Treva sighed, holding in one hand a wiry scrubbing brush and in the other a rusted bucket of seawater. Night was beginning to fall and several swinging lanterns illuminated the ship as it continued silently across the misty waters.

"It's an endless task…" Bill had told her earlier when he'd been told to give her the meager supplies. "This ship is the very essence of decay and grime; it constantly submerges and gathers all kinds of filth…but it's the Captains orders and you're abided to do as he commands."

Most of the crew had retired for the night, save for a handful that still dwelt in the dark corners of the ship with bottles of sour rum in their hands, some of them in a comatose sleep while others still mustered the coherence to jeer at her. It seemed even in their transformed states, some of them weren't able to hold down their liquor incredibly well, and Treva began her task at the Helm of the ship. She blended some rotted fruit juices into the salty water, along with some liquid squeezed from seaweed she'd gathered in old fishing nets. The combined materials from both created a slightly better cleaning fluid that she used to begin scrubbing at the deck with. It was hard to get everything cleared; she'd have to put everything she tore off the wood into a pile and dump it overboard, and at times the floorboards squeaked and threatened to break underneath her. She missed none of the nooks and crannies throughout the Helm, pulling and cleaning away all sorts of living and dead filth that had gathered in there all those years.

She knew her efforts were futile; everything she picked and peeled away would simply be there again the next night. But in a way, it was a distraction to get her mind off of her situation. Every now and then, however, the realization that she may be doing this forever would cause a searing pain of fear in the gash where her heart used to be. But she didn't allow herself to falter and continued working until the twilight overhead faded into complete darkness. She would sometimes halt in her duties for a few moments, slumped against whatever was available to her, and looked up at the stars glimmering overhead, or she would make sure Meris was still asleep. He'd been given a small, ancient closet as a bedroom with just enough room for him to curl up on the damp and mildewed mattress that had been stuffed into it. She had put several blankets atop him, but he continued shivering all through the night.

It was around the time when the darkness had finally come full circle that she was startled by a sudden sound that came from down below; the churning groans of a pipe organ that shook the very foundations of the Flying Dutchman. The exhaustive, dusty air that billowed out of the pipes spewed up through the cracks in the boards, and she listened as a loud and sorrowful melody caused the ship to shudder. It was then she remembered seeing the organ in the Captain's chambers, standing poised against the far wall. She listened as the keys cracked and strained to produce the tortured song, and her expression softened slightly.

Her suspicions, it seemed, were true. There was something deep within Davy Jones that was causing him great pain. The music was a real enough testament to this, but she knew venturing into what it could be might mean making the Captain even more bitter towards her. So instead she continued cleaning until the hours of dawn approached and she finally collapsed, too distant from the room to hear the gentle chimes of the music box when Davy wound it up and played it before falling asleep himself.

"We're not allowed to speak of what we know…" Bill said, casting a net over the side of the ship. Fish was the only food they could provide for Meris, since it was the only nourishment needed for anyone else on board. "The Captain's past is something that belongs in pirate lore and nothing more…"

"But I heard the music last night, it sounds so sad…like he was suffering…" she said, though she didn't sound too pitying towards whatever his plight was.

"Captain Jones always plays his organ before he slumbers…" Bill said, wrenching to pull the now filled net back up onto the ship. "It's a ritual to him now…but listen well to me. You can't be asking questions like that; the people here on board chose this fate to escape the lives they had before, and dredging up old wounds and memories will only cause you more distress…"

Treva sighed and nodded, knowing he was right. After all, she was already an outcast on board the ship, being the only female and not a hardened pirate. Besides, she reasoned too that even if she did discover what caused the feeling of sadness that loomed over the ship, she didn't owe anything to anyone on board outside of what she'd promised Jones.

"What about you?" she asked quietly.

"What about me?" he blinked slowly, not looking towards her when she asked him this.

"You…you seem so sad usually…even when you're showing Meris and I this kindness…"

Bill just sighed and hoisted the fish into barrels. "Mine is an empty existence, and that's all you need to know…" he said simply, beginning to clean the fish in order to cook them. "I don't know if I'm like this to escape my previous life or trying to recapture it…"

Treva listened quietly. "I see…I suppose, with whatever life you did have…suddenly being in this position would seem rather startling…"

Bill nodded, then glimpsed towards the door that led to the sleeping quarters. "I have this feeling about you Treva…that somehow…you'll be the one who changes this miserable existence for all of us…"

Treva blinked, helping him clean the fish, though cringing when she had to remove the bones. "Why do you say that…?"

Bill realized perhaps he'd said too much and just shrugged, continuing with his duties, and Treva didn't pry any further into it.