"Sparrow!"

The object of the jovial demand swiveled his head just enough to glance back over one shoulder. "Francois!" he called back in similar tone.

"Been lookin' all over th' ship for ye," the Spanish captain chided.

"Well, tha' seems a bit overwrought, now, mate, seein' as I've been standin' right 'ere th' whole time," Jack pointed out reasonably, turning to face the taller pirate. "Ain' I, Lappers?"

The young pirate manning the helm swallowed and nodded quickly, sparing a nervous glance toward his own captain and a more friendly look at Sparrow. Jack grinned, silently blessing his ability to make friends anywhere -- at least until they got to the point of slapping, that was. Harder to kill or aid in the killing of a man you liked, was his philosophy, and since the underlings ended up doing most of the work for just about any villain, it paid to be nice to those bottom-dwellers.

Francois frowned momentarily -- Jack could've sworn it was in consternation -- but it cleared and he threw a companionable arm around the shorter man's shoulders. "Some lunch, Sparrow; come on, 'fore it gets cold. Cook's got a nasty 'nough temper wit'out me asking 'im to reheat it all."

Jack continued grinning, though it was tighter now. Elias was not-so-subtly giving him the message he could squash Jack like a grape whenever he chose, if the iron grip of his forearm was any indication. "If ye crush me throat, I won' be able t' sample your culinary delights," he pointed out in reasonable tone. "An' it'll leave quite th' mess for Cook t' have t' scrape up."

Elias only laughed. Jack imagined he might've loosened his grip somewhat, but couldn't confirm it as he followed along toward the captain's war room. "You're an awfully friendly chap," he noted, trying to squirm away without it seeming so obvious. "What brings ye out toward th' Caribee 'nyway, mate? Never said." Jack knew very well they weren't headed on toward Jamaica, but instead, back toward the Continent. He'd eventually formulated the hypothesis that, despite his ragged dress, Francois was indeed probably a privateer, albeit one who operated quite far outside the law on the seas where nobody could check his activity, and was heading back to his ruler with the French prize under the guise of some legal respectability.

Which meant Jack and his entourage, not being Spanish, would likely be turned over as international prisoners with no mercy. The one thing you could say about Captain Jack Sparrow was that he was at least egalitarian in pissing off organized authority wherever he found it.

"Why, same as you, I s'pose." Elias removed his arm, giving Jack's back a hearty smack before gesturing into the room, already laid out with a modest repast. "Opportunity, riches, treasure, trade ships -- all th' good things in this life."

"Ye forgot rum."

"Nay, I'd never forget rum, Captain. Be unseemly." To prove his point, Elias shoved at him an entire slender bottle of rum, rather than simply a goblet. The larger man hefted his own bulbous bottle with a cheeky grin. "Sit, eat. Not often I have guests worthy of me own title and table."

*The good thing about being a prisoner is it rather removes the worry about being poisoned en route,* Sparrow reflected as he reclined into a chair. Comfortable; he liked the way the French outfitted themselves. "One thing I'm not too clear on's why'd ye sit in th' bloody ocean an' wait to be 'tacked, anyway?" he asked, uncorking his bottle slowly, chin dipped, eyes slyly on Francois.

"First, you tell me why you attacked." Elias jabbed an accusing finger in his direction. "Th' Jack Sparrow I heard 'bout is certainly no fool, an' yet it was stupid."

"Perhaps you think so; I saw a calculated risk. Or do ye think you're th' only one wit' a claim t' lay on Gallic treasure?" No way was he going to admit he'd faced another mutiny, no matter how small -- the only thing worse at sea than a captain who occasionally resorted to foolish strategy was one who'd lost control of his crew and ship.

"Seems from what I 'eard that ye'd be a mite sick o' treasure for awhile, given th' last time I hear your vessel struck out for gold."

"Tha's a bit like sayin' ye quit th' rum 'cause o' one hangover." Jack leaned forward on the edge of his seat, inspecting the food briefly, then reached for a leg of fowl and a hunk of bread. "Pirate who don' go after booty's kind of th'image o' counterproductivity, now isn't he?"

Elias was quiet a bit. Then: "Word is ye shot Barbossa an' got all his pirates hanged."

Jack glanced up from tearing a bite away from the bird. Chewing contemplatively, he swallowed, chased it with a long swallow of rum, then cleared his throat. "Old word, indeed. If you're tryin' to make small talk, I'm sure we can fin' more pleasant topics an' newer news, mate."

But the other captain would not be put off. Dark eyes glittering, his lips curved up into a positively wicked smile. "So how slow'd you make the ol' bastard die?"

Sparrow refrained from frowning at the unseemly question, recalling something Francois had said three days earlier about knowing of his verbosity firsthand from Hector Barbossa. "Not a nice way t' talk 'bout a friend," he tested.

"Makes ye think he was m' friend?"

"Oh, I don' know -- enemies don' usually sit 'round chewin' th' fat 'bout other pirates. Leastways I don't, I 'ave one at th' end of me sword."

Elias shrugged. "We crossed paths."

"Uh-huh. I once crossed paths with th' king o' England, but we didn' gossip o'er tea. Unless ye count a quick benediction," Jack put in, eyes lighting with the clerical memory as he resisted a chuckle. "Jus' how close were you an' Hector, anyway?"

"I could ask th' same about you, Jack."

The smaller man shrugged through another succulent bite of fowl. "Was a kid," he spoke through the mouthful, then concentrated on getting rid of it expediently. "He didn' like bein' so much older an' havin' to take orders, so he took advantage of me stupidity an' mutinied. I knew th' man all o' six days. He helped me an' William gather a crew … which, in retrospect, wasn' th' best use o' his talents on me behalf," Jack reflected.

"William -- not that boy blacksmith?"

"Nay. 'Twas his da." Jack tore off a bite of bread and popped it into his mouth, unconcerned about spilling his life story before a stranger, especially since this part of it was pretty much all public legend anyway.

"I see. Speakin' of th' blacksmith -- what's his story? Raised 'im for his father, did ye?"

Again, Jack nonchalantly shook his head, though he was mindful of treading into a murkier quagmire now; the less a potential enemy knew about you, the better. "Jus' joined me crew few months back. Said he'd heard o' me from his mum." Let Elias be the one to contradict *him,* if he'd heard more about Barbossa's defeat than Jack's role in it.

Elias nodded, stroking his chin. Jack noted he still hadn't eaten. "So he's no ties t' anyone, is that it, then?"

Something in the other captain's tone put Jack even more on guard. "Wouldn' say *that,*" he answered carefully. He allowed a small upward curve to one corner of his lips and lifted his eyebrows meaningfully.

"Ah … so it is like that." Elias chuckled. "Should've known ye wouldn' be able t' resist such a comely lad, then."

Jack gave a lazy shrug of his shoulder and stroked his moustache with his forefingers. Far better this crew think he had a claim on Will than for any of them to try to establish one of their own through more forceful means. "He suits me purposes."

"And th' boy?"

"Will's brother. Half-brother, actually." The lie formed itself easily enough.

"Two for one? Well, well-"

Shaking his head, Jack put up a hand, waving it a bit at the wrist. "Look, mate, I like 'em strappin', but not young 'nough *for* th' strap. I'd presume th' same of ye an' your crew." He tilted his chin down a bit to level a more intense stare into Francois's dark eyes as he leaned back again in his chair. "Savvy?"

"Tastes … vary, Captain. I certainly can't be held responsible for th' proclivities of me crew."

"Then I'd say you're not much of a captain then, now are ye?" He spoke quietly, but summoned up his best tone of command. "'S one thing to have your ship swiped out from under ye in th' dead o' night, Francie; quite another t' o'ersee th' systematic rape o' little boys."

Francois's face tightened. "You'd do well, Sparrow, to remember *you* are *my* guest aboard this vessel, y' see?"

"Aye. *Guest.*" Jack's eyes hardened but never altered expression, his fingers steepled together at chest level.

"I'm certainly not holdin' ye here, Captain. You and your faithful crew are free to leave anytime ye'd like … so long as it's wit'out th' benefit o' rowboats." Francois grinned unpleasantly. "Mebbe ye can rope together a couple sharks an' ski 'em to shore somewhere."

A well-timed commotion out on deck saved Jack from having to deliver a rather nasty comeback, and several seconds later, someone rattled at the door. "Sir! There's been a killin'!" the crewman called, finally pushing it open to burst in. He swept large eyes over Jack before settling on his captain. "It's th' blacksmith!"