When Jones left, Theo did vomit - into the bucket in the corner, which was clearly meant for, well, the other end. Thankfully, it was empty. There wasn't much for her to vomit other than water and bile, but that just made the experience all the more unpleasant. Once she was done, and once she'd pushed herself to her feet, Bootstrap offered her his flask. She didn't have the heart to turn it down - mainly because she'd resort to drinking sea water if it would clear the taste from her mouth. Although perhaps not that which sloshed constantly about the floor of the brig.

"You are telling the truth, then," he regarded her strangely.

Uncorking the flask, she curled her lips about her teeth so that her mouth would barely touch the rim as she took a gulp. It was as filthy as everything else around here. But the rum inside wasn't worse than any of the other rum she'd been subjected to in these parts. Small mercies. She allowed herself one gulp, and then a second, and then corked it and handed it back to him with a nod of thanks.

"What makes you believe me now?" She asked.

"You're from…elsewhere," he said slowly, apparently unsure of how to word it.

Theo watched him silently before she echoed his phrasing "Elsewhere? You…you know?"

Offering a troubled sigh, he returned to the algae-slickened bench he'd been sitting on.

"Mortals imagine the journey between this land and that of the dead to be a gateway - an archway, if you will. You're in one, then you're in the other. For them - for most - that's the case."

For most it also tended to be a one-way journey.

"But not for you?" She ventured.

"Not for us. Not for the crew of the Dutchman. For us it's a…a hallway - a corridor. With many strange, terrible doors. It just so happens that all but two of them are locked for us. We catch glimpses of the others, but we can't cross into them."

"This one, and that of the dead. Those are the ones you can enter," she said slowly, receiving a nod for her efforts "And the others?"

"Strange, as I said. Most of them terrible. Some show no signs of human life at all - others no sign of life in general, not even the presence of the dead…just vast, empty realms of nothing," he rasped "And others? Bizarre. The people are the only thing recognisable in them, but they might as well not be. Garbed strangely, behaving in ways that make no sense."

He wasn't a man who tended to look particularly cheery as it was, but the way the thought of these lands troubled him was clear in his eyes as he spoke.

"Sitting in metal carriages that aren't pulled by horses and staring at slabs of light?" She hazarded a guess.

It was a hell of a guess, too, but it was an educated one. Every now and then, especially back in Tortuga after telling James the truth, she'd idly wondered how he'd react to seeing her home. The answer was always the same - that he'd bloody well hate it. It was easier for her to adjust to the past than it would be for him to adjust to the future, the same could be said for any two people in their shoes. The past was more familiar to her than the future was to him, after all, and she'd have been royally fucked had she woken in something resembling a Star Wars movie. And that was what her time would have been to him. The stuff of science fiction - something that in itself hadn't even been invented yet. What he'd find the most difficult to comprehend was something that took more pondering, and the answers tended to be the same. Cars, screens, technology, machinery, and the ways that all of the latter two mixed.

If she were a betting woman, and she'd been forced to put her last shilling on what the crew of the Dutchman would remember most from her time upon catching glimpses of it, it would be cars and screens. Whether those screens were computers, phones, televisions, or god knew what else, it didn't matter. It wasn't like they'd be able to differentiate, anyway. He regarded her carefully, a renewed level of interest on his face.

"Apparently those doors aren't locked to everybody," she sighed.

Fucking Achtland. That part wasn't something she dared say out loud, though. It wouldn't do to piss the big yin off. She did miss the time when there didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to this, though. When things were quiet, having answers was nice. When they weren't? When they weren't it was just yet another thing that was impossible to process.

"That land you see - it's the future. Centuries from now."

What was the harm in telling him? He basically already knew. Shit, Jones knew. The time for being secretive was long gone, and the place for it was hundreds of miles away.

"Some of the men guessed as such," he murmured, frowning as he considered the prospect "But it doesn't explain how you know my son's fate, unless…is he known? In your time? In the future?"

Jack had once asked her something similar - mockingly, though. There was no mocking in Bootstrap's permanently weary voice. No, she suspected his reluctance to believe her was rooted more in her own supposed origins than the idea that Will might be famous in the "future". In fact, his question brought the closest thing she'd seen to hope in his eyes since meeting him.

"He is," she said, wishing to seize upon it "Almost as famous as Jack."

Bootstrap snorted "Makes sense. You didn't tell him that, did you?"

"Jack? Yeah, I made that mistake," she sighed "I probably didn't need to tell him, to be fair. He'd take it as a given."

She was finally able to sit down - perching on the bench, the wood swollen and rotting thanks to the constant damp of the ship. It was difficult to say whether her newfound ability to sit was thanks to the adrenaline finally seeping out of her, or how fucking wobbly she felt. Apparently no food, combined with a blow to the head and a near-enough death threat from Jones had a way of making one feel less than stellar. Who knew?

"William will be fine, then? In what's to come?"

Theo glanced around, making sure nobody was lurking in any dark corners trying to listen, and then spoke quietly.

"Jones will drag you above deck sometime today and make you watch as the kraken destroys the ship. Then he'll send you back down here to dwell on what you think you've witnessed. It'll look like Will didn't make it, but he'll be fine. He'll live, and he'll continue with his plans to make good on his promise to you. You just need to keep hope."

Bootstrap gave a tired huff of a laugh, as though she'd told him 'you just need to fly to the moon'.

"I know it's easier said than done, but you have to," she snapped "There's too much at stake if you don't."

It was difficult even for her to know whether she was speaking to him or to herself as she said it. Bootstrap didn't respond, but that was fine. It gave her time to think. To take stock of her new set of circumstances. Jones knew the truth. That…that wasn't good. In fact, the more she considered it the worse it became. If by some miracle she even lived to meet Cutler Beckett, that means he could very well end up learning that same truth before long. That was even worse. She forced her mind away from the matter. It couldn't be helped. Maybe one day it could be, but unless she wanted to storm her way up to Jones' quarters and take him on in a one-on-one for her wallet, she was shit out of luck for now.

Exhaling sharply through her nose, she wrapped her fingers around the edge of the bench, trying to get some sort of sense of stability. The rocking and creaking and groaning of the ship was doing nothing for her nausea. Somewhere above deck, the sound of organs started to wail throughout the ship. Where once she found it odd to be here without any of the music from the movies to overlap the scenes she recognised, hearing it now was jarring and strange.

Will would be aboard soon. The initial thought had her thinking maybe she'd landed on something that could be useful, but she was sighing tiredly before any real excitement could sink in. He wouldn't really be aboard - he'd be hiding out in the gaping maw that was the bow of the ship. Nowhere near enough to realise she was close by, nor able to help at all. Hell, even if he knew maybe trying to help would be too much of a risk. Knowing him he may still try, but it would be too risky. If Jones or one of him men discovered him, he'd be fucked. And while Will was experienced in breaking people out of prison, there was no guarantee that…

Theo stilled. Of course. Of course. The answer had been practically sodding spoon-fed to her, how hadn't she thought of it before now? Shooting to her feet, she ignored the black spots that threatened to rise across her vision and stumbled half-blindly towards the door of the cell. Clinging to it until the spots cleared, she slid her hands down until they gripped at the black squares of iron that lined up with her hip bones, and she pulled upwards. She wouldn't be able to unhinge it through strength alone, but there was a bit of give - it did shift, if only half a centimetre. It shouldn't have surprised her, it wasn't like they'd decide to revamp the cells and replace the famed half-barrel hinges with escape-proof ones between now and the third movie, but knowing her luck she hadn't dared to hope until then.

Letting go, she took a few steps back and dared to laugh. Jack might've gotten her into this mess, but he'd inadvertently gotten her out of it too - even if he technically hadn't given her the idea yet.

"Not an hour in the brig and you're already taking leave of your senses?" Bootstrap asked.

She ignored the question - and how it was really a cover for the question he wanted to ask. This was good. She could do something with this.

"How…" she trailed off, shook her head, and began anew "Are there any portholes nearby? The ship must be riddled with them, right? To let out the water after the ship surfaces?"

"There are, but while you'd have no trouble squeezing out of them, you're sorely out of luck with these bars," he nodded to them.

"I won't need to. I have a plan, but I'll need your help. Please."

Bootstrap hesitated. She didn't blame him - while the brig wasn't a joy, she doubted he wanted to add daily floggings to his punishment, or whatever else strange and cruel penalty Jones probably spent his days dreaming up. The sick bastard.

"There may be a way for your help you get you back towards your captain's good graces, too," she added "If he thinks you're giving him answers he didn't previously have. And if you do manage to help me, you'll have another friend out there on your side."

Bootstrap considered her words slowly, frowning as he regarded the sodden floor of the brig, mulling it over.

"What do you have to lose?" She urged quietly.

His lips thinned, and then he finally looked at her.

"You say you're a friend of William's?" He sighed finally "Truly?"

"He taught me how to wield a sword," she offered, as if that might prove her words.

Bootstrap smiled slightly - whether the fact amused him or made him proud, either way he didn't dislike it at least.

"Fine, girl. What help will you be needing?"

The upside of Jones' organ playing was that it let her know exactly where he was on the ship - and that he wasn't about to storm through the door at any given moment. And the upside of Bootstrap's presence in the brig was that he knew the movements of the others more than well enough to be of assistance. She might've been able to see through her plan without him if she absolutely had to, but nowhere near as effectively. The crew were so content with how securely they were locked up down here that they didn't really patrol - and there was no need for them to come through here to reach other parts of the ship. They were also dumb enough to leave her belongings - sans her wallet, of course - hanging on a hook across the way, probably to annoy her with how close but supposedly out of reach they were.

They sat silently side by side on the bench until they heard the shout of the bosun near the stairs leading down into the brig as he attended to his duties. It went on for a bit as he called to crew members, often cursing as he doled out orders and bemoaned the uselessness of his brothers-in-arms, and then it tapered off.

"Now," Bootstrap nodded after a few moments of silence.

Immediately they stood, hauling the bench towards the door and lodging its edges between the gaps in the cell door.

"One, two, three," Theo gave the signal, and they jerked it up.

The cell door gave an ear-splitting shriek as they forced the hinges upwards, and then it came away from the bars. Theo wanted to pause and cringe - had they heard it? Had Jones' organ-playing drowned it out? But if they had heard it, pausing would be decidedly bad. She darted forward as Bootstrap pulled the bench back, seizing the door before it could crash to the ground. It was heavy. Stupidly fucking heavy, and once she jerked it backwards she had to yank on it with all of her strength until it leant on her rather than being able to properly hold it up herself through strength alone. Bootstrap had little trouble putting the bench back where it had been, and then joined her, holding the cell door up and scraping it along the floor, grunting and grimacing with exertion all the while, so she could slip through the gap, out of the cell.

Once she rounded the other side, she exhaled shakily and grabbed at the door and they both worked to get it back on its hinges. It took a long time, even with both of their strength combined - too long, and it only felt longer for how she was expecting Jones and his men to come bounding into the room at any second, her heart clenching tightly in her chest - but just as she was wondering if they'd be able to slot the door back onto the hinges at all, they caught in the slot and slid back into place. The rusted door left her hands scraped and bleeding, but it worked.

"One last time, the name? The one you'll give Jones?" She breathed, turning to grab her sword, her knife, and her coat and quickly attaching them to her person with trembling hands.

"Queen Achtland," he nodded "And where are you going?"

Well, if she was going to test him it was only fair that he turned the tables on her.

"Up the stairs, through the door, first corridor on the left. I have three minutes," she answered.

"Two now," he corrected "This took longer than we'd hoped."

"Fuck. Alright," she breathed - there wasn't much time for a long emotional goodbye, then "Thank you, Mr Turner. You're a good man - I see where Will gets it from."

He seemed to her flattery dubiously at best, shaking his head with a snort "Give William my regards. Don't get caught."

And then Theo was off. It would've been easier had she been conscious when they'd thrown her in the brig - but then again, had she been so she probably would've gotten herself a few more injuries trying to fight them off from her wallet. Jones might've been content to keep her alive (even if only to kill her at the opportune time, like she was Harry fucking Potter), but he probably wouldn't have any qualms over his men lopping off a limb or two if she set about being too difficult. It was that thought that put some extra speed in her steps as she strode through the Dutchman.

Taking the steps up and out of the brig two and three at a time, she paused and listened by the door just to be safe. It was difficult to do - the organs still shook the ship from above. But there were no voices. Creaking the door open, she peered out and then stepped out fully and began running down the corrider Bootstrap had described, praying that nobody would morph out of the walls and seize her. The porthole was in sight, but it was high up, starting around at her shoulders. Climbing out wouldn't be easy - not in her current state.

Approaching it, more a rough-hewn hole in the wall of the ship than anything else, she wrapped her hands around the bottom ledge and pulled herself up. The wood, aged and permanently damp, bent slightly as though it might give way and she cursed - her escape would have a bit less of a supernatural vibe to it if she left a big Theodora-shaped hole in the site of the bloody ship - but then it held firm and she continued to pull herself up, slipping her head out of the hole first. Her strength faltered once she was half way out, sending her weight slumping down into the ledge, the wood digging sharply into her stomach and knocking the wind out of her. But then voices began to draw near.

It was difficult to hear them, the roar of the waves crashing against the side of the ship drowning them out, but then they grew louder which had to mean they were very near indeed. That gave her the strength she needed. Shoving herself the rest of the way out, she almost went hurtling into the sea below, her grip slipping on the slick wood just slightly before she finally managed to hold fast, her arms joining her scraped up palms as they both burned in protest.

She paused, trying to gain her bearings as she searched for a handhold on the ship that wouldn't put her in full view of anybody walking by inside, but Bootstrap must have finished counting to two hundred, for she heard him begin crying out.

"The witch! She's gone! She vanished! Men! The witch escaped!"

Shit. Gritting her teeth, she released her handhold and went skidding down the side of the ship until her feet hit a spot where the wood jutted out. On this stretch there were no portholes at all - she'd only be in trouble if they approached on and began looking up and down. She wouldn't put it past them. The voices she'd heard earlier grew louder now until they were directly above her and then swiftly moving past.

"The hell is the old fool screamin' about now?" One grumbled as they stormed by.

"Think she's doin' spells on him in there or…" the other replied, but she didn't hear the tail end of what he said.

Grimacing, Theo clung onto whatever she could as she inched her way towards the bow of the ship - which incidentally happened to be in the same direction of the brig. She caught snippets of Bootstrap doing his best to earn himself an Oscar as she slunk by, his shouts reaching her ears surprisingly easily.

"Get the captain! Vanished right before my eyes, she did! Started conferring with- with goddesses, she said, and just disappeared into nothing!"

"Ah, shit," one cursed at a growl.

"Search the ship! Find her! Alert the captain!"

If she was lucky, she'd have a whole minute before the men got above deck to sound the alarm. Probably less than that, given they could very well just shout for somebody already above deck to start tolling the bell. She picked up speed, her heart lodged in her throat as her boots kept skidding on the thin, slippery wooden foothold beneath them. The organs still emanated from above, hopefully stifling any shouts to alert the men for the time being, but she knew they'd soon stop. She continued resolutely moving forward, the spray of the ocean sometimes splashing up high enough to strike at her back with the force of something much more solid. That in itself was a stark reminder of what awaited her if caught. Jones would probably take great delight in seeing her flogged.

Even under less dire circumstances this climb would have been hellish - the ship was like a bloody slip and slide, and between the blood seeping from her palms as she aggravated them more and more with her actions and just how slick the ship was in general, it was almost impossible to gain any traction. The way the ship was swayed and rocked by the waves did little to help, and before long she was enveloped in a cold sweat that plastered her hair across her face with every errant gust of wind. She continued on, moving as quickly as she could without slipping (and still likely more quickly than she safely could), and when the ship began to curve beneath her hands, sloping towards the jagged bow, she could have sobbed in relief - in fact, she did. But she wasn't safe yet, and with every split second that passed she was certain that she'd hear a cry or a shout giving away the fact that she'd been spotted.

Biting down hard on the inside of her cheek to stifle the sobs as they rose, she continued along and resisted the urge to let the fact that the jagged figurehead was now in sight urged her to speed up to the point of recklessness. Being caught would be bad, but being caught when (relative) safety was in sight? That would be unforgivable. Her right hand curled around one of the jagged, dripping spikes of wood just as the alarm bell began to ring out on the ship, making her jump and almost slip as the ship lurched beneath her. But she didn't. She didn't slip, and she didn't fall.

Twisting her upper body so that she could grip onto one of the other jagged fangs with her left hand, too, she clung tightly to them until her knuckles turned white and her hands ached, and then she finally leapt between them, tumbling into the hollow space within. Once she was in, she curled up tightly into a ball, using her hands and feet to push herself back until she was wedged in tightly and totally out of sight - as if anybody could see her here in the first place. Only then did she exhale, and it felt like she was breathing properly for the first time since arriving on this stupid bloody ship.

The sweat rolled off of her in bullets, her entire body shook, and her limbs were somehow numb and leaden all at once. She wondered if Will would be happy to see her.

A/N: 'The big yin' just means the big one - I felt the need to clarify because if anybody googles it they'll find stuff about Billy Connolly, and as much as I love the idea of him playing Queen Achtland, I don't think it would quite fit the vibe. It is more of a Scottish phrase, but there does tend to be a bit of overlap between Scottish and Irish phrasing, so I promise I'm not just mixing the two up.

On a more important note — listen, the more I fuck with things the more I'm going to be explaining myself in the A/Ns — if you're happy enough to just trust my reasoning without reading these dissertations in the end notes, feel free to skip haha.

So the movie does show that travelling between the land of the living and that of the dead is kind of how Bill says most imagine it in his little analogy - an archway. They're in one land, they cross over smoothly into the next, there aren't any other places to go other than from one into another. You're in one or the other, and it's not like the floo system in Harry Potter where you can accidentally wind up in the wrong place. My reasoning here, though, is that obviously the journey would be different for Jones. There's no way he'd be limited to having to wait for every sunrise/sunset and turn the Dutchman upside-down whenever he had to cross between those realms. He's a supernatural creature at this point, straying even vaguely towards demigod territory in terms of his powers, so this is just me imagining how the inter-realm travel would be different for him.