Disclaimer: See the first Squirrel story for witticisms about how I don't own POTC. I'm all out.
Anamaria creeps in softly, listening to the scratching sounds coming from Squirrel's bunk. She has drawn the curtain across, and has lit one of her tallow candles. Every now and then, there's a pause in the scritch-scritch-scritching noise, but then it starts up again.
The ship still sways from side to side, rocked by the swell of the stormy waves. Creeping closer and closer, Ana listens intently, trying to figure out what Squirrel is doing. After a moment, the Negro woman gives up, and she whips back the curtain. Squirrel's head flicks up, her eyes wide, and she tries to hide her quill, inkwell and leaf of parchment all at once. And fails.
"What's all this?" Anamaria raises an eyebrow. "Taking notes again?"
Squirrel frowns. "So what if I am?"
Ana stands back, and Squirrel whips the curtain closed again. Ana waits while Squirrel hides her belongings. Finally, Squirrel opens the curtain and clambers out of her bunk.
Ana sighs. "Alright, so you don't want to talk about it. But you're still wet. Come down to the galley. Hot soup'll do the trick, I'd wager."
Squirrel nods, keeping her eyes on her feet. "Thanks." Suddenly, as though remembering something, Squirrel looks up into Ana's eyes. "Where's J-J… The captain?"
Ana's own eyes flick skyward, and she grins. "Jack's a little worse for wear after the storm. Nothing to worry about, though. He'll be fine after a few bottles of rum… Come on, soup's callin'." Ana turns and strides out of the cabin. Squirrel watches the woman go, then reaches into her cloak and pulls out the parchment.
She studies it intently for a few moments, a slight tremble shaking her body, then tucks it back inside the hidden pocket and follows Ana out into the misty rain.
A/N: Yes. Short chapter. Be patient.