She was lying on her side. On a bed, somewhere, that was reasonably comfortable. She wasn't quite sure if this should warrant any pleasantness from her at all. She opened her eyes and looked around the sparsely furnished room, bathed in shadow save for one patch of sunlight from the window. His boots were resting in that patch, and her eyes traveled slowly up the form to meet his. Inquisitive brown to iron grey. A small smile was set in his lips and eyes, and she found it most disturbing. Her eyes didn't leave his as she tested her bonds, but it was no use. Her hands were tied securely behind her back, almost too tightly, certainly uncomfortable, and her feet as well.

"Beautiful, you can relax." Her captor stood up, walking towards the bed, and kneeled at eye level with her. "If I'd wanted my way with you, that's how you would have woken up. Savvy?"

"Then what the fuck do you want with me?" it was a half snarl, and little more than a whisper. She was terrified, and expected her voice to betray her.

"Well, you see, love –and don't you dare hit me after I've done this- this is what I want with you." With that, he reached over and gently untied her hands, bringing the right one into his own, and studying it. She watched him warily. "Where does a woman get the brand of a slave, a prostitute, and a pirate, and how does said woman have calluses nearly as thick as my own?"

She bit her lip before replying. "I was taken captive on Captain Jonathan Brady's ship, the Hawk. He caught me looking through some maps a week ago, or thereabouts, and was very angry about it. So he sold me. Here I am."

The pirate nodded, not letting go of her hand. "Do you remember those maps, girl?"

She smiled cunningly. "How could I forget?"

I need a first mate on my ship, the Death Flight." He released her hand. "If you know the location of the treasure, the position is yours, whether or not there is any treasure there. When we get that treasure, you get a half-share, and your freedom. If there is none, then you'll just have to pay yourself off by… other means." He grinned devilishly at her. It was an expression she did not return.

"May I inquire as to the name of my captain, sirrah?"

"Sparrow. Captain Jack Sparrow. And the name of my first mate?"

"Sheridan. Alinnya Sheridan."

"Well Alinnya, the last name's Irish enough, so where did you get a first name like that?"

"I was born in India. It's an Indian name."

"Fair enough." He stood and walked over to the dresser, digging through its contents while she untied her ankles. "I don't know," he flung some shirts and a petticoat, of all things, into a corner. She sat cross- legged on the bed, pooling the flimsy underdress around her legs, hands in her lap, rubbing her chaffed wrists. "If anything I have will fit you." He flung a shirt and some trousers her way. "But it's what I have."

She slid the pants on, under the dress, and buttoned them. They were a little loose, but nothing she couldn't live with. She wished she still had her sword. "Can I have a knife?"

He raised an eyebrow, looking slightly shocked. "You're not going to do anything stupid, are you?"

She walked over and took his knife out of his belt. She was a good head shorter than him. She turned and sat on the stool he was using earlier, slicing the long ends of the pants so that they didn't drag under her feet. She then sliced out at the waist of the dress, pulling off the skirt. She chopped the sleeves down to nothing, and slung the shirt over her head, straightening it self- consciously under Jack's watchful amusement. She then pulled her hair into a fist behind her head, and shopped it all off. The remaining length fell only to her jaw, much more manageable than the locks she'd been forming. She flipped the knife and handed it back, handle first. He took it slowly.

"I need boots, a sword, and a knife, before I can do anything useful."

"Then let's go, mi'lady." He took her arm in his, and she took it, somewhat uncertainly, and they headed out the door.