claws like daggers. Their eyes shine blood red when they smell human flesh, and their fangs hang low o'er their chin when they strike. The necks! Those be their favorite bits of flesh!"
Another man known as Humphrey rubbed his jugular protectively and gulped. Rose snorted. Were some of them actually buying this?
One wasn't. He was a brutish man by the name of Hans. "Oh to the depths with your fangs nonsense!" Hans cried.
This was infuriating to Gunner. "You say I lie?"
"Aye, that I do!"
"Aye, but answer me this! You seen 'em in the flesh?"
"No," Hans retorted. "Because they don't exist."
"I saw 'em! With these very eyes!"
Rose interjected here. "You both are wrong." Eight pairs of eyes who were both participating and listening in to this conversation spun around and stared at her. "You both are mistaken," she repeated, leaning against the railing. "Zombies are real," she said to Hans. She then turned to the rest. "And they are not as Gunner described. They don't have teeth that are any different than us. Their eyes never turn blood red, but rather are fogged over, like a blind man's. Oh yes, and they can see the truth and the future."
Gunner was incredulous. "And how do you know this?"
She smiled. "I've been threatened by a few in my time. In fact, the both of them had once been a men like any of you."
Rose told her story in great detail, much to their amazement and wonder. And they took it for truth, even Gunner.
"Well," he finally confessed. "It was dark that night I saw 'em."
The following night Rose told the story of how she was taught by Calypso. These men were particularly interested in that tale because Calypso was the reason the Dutchman existed in the first place. Her audience grew from eight men, to twelve. The night after, she recounted an interesting misunderstanding in her youth in the bayou regarding an alligator hunter and a drunken pirate who had wandered off the trail. Her audience increased by four more. This continued until it became tradition—every evening, most of the crew gathered around to hear what she had to say. Some didn't even watch, they just quietly sat with their eyes closed, or their hands carving wood or tying knots.
Her storytelling blazed the trail for a new tradition onboard where the men would openly celebrate each night. One day, Will and the crew had saved the soul of a young man who had drowned in a boating accident named Francois, who was later revealed to be quite the musician upon discovering a partially destroyed violin in the cargo hold. The skilled man had repaired the instrument so that it was playable, and entertained the crew each night with different tunes that led to dancing, singing, and general rejoicing.
One night, Rose stood up on deck by the helm, overlooking the joyous scene below. Her face broke into a wide grin when she saw that the men seemed to have planned impromptu choreography where they would point to her whenever the phrase, "my bonny lass" appeared in a jaunty song Francois played. When the song had ended, she clapped enthusiastically for her personalized performance, but stopped as she saw Will approach.
"Look at this," he said in awe. "Rose, you should have seen this ship years ago. Weeks ago, even. The men were miserable, just trying to trudge through each day of their sentence."
She smiled, overlooking the merriment with him.
"Look at them now," he said. "You did this!"
Rose swallowed the disappointment that welled up inside her upon hearing this from Will. "I can do much more for this ship than bring entertainment," she said pointedly. "I have powers. True I can't control them yet, but—"
"I know, Rose," Will interrupted, "But please don't push yourself too hard. Things will all occur when they are ready to occur. For the time being, you aren't expected to do any more than what you are doing."
She nodded with a smile, though her frustration persisted. She had no way of knowing that Will's only intentions were to keep her safe. As long as Rose's exposure to danger was kept to a minimum, Calypso's dark prophecy could be avoided. If only Rose knew his reasons, then her vexations would not have troubled her so much.
Fine, thought Rose. He thinks my only use is to keep his men happy. So be it. She quickly swept down the stairs and joined in the dancing. All night she danced, on her own, in a group, but mostly with a partner. One by one the men would ask her to dance and she perhaps too enthusiastically accepted each proposal.
There was one proposal that Rose shouldn't have accepted and she quickly learned her lesson. The man's name was Defoe, and once he first started dancing with her, he began to yank her away from her subsequent partners mid-dance. Rose could smell the alcohol in his breath, but his grip on her was too firm, and she had no choice but to dance off with him again.
This trend repeated itself for two more nights, and began to cause visible unrest between the other men. Finally, Rose had had enough. She had been dancing all night, and wanted some time to herself.
Defoe, unable to take a hint, followed her, growling, "Dance wiv' me, lass!"
She smiled politely, trying to mask her disdain for him. "I'm sorry, but I am awfully tired! I'm going to have to rest during this next song."
"What's that?" he spat, growing suddenly dark and brooding. "Did I just hear ye say, 'no?'"
Rose nodded, heart racing. "No," she repeated. "I'm sorry."
He began to laugh, growing closer to her. "Who do ye think you are?"
Suddenly, Coats came to her aid. "You heard what she said!" he cried. "Let the girl go!"
Rose yelped when Defoe grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her toward him forcefully. "When I say somethin'," he whispered hoarsely, "You do it!"
"That is quite enough!" roared Bootstrap, who appeared seemingly out of nowhere, completely silencing all on deck. "Defoe! You are to go below deck immediately, lest you be retarring the deck all morning tomorrow!"
Defoe pushed Rose away from him, grumbling as he begrudgingly obeyed. Rose caught her breath and shook off the encounter quickly, but was inwardly terrified. Never before had she been handled by a man that way, never mind a man with such a low philosophy regarding women. The circumstance was a reminder that while she had brought joy once again to the Dutchman's deck, she was living amongst pirates, some of the most infamous knaves sailing the open ocean. She could not allow herself to be caught off guard by any of these men, as all of them could pose a significant threat.
After Defoe's abrupt exit, there fell an awkward silence amongst the men. Bootstrap wordlessly disappeared below deck, and several others followed. Others still quietly returned to their previous activities, and others joined the night shift. After that tense moment, it was certain that festivities were to be no more.
François began to play a soft ballad, mostly to himself. The tune was beautiful and haunting, and reminded Rose of Tia's locket. She instinctively reached for where the locket hung around her neck and opened its face, letting the simple tune ring out as she gazed out towards the open ocean. Her line of vision changed, however, when she noticed someone standing a few paces off that she hadn't seen before. Closing the locket, she stood and approached the figure.
"I don't believe we've met," she said merrily, extending a hand.
The man was stirred out of his own thoughts by her voice and was greatly taken aback, immediately moving away from her and averting his eyes.
"Oh dear," exclaimed Rose. "I didn't mean to startle you! I simply found it curious that I've been aboard for so long without having met all the men aboard!"
The man opened his mouth as if to speak, but was very clearly uncomfortable. He was tall, with dark, long hair tied back, bearded and scruffy but with an air of confidence and stature. And his green eyes… There was something Rose recognized in him, but it felt more abstract than literal.
"Please," Rose said gently. "I'm a friend, I promise!"
Though still averting his gaze, the man stood straighter and spoke softly. "A pleasure, Miss Hexfury," he finally said, but Rose's face fell upon hearing his voice say her name. His appearance might have been completely different from whence she first met him, but the distinctive, deep voice was unmistakable. Her heart stopped and her blood boiled once she realized who he was, and remembered her promise from all those years ago when she was betrayed in a cell on Port Royal by this very man.
Rage burned in her eyes as Rose looked upon the face of James Norrington.
