Killian Jones had a hangover.
Scratch that.
Killian had one hundred goddamn bloody horses trampling his head.
He cracked open his eyes as Starkey opened his door, letting it swing and hit the wall with a crash.
"Captain, we're pickin' up the new men today, you're gonna have to come up on deck in a while. Can't have them thinkin' they can get away with anything under Captain Hook's sails can we?"
Killian let out a growl as the sunlight invaded his cabin, only adding to his splitting headache. Starkey had been on his ship since he first set foot on The Jolly Roger and was the only man that could call him out on his bullshit without being gutted.
"How long 'til I have to give them the welcoming?"
"About a half hour, sir. We're about to dock. Thought you'd want time to clean yourself up a bit."
Throwing his covers off, he sat upright, rubbing his eyes until his vision blurred.
"Thanks, mate. You can pick out the recruits, I'll just give them the walk around."
With a quick nod, Starkey left Killian alone to his thoughts.
He had dived into his stash of rum last night, polishing off two bottles in as many hours, try to forget what haunted him.
The bloody Crocodile was within reach, and there was nothing he could do about it.
With a hiss, he stood up and entered his bathroom, splashing cold water on his face, looking up and meeting his own bloodshot eyes.
Failure. Weakling. Coward.
His sources had informed him the day before that The Dark One was only miles away from the sea port town they would be docking at to pick up new recruits. He was closer to his revenge than he had been for hundreds of years, and still he could do nothing.
Upon returning to this realm from Neverland months ago, he had learned of a way to finally kill the Crocodile. A dagger that could finally, at long last, allow him to avenge Milah.
To be so close to The Dark One and not be able to even lock eyes upon him was torture of the worse sort.
He flinched from his own gaze and continued to douse his hair and face with the frigid water, hoping to expel the look of weakness that his hangover had left him with. New recruits often boarded his ship with the idea that being on a pirate ship made them a true pirate, impervious to danger.
Killian always dispelled that notion quickly and ruthlessly. If he had to toss a man overboard in order for the rest to fall in line, so be it. Less men who were loyal was a far greater asset than a mass of men who would mutiny as soon as they saw an opportunity.
He returned to his cabin and put on his clothing, layering leather upon silk, looking like a true pirate when he was done. His hook was attached to his arm at all times, and he had to dress deliberately in order to keep it from tearing through his shirts. Without it, he didn't feel whole. His ridiculous moniker – Captain Hook – could only inspire fear in men's hearts when the man who captained The Jolly Roger actually donned a hook of a lethal sort.
Killian Jones felt as though he no longer existed at times. He had not been Killian in decades. After Milah's murder he was Hook. Ruthless. Driven.
He had not always been so. But the laughter had left his eyes and his lightness of heart was no longer.
After musing for a few minutes, he could hear Starkey's booming voice above deck, telling what must be the new men that he would be joining them.
With a tired sigh, and a swig of the rum still left next to his bed, he pushed open his door and climbed the stairs to the deck, remaining in the shadows as he sized up the men who looked properly nervous lined up and facing a pirate known throughout the land.
Eyes narrowed, he trailed his eyes upon each man, letting himself enjoy the look of apprehension that gripped each man after a few moments of his inspection. His eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch when his eyes fell on the fifth man. Short and slight, head bowed with a dirty cap on his head, Killian questioned Starkey's judgment in choosing the lad. He still did not speak, nodding slightly at his first mate to approach him.
In a low murmur that was too quiet for he rest of the crew to hear, he muttered, "Didn't think you were the bleeding heart type, Starkey. Why the bloody hell would we need a runt on board? Especially when our undertakings are going to be more difficult than ever?"
"You don't need to worry about the runt, Captain. Didn't fancy a weakling myself. But as we were boardin' the ship he took down the man in front of 'im without a second thought. Had to have had a foot and a half on 'im, at least one hundred pounds as well. If you don't mind my sayin' sir, we need some life on deck again."
With another nod, Killian dismissed the man. Though he still doubted the usefulness of the lad, for now he would give benefit of the doubt to Starkey's assessment of him.
Stepping out from beneath the shadows, he finally spoke to the group in a clear voice saturated with authority.
"For those of you that will last on my ship, I will be your Captain. You will only address me as Captain, or Captain Hook if you prefer." He let a smirk fall on his features, and raised the gleaming appendage into the sun's light, reflecting off of it's deadly point.
"The Jolly Roger is the best ship that sails these waters, and those of other realms. Her maintenance is necessary and time consuming, with no room for any mistakes. You lads are beginning at the bottom."
He saw a man visibly swallow, and nearly smiled at the reputation he had acquired, some of it deserved, and some of it legend. Either way, it proved useful when dealing with new men aboard his ship.
"State your names."
The first man, large and expressionless, said in a low voice, "Bowen, Captain."
The next two men in a similar manner, informed him that their names were Rack and Worst.
The fourth man, clearly terrified to be standing in front of the infamous man, stuttered and whispered, "C – c – c – Cormic, Cap't."
Killian struggled to keep from rolling his eyes. Every time he had ever been forced to bring new men on board, there was always one or two who proved to be nothing more than sailors who thought being a pirate would impress someone back home.
Though he thought at first his ears may have deceived him, he heard a snort from the final man. The little one Starkey had championed.
"And you, boy. Your name."
Standing solidly, his head rose. His cap was oversized, spilling over his eyes, but Killian could make out a small smirk as the lad said, "Emmett."
Knowing his curiosity surrounding the fifth man would be sated in a moment, he looked to the row of men a final time before gesturing to Starkey.
"My first mate will bring you to hull, where the crew's bunks are located. Thirty other men are already situated. Starkey will show you to your bunks, and a quick introduction to the rest of the crew will be provided. I will see you back on deck in a half hour to test your abilities. Prove yourself useful, and your time on The Jolly Roger could be the best of your life. Fail to be of use to me, and you could find your time quickly running out."