As man hath caused a blemish...

Capt_Davy_Jones_lover - yeah she's fiery but she can be a bit stupid too :) As for heated...patience is a virtue ;)

Cassiopeia - lol yeah ^_^ I read somewhere about cabin boys helping their captians to dress, I just wanted to see how Davy would react to that ROTFL and I'm sure your Macaroni enjoyed that little update whilst being stirred XD

Chapter Four
Idiocy explained

After that scrubbing the deck was hard, every little movement agitating the cuts on my back. I cried for a week at the end of every day, careful to scrub the tears from my face before standing up to tip the contents of the bucket over the side.
Unfortunately certain evens...changed...shortly. It was about two weeks after being lashed. The Captain and myself had reached a sort of…impasse. We didn’t quite talk like we used too but he grunted his orders at me a little less harshly and I didn’t argue anymore. I think he actually missed that. His music became dangerous more and more often and I was never left to stand around once I’d brought his meals anymore.

Feeling brave that evening I took the last little sliver of Life Boy soap, stowing it away in one of my pockets and hoping it wouldn’t bubble too much and give me away. This was it. I was determined…I needed to wash my hair! It took all my courage to take a bucket down to the galley after my duties were finished and push into what served as the kitchen.

There was almost constantly a kettle or a pan or pot over the stove and I had my little bucket up on the side pouring boiling salt water into it when a hand covered my own, pressing it harder into the hot metal. I yelped and tried to yank it away only to be kept in place until the bucket was filled. I was eventually left to pull my hand away looking up into Pritchett’s smirk through the pain. It wasn’t a bad burn; I’d had the good presence of mind to put a cloth under my hand first but it was bad enough,

“Ask next time” He growled, leaning back against the countertop, sharpening a ridiculously large kitchen knife with practiced accuracy. I turned away and grimaced – so he couldn’t see of course – figuring I’d have to use just one hand to carry the now heavy bucket back up to my cabin. But I did it. The idea of clean hair gave me the strength I needed. I eventually got back – having spilled at least half of it down my legs on the way of course – and stripped down until I was just in my over large, one armed shirt. I fished the last little sliver of life boy soap out of my pocket and – finally – washed my hair. When I’d finished I had enough to have a quick wash. It wasn’t much but it felt like bliss to be almost clean and in clothes that nearly fit.

Talking of clothes. A new duty had been added to the list. It seemed that somehow I had become the ships seamstress. It wasn’t even planned. No one asked me to do it, it just…happened. I kind of took over Wiggs cabin – not that he seemed to mind – and crewmen would dump their shirts, breeches and rags to be patched up by me. Sometimes there was the odd piece of cloth that was obviously well beyond redemption and would be torn up for rags. With the amount of men handing in shirts that all looked the same I had to stitch in different coloured threads so I knew what had to go back to whom to prevent fights…some people can be very possessive over clothes. But anyway, I’m off subject again.

The evening was my own after I’d washed my hair. The Captain had decided earlier on that he wasn’t hungry that day so I wandered onto the deck. It was a beautiful evening, despite the cold nip in the air. We were heading for warmer climes after all. As soon as I came up on deck I spotted a familiar figure. Alone. Jones was watching the sunset, that pipe of his hanging from his mouth. His expression was blank but the air around him – and there was a lot, the crew gave him a wide berth – was…sad..

“It’s usually fifty you know” Wiggs said, appearing at my elbow from no where. After my heart beat slowed down and I was certain I wasn’t pulling one of those stupid faces that surprised people pull I turned to face him,

“What?”

“For assaulting the Captain…it’s usually fifty lashes” He clarified without looking at me, he was watching the Captain too,

“Fifty? But I only got-”

“You should talk with him” The carpenter said, “trust me” He clapped my shoulder before walking off. I looked once more at the Captains proud figure, leaning against the railings with all the ease of someone who knows they own everything they see. I was frightened by that, by the power this one man seemed to hold and use and…abuse? I walked up to him, fiddling nervously with the sleeve of my shirt…his shirt…the shirt I was wearing. I stood just behind him, no doubt in my mind that he knew I was there,

“You killed that man” I stated, “the one on the cargo ship. You slit his throat for no reason” At least my voice didn’t warble with fear. He turned slightly, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. There was a tiny click as he took the pipe out of his mouth,

“You would have rather I left him to die a slow death in the cold? Alone?” He asked…ok, so I hadn’t thought of that…

“There must have been a way-”

“I offered him a way, Miss Spyce, he didn’t want it” To my surprise his tone was almost…patient. Something told me that the music tonight would be the lullaby. I moved closer, leaning my hip against the railing beside him. He looked at me questioningly, blowing fragrant blue smoke to the side,

“Why not fifty strokes?” I asked him, whispering so the rest of the crew wouldn’t hear. I flinched back as he straightened out, wondering if I’d pushed too far. The look he gave me for that was totally unreadable,

“Would you have survived that?” We were both silent, looking out over the ocean. My brain was looking at me in disgust - I - am - a - dumb- ass

“Thank you, sir” I said after wrestling with my conscience. He looked at me and nodded, just the once before a frown touched his face and he made an odd whiffling sort of sound, “what?”

“Is that my shirt you’re wearing, Spyce?” I looked down, spotting the three blue stitches that I’d sewn into the collar to label them as his,

“Um. It was the first one that came to hand, sir” I murmured. He nodded and turned away, but not in time to hide the glimmer of humour in his eyes. Feeling brave I added, “I can take it off if you like” That made him look at me. He raised an eyebrow questioningly as I felt myself blush, a half grin pulling up one side of his mouth,

“Right now, Miss Spyce? I rather think you’d catch cold and then I’d be without a cabin boy” He purred, making me shiver and struggle not to return the grin though he probably saw it, “now” He said, turning to limp towards his cabin, “where’s my supper, woman?”

“I’ll fetch it directly, sir” I said, my tones uneven through the laughter that wanted out. It was something of a relief to be…friends (?) again. Or to be talking at least. It was pathetic really, I was practically skipping by the time I reached the kitchen. The crew noticed the difference and promptly started sniggering about it,

“Cap’n’s got back in your breeches then?” One of them called out as I went through the galley,

“I am wearing no breeches. These are jeans” I pointed out with a grin, “and there is no one in them bar me…if the Captain was in them I think it’d be a bit more noticeable as he’s a good bit taller than me and covered in tentacles…if you hadn’t noticed” I pointed out amidst laughter. I sidled into the kitchen, having to shove a path for myself a lot less than usual, “Captains supper” I said, finding the tray where I usually left it (wedged in between the gap twixt door and cupboard). Pritchett grunted and started to ladle stew into a bowl. He paused handing it to me, “what?” I snapped, almost snatching it from him as I took it back over to the other side of the room,

“You’re a girl” He growled, as if in surprise. I turned to see him looking at the shirt, glancing down I saw that a few of the buttons had slipped open, a disadvantage to wearing overly large shirts,

“Damn it. Well spotted” I said dryly, reaching up to re-do the buttons. He walked towards me as I did so with this…this smile and I didn’t realise I was backing away until I came up against the work surface,

“Ain’t exactly pretty but you’ll do in a fix…an’ fuck me has it been a few years” He reached out to me with a clawed hand, snapping the buttons off the front of my shirt and –