It is perhaps a touch elaborate, just a touch. Maybe that's just what she gets for asking for Alex's input. She supposes she might well be over complicating things a bit, but she's not especially given to real cruelty and intends to keep it to a minimum at the very least. She has a feeling they'll have to believe she can be that kind of cold before they'll give her anything, though. But she can't afford to appear to be unreasonable either. All in all, she is just as elaborate as she feels is necessary – being a woman in the position she's in requires a creativity that wouldn't, perhaps, be otherwise needed.

Jo thinks Emily's over complicating things, but throws up her hands when she realizes Alex is all for it ("…our goddess only knows you two are stubborn enough on your own, put together I suppose reasons got no chance in Hell…").

In the end, Emily explains a bit to some other members of her crew, has some rope made ready, and outfits herself in her most tempting lady-pirate rig. And then the show begins.

…

Captain Timothy Andrews sits in the dingy brig, along with two of his youngest midshipmen, for well on to three days before their presence is again acknowledged. The sun is setting before the pirates finally come for him; he is dragged from his cell unceremoniously and rather roughly. He is given a brief glimpse of the outside world as they drag him across the deck – he can just see an island silhouetted in the distance, the sun already mostly disappeared behind it.

He worries a bit about the boys left still pacing in their cells below decks. They weren't about to be marooned were they? He doesn't get too much time to think on it before he is shoved back below deck, down a short hallway, and into what is obviously the captain's cabin. It's rather more sparsely furnished than he would have expected – a bed in one corner, a small desk sat before a small window, a tall cupboard against the wall not far from the door. But then, Captain Turner hadn't been at it for long enough to warrant much else just yet.

Speaking of Turner, she's leaning on the front of her desk. She is armed, a sword at her waist, a pistol tucked into the belt. Long dark hair falls loose about her shoulders and she's wearing a simple blouse, untucked, the neckline plunging down to give him a tantalizing glimpse of… his eyes dart back up to meet hers resolutely, only to find that she's studying him, looking only a touch smug.

"Cut him loose." She tears her eyes away from him to look at one of the men who'd brought Andrews up from the brig. Andrews chances a glance back at the young man just behind him, who seems to be hesitating. Turner's tone grows a touch annoyed. "If you have any objections, Sparrow, by all means."

The young man – Sparrow, the name is all too familiar, some relation to the notorious pirate perhaps? The Admiral had mentioned him – scowls, muttering. "None at all, Captain." The sound of a blade being unsheathed, and Andrews brings his now free arms forward to rub his wrists, already lightly burned by the tightly tied ropes.

"That'll be all, then, I've much to discuss with Mister…?"

"Andrews." He gives her, somewhat begrudgingly.

"Andrews."

"Aye Cap'n." The young man answers. He and the other man leave, and Andrews finds himself left quite alone with this – woman? She's certainly playing at being one, but he can see she's young.

"Please, Mr. Andrews, come in." She gestures towards a chair set before the desk. "Have a seat." She pushes off the desk to walk around behind it, revealing the small wooden box he'd been keeping the papers – those papers – in. He's relieved to see said papers spread out on the desk as though she'd gone over them already. If she had and is now attempting to have a talk with him – a civilized one – then perhaps the time he'd spent searching her out had not been in vain.

"I take it you are now somewhat more aware of what is happening here." He ventures, gesturing towards the papers as he crosses the room with tentative steps.

"Somewhat. Enough to be vaguely intrigued, I'll admit. I was hoping you might feel obliged to further enlighten me." She sits in the chair behind the desk, leaning back in it casually, but those eyes of hers are watching him intently.

When the Admiral had commissioned him to track down Peg Leg Turner, he had been quite adamant that she not be underestimated. Andrews had had a hard time believing that a woman could be as much a threat as the Admiral seemed to think she could be, but now, face to face with her after she'd just sent his ship to the depths along with a good portion of his crew… he's already beginning to realize that the Admiral had indeed known what he was talking about. She has the tempting body of a woman – leg notwithstanding – but the calculating eyes and manner of a man. In fact, she even talks like one, and he wonders how such a girl came to be able to talk like one so well educated.

This – would be interesting. He pauses as long as he dares, trying to decide how he should go about this. Should he treat her as what she is – an insolent girl playing dress up? Perhaps not, as this insolent girl does, apparently, have an entire ship of able-bodied men at her command, and he's hardly in a position to put her in her place. His best bet, then, is to play along. For the moment.

"Well, it's really quite simple as far as I've been told." He sits himself in the chair across from her, albeit somewhat stiffly, trying for a tentative show of good faith. "You've read the letters."

"I have, but I can't fathom why the Admiral feels all this," she gestures to the letters splayed out on the desk, "is necessary. I am no fool. What he's offering here should hardly be possible for him to grant a woman."

"I can assure you," he chooses his words with care, "I know only what the Admiral saw fit to tell me. You and Miss Gibbs, along with young Mister Sparrow, would all be under the employ of the company, not the crown, as would any man we could all agree is fit to crew this ship."

"And yet you would still be taking my ship itself from me." One small, delicate hand winds its way up to play with the rubies dangling from the gold necklace around her neck. His eyes dart downward, but only very briefly, refusing to be tempted. He notes, mentally, that he shall have to inform the Admiral that his obsession has become something of a temptress on top of all else.

Insolent girl, he thinks again when his mind settles on what she'd said. How dare she assume this ship could ever rightfully be hers in anyone's eyes but her own? "On paper, as it were, yes." He keeps his voice even, makes sure to give nothing away. "Working for the Admiral would, of course, require at least the appearance of propriety. How it is run when out at sea would be entirely up to you and Mr. Sparrow."

She's not entirely buying it, he can see it in those hard though beautiful eyes of hers. "And just what sort of work would we be doing for the Admiral?"

"Nothing of the sort that you aren't already quite familiar with, I'd imagine. The Admiral would only presume to point you in the direction of enemies to the crown and otherwise so as to make your efforts a touch more productive and honorable."

"Honorable?" Now she looks thoroughly amused. "Is that what I'm to believe this is? An attempt to allow us to redeem ourselves?"

She is trying what patience he has. If she has no intention of making the deal then there's no reason for him to keep pretending. "In truth, Miss Turner? It doesn't sit well with me anymore than I'm sure it does you. I cannot fathom what the Admiral hopes to accomplish by making uncivilized scum such as you and your men into allies. I would not trust you for a moment even if you agreed. What you did with my ship a few nights past was impressive, I will admit, but as you did not go after the rest of my men, I can only assume you haven't the stomach for violence or cruelty, so here is my suggestion. You make for the nearest port and allow me and the boys you caught to go free, I will inform the Admiral that you are only a threat if provoked and even then are hardly worth his time, and if you are very lucky that will be the end of it."

Any trace of amusement is gone now. Her glare is so cold he is glad looks alone cannot kill, and he is intrigued at the prospect that perhaps, just maybe, she is about to prove him wrong. She stands and places her hands on the desk just so, leaning forward on it, towering over him. "Mister Andrews." She says, her tone coldly condescending. "Why, in my goddesses sweet name, would you ever think that I would allow you to simply go free?"

That is a touch unexpected. She seems to truly want an answer. He wants to stand as he feels discomfortingly small in his current position, but the looks she is giving him coupled with the fact that she is armed… insolent girl or not, she is, currently, at least somewhat dangerous. He doesn't move a muscle. "Well…" He stumbles over his words a bit. "What else would you do with us? Leaving us to rot in the brig would be a waste of your resources unless you intended to let us starve, in which case you'd be left with three bodies to dispose of… and surely you didn't think you could ever force us to turn pirate."

"You? Perhaps not. I might be inclined to try with the pretty boys below. But you." She stands, crosses her arms. "Sparrow!" She calls in a tone too firm and commanding to come from a member of the gentle sex, and he is just beginning to get the idea that perhaps he really is in trouble.

He turns cautiously in his seat to watch the young man from earlier appear in the now open doorway. "Cap'n."

"Haul this slimy, smart-mouthed cur back up on deck and fetch me some rope. Oh, and bring our other two guests up as well. I want them to watch."

Sparrow nods and strides forward with the another man in tow, each taking Andrews by the arms and dragging him back out of the captain's cabin. The dread doesn't become overwhelming until they reach the deck and he is dragged across it to the side facing the island in the distance. It is only then that realization dawns. Is she really going to make him walk the plank? It would sound comical almost if there wasn't a plank in fact set up for him to walk.

Now, he starts to pray.

"Not so smug, are we now, Mr. Andrews?" Turner says, mocking, as she strolls forward, her men parting to let her through. "Honestly, you were quite correct. There's not much else I could do with you. So, I shall give you a choice." She's handed a coil of rope, which she tosses to him. "You can tie yourself a noose and hang from my mast like the common criminal you think I am, in which case your death will be quicker and fairly painless. Or," she gestures towards the land in the distance, "you can jump and take your chances, in which case you may, perhaps, be rescued." She glances at his midshipmen, standing off to the side, eyes wide and fearful. "The same goes for you, lads. Unless, of course, you'd be open to the idea of joining my crew, but we can discuss that later. Mr. Andrews? What's it to be?"

He stares down at the rope in his hands and knows it's really his best option. He tries to make his hands move, to do as she'd said, but they won't. He deliberates as long as he dares then drops the rope and turns to take a swim instead.

"Oh, yes, I almost forgot." Turner goes on when Sparrow reappears, holding Andrews' pistol. "One shot, a kindness really. At least you won't have to suffer the time it would require for hunger or thirst to take you." She grabs the pistol and makes as if to toss it into the water…

"Wait!" He exclaims on impulse. "Miss Tu – captain. Captain Turner. I have – I have made a grievous miscalculation, it appears. Please forgive my arrogant assumptions. I could in fact be quite useful to you indeed."

She pauses, and for a moment a flicker of genuine surprise crosses her pretty face. "Oh? I'm listening."

"The Admiral – he trusted me. If – if you would show mercy, to me and my boys here, I might be persuaded to tell you what I do know." One of the midshipmen inches forward in response to this as if about to protest, but a sharp glance from Andrews silences him instantly.

"Would you?" Turner mocks. "Does the Admiral know, I wonder, how little the loyalty of his supposed friends actually means?"

"You'd be hard pressed I'm sure, Captain, to find any man who wouldn't be willing to bargain for his very life if it became necessary, no matter how loyal." Andrews defends himself firmly.

"Ah. Perhaps I was wrong. We could make a decent pirate out of this fellow after all, eh gents?" She addresses her crew, who snigger and jeer. Andrews lets out a shaky breath and tells himself he's not really selling his soul, he'll find a way out of this. Ending up here is no fault of his own; can he be blamed for wanting to live knowing what will await him should he die here at sea? Turner goes on. "Allow me to officially welcome you aboard the Sea's Queen, Mr. Andrews. Alex," she again addresses the tall young man, Sparrow, "have our guests brought down to the guest cabin." Sparrow looks about to protest, Andrews notes, but Turner plows on before he can. "Jo, where have you been hiding?" Another figure makes her way over to the captain, a petite but sturdy woman with dark curls pulled back loosely. "What say we get these fine gentlemen something to eat, they must be…"

He barely hears her, really. He can't decide whether he's relieved or not. It's almost as if this had all been quite planned on her part. The thought that she could be so conniving lights a fire in him. He will not be bested by a woman. He will have to bide his time to get out of this. But he will not be bested by a woman.

"Alright, what is it? It would be easier, you know, if you simply told me when something is wrong." Emily and Alex have retired to her – no, to hell with it, she's making it theirs. Their cabin. She's lounging on the bed, watching him as he takes his time reading through the letters. She wonders, off-handedly, who taught him to read. His mother would have had to, she supposes, and that leads her into wondering at the realization that he never talks much about his mother…

He doesn't look at her. "Who said somethin 'ad to be wrong?"

"You won't look at me. Usually you can hardly keep your eyes off of me, and don't think I don't notice." She points out, flirting shamelessly.

Now he rolls those eyes before finally directing them at her, holding up the letter with his name on it as he does. "Is this – are these real?"

"Quite real. Ridiculous, I know."

He pauses, long enough to be worrying. "Ridiculous."

"Alex." She says with a sigh, sitting up. "Tell me you're not considering…" Is he? Looking at him, she really can't tell. His expression is quite unreadable. She thinks, just maybe, that she sees something in his eyes…

"Course not." He says firmly, scowling, once again the rogue he now presents himself as.

"You still haven't answered my question."

"S'not important."

"It is to me."

"Well. Beg pardon, your highness."

"Sparrow, you're heading for a slap now."

"It wasn't part of the plan, that's all." He comes out with finally, setting the letter aside.

"Wasn't part of the… Andrews? You mean the plan that involved us marooning them, quite possibly leaving them to die?" She replies flippantly. "I didn't think you'd object to me sparing them that, but if you'd really like, I could just go shoot all three of them and be done with it."

"Don't say things like that." He snaps back.

"Why not? I would. I have not an ounce of sympathy for them."

"I 'ave none for that captain, I'll admit, but those midshipmen could be younger than us! Who's to say they know anythin beyond the orders their given?"

"Well, what do you propose we do with them then?"

He pauses now, looking exasperated. "I don't know." Emily only snorts, so he goes on. "I just don't understand what's gotten into you. First ye were all for the idea of makin what's-'is-name take a swim, but then instead ye're letting 'im stay on? Why, exactly? So ye can toy with 'im in the vague 'ope that 'e'll tell ye somethin useful?"

"Toy with him? Goddess, Alex."

"Well? Sounds to me like exactly the thing Peg would do. I saw the look on ye're face when Andrews asked ye to spare 'im. Ye're dyin for information about the Admiral, but I can't understand why, why not just leave it alone? Surely 'e'd give up eventually if we..."

"He took me," she cuts Alex off, "I wasn't even eight years old and he took me, had me dragged onto this – this massive ship with soldiers carrying rifles and then he threw me in the brig like I was already some sort of criminal! Can't that be reason enough?"

"It could be, I'll grant ye that, but it's more than that, isn't it?" Alex is studying her now, intently, and suddenly she wishes he'd stop looking at her. "When they caught ye a few months ago, what 'appened? What could they 'ave done to make ye want 'im so bad?"

"I already told you…"

"No." He says forcefully. "Ye didn't. Ye left pieces out, just like ye left pieces of ye're vision out. We can play that game if ye want, Emily, dancin around the truth, but tell me this, 'ow can I trust ye if ye won't let me?"

She makes a decision in that moment, and she tells herself it's not for any other reason than because she wants to spare him somehow. "You can't, I suppose." She says. "Not fully."

"So that's it then?" He stands when she doesn't answer immediately. "I knew I shouldn't have come with you. Should've stayed at Shipwreck, kept things so much simpler." He stalks across the room as if to leave.

"Alex, wait!" She exclaims just as he reaches the door, shooting across the room after him. "I'm – I'm asking you to trust me anyway." She gets very quiet, eyes wide and vulnerable, shoulders slumped. "Because you – you love me, and that's what love is sometimes, right? Just – trusting. Trust when I say there's a reason I won't tell you, but I will. I just need time." She didn't promise. She can't promise, never promises unless she absolutely means it. With any luck he won't think of it. She crosses her fingers…

Oh goddess, he buys it. He softens slowly, reaching out to pull her close, gathering her in his arms. "Fine, fine." He says, placing a kiss atop her head before pulling back to place one on her lips and then look down at her, brushing a strand of her dark waves out of her face. "There's my Emily. Wish she'd come 'round more often."

"I'll try, for you." She offers a small smile, but he's wrong, very wrong. It's not Emily he takes to bed that night. Choosing to be Emily would have meant being brave and telling him, telling him what had really happened when they got a hold of her months earlier, telling him that she wanted revenge pure and simple, telling him that she was quite probably going to die and there was quite possibly not a thing she could do to stop it. Emily would have had the guts to tell the truth and let him in. But she chooses to be Peg – to be a pirate.

She doesn't deserve him.

He takes her to bed that night and she stays awake long after him, wondering just how long she can keep him convinced there's much of Emily left in her, because she herself is thoroughly convinced there isn't much at all.

Tortuga. It doesn't occur to him until the bustling, drunken port comes into view as they sail straight for it. It had to be Tortuga. He may be in a bit of trouble. Depending on Emily's mood, a bit of very deep trouble. She had seemed oddly trigger happy as of late…

"Alex, I have no idea how long this journey will take, why wouldn't you take the chance to get off the ship?" Emily looks truly baffled, and he's already starting to sweat. He can't explain to her. He'd hoped she'd just leave it alone. Perhaps he should've known better.

"I just –," he runs through a list of excuses, "thought per'aps we could stay 'ere, you and I." He finishes, smooth as he can manage, pulling her close by her waist. "Have the ship all to ourselves, to do as we please." He places a kiss on her lips.

"Alex." She giggles a bit. "I have to go with Jo, we'll need supplies."

"And ye can't just tell Jo to acquire them?" He trails kisses along her jaw to her ear so he can murmur into it. "I'd very much like to have ye all to meself."

"Alex." She breaths, but pushes him away firmly. "I saw the Pearl out there too, I want to go see Uncle, if mother paid him a visit…"

Alex scowls. "Ye still worry too much. M'sure dad's fine."

She crosses her arms and eyes him a bit. "You were complaining just this morning about the porridge Jo cooked up, I figured you'd be dying for a proper meal."

She had him there. Oh boy. "I was, wasn't I?" She's not going to let it go. There's nothing for it, he'll have to go with her. Maybe he can manage to steer her clear of… yes, that's it. Easy. "Alright, darling." He concedes. "Ladies first."

…

Alright, so, it should have been easy. Night hasn't quite fallen yet, and things are somewhat less rowdy during the daytime, they wander a bit. They slip in and out of a few shops. He teases her about the dresses in one of the windows they pass, commenting in his most playful, roguish manner that for a girl as beautiful as Emily it should be a dress – or nothing. She threatens him with bodily harm even as she attempts not to laugh. They wander into the bookshop she'd discovered on one of her first visits to Tortuga and he buys her a book – though not without a bit of protest from her, of course, but he insists.

But as night falls and she points out that his dad is likely to be at his favorite tavern – The Faithful Bride – by now, Alex feels a growing sense of dread. Because what he was hoping to avoid is just up the street from the Bride. Maybe he can still… taking a breath, Alex slips a bold arm around Emily's shoulders. She glances up at him, but doesn't protest it, much to his relief. He actually begins to relax a bit as the familiar, rowdy, run down tavern comes into view. If his father hadn't yet managed to run out of all that dumb luck the Sparrows are known for, surely Alex must have plenty left to serve him well tonight?

"Alex Sparrow!"

He winces. Damn.

Emily's already pulling away a bit, turning around out of curiosity. Slowly he turns as well.

The girl can't be much older than he, a petite and exotic little beauty with long dark curls and skin the milky color of chocolate. Big, dark eyes peer out from long, thick lashes as full, pouting lips pull up into a smile that says she is not at all perturbed by the way Alex had been keeping Emily so close. She is dressed no different from all the other ladies of the night scattered about the particular inn they are in front of, but she is a fair bit younger than the rest, and far more beautiful.

Not as beautiful as Emily, of course. But – closer to it than anyone else he's set eyes upon so far.

"Ruby." He stutters a bit, and Emily is turning her eyes back to him now with both eyebrows raised, and before he can do or say much else Ruby is strutting right up to him. Those pouting lips are covering his as a delicate, familiar little hand comes up to rest on his shoulder.

She smirks a bit when she pulls away, then gives him a playful pout. "You didn't think you were going to walk right by without saying hello, now, did you?"

"'Course not, dearie." He replies with a roguish grin, perhaps out of habit, perhaps because his only options are to keep up the façade he's been working with or – not. And keeping it up is becoming easier than – not.

Emily clears her throat. Ruby turns, her smile becoming less seductive and more I-don't-want-trouble. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude. I'm Ruby."

Emily sends a glare in Alex's direction, so cold he's sure Hell itself is freezing over. "So he said."

Ruby doesn't miss a beat. "You must be Emily, Emily Turner? Alex has spoken quite fondly of you."

Emily snorts in a way that suggests she is not at all flattered by this. "Has he now?" He only shrugs, so she turns her eyes on the smaller woman before her. "I go by Peg, actually, I'm sorry, I don't believe Alex has mentioned you at all."

"Ah, but of course he hasn't." Ruby looks back to Alex, hands coming up to rest on her hips, but her manner is more playful than anything else. "Quite the charmer you're becoming, aren't you, Alex? There's near as much talk of you as there is your father, you know."

Alex doesn't miss a beat either. "Near? S'ppose I'm not tryin quite 'ard enough, then, am I? But then, t'isn't so appealin, charmin anyone else with a lass so lovely as you around."

Ruby raises her eyebrows and turns back to Emily. "There he goes. And how much would you be willing to bet he's used that on at least one other 'lovely lass' in every port he's been to?"

"Ah, but none of them are near as lovely as you." He takes Ruby's hand and plants a kiss on her palm.

Ruby breaks into a seductive smile again. "Oh, I'm sure. They're just lucky to have such a strapping young lad paying them such attentions, means there's plenty to go around."

"Mmm, plenty indeed." He finishes off with a wink.

Emily looks back and forth between them both, and he thinks maybe, just maybe, he sees her hand inch towards her pistol, and he braces himself for whatever's coming… but then she gets a particular look on her face, and it's not angry, but he knows he's still in trouble, because that's the look Peg gets when she's ready to play. "Well, now, since you two seem such good friends, I think I'll just be on my way, and you." She sidles up closer to Alex, leaning in so their lips are inches apart. "Can feel free to come find me later. If, that is, there really is enough to," she clears her throat theatrically, "go around."

He smirks and leans in for a kiss, but she pulls away just before their lips meet. Ruby stifles a laugh, and he sends a look in her direction before calling after Emily, who is already strolling away as though not at all bothered by what's just happened. "Where are ye going, Captain?"

She pauses, turns halfway back around. "To find Uncle. And Jo. And a drink." She pauses, apparently thinking that through, then adds, "Decidedly not in that order. Goodbye, Sparrow."

And with that she is gone, and he is abruptly left wondering what exactly has just happened, anyway?