entranceway | ship log 003 [video/action for the kitchen]

[That might be true, but mixing with pirates is always a bad idea. Not that he'll ever point out any such thing.]

Processed. [Even the way it's termed is disgusting, and he can't help but make a face.] Well, between you and I, miss, I'd say the future can keep the future to itself.

[But to the last he hesitates, because really. Cooking is, in no way, a skill he has ever really possessed. It doesn't take much knowledge over a fire, after all.] I don't. That was the galley's duties, as I had me own.

Right. Captain.

[She snaps her fingers in affirmation, because it's certainly safe to assume that Barbossa didn't cook given his station. Skewering the bird and roasting it on a spit is a style better employed out of doors, however, hence the change in meal plan - and if you ask the cupboards nicely, they're more than happy to provide you with fresh, raw meat.]

And it's Mrs O'Connell, if you don't mind, but Evelyn will do nicely if you're not opposed to the prénom.

[Familiarity, and all that. The narration knows we've covered this before.]

Missus O'Connell, then. [He muses on that a moment, because in his when and where, names like that were like asking for a kick in the face.] Irish name, that. Not something I'd have thought anyone would give willingly. Outside of Ireland.

[Because getting the grasp on this whole thing about different times is still hard, even with the smoking remains of the microwave.

But so you know, Missus O'Connell, he's staying where he is. Out of the way, as he leans against a table. Definitely not touching anything in here again.]

But yes. And navigator. And first mate. I've never served time in the galley. Too valuable elsewhere.

[...Irish. She never thought of it like that, not really. Not when Rick was such a blatant Yank. If Evelyn's grandmother knew, of course, she'd be rolling in her grave.]

I'm English, Captain, and my husband is American,

[she clarifies, pulling a sautéing pan out from under the stove. The flour comes next, in a bowl, tossed around with a handful of herbs and spices. Evie turns to reach for an apron, tying it behind her back with an expression that says she would respond to a kick in the face with a kick between the legs.]

You don't strike me as a Navy man, I assume you went on the account?

[A subtler way of asking if he's really some manner of nautical brigand.]

[Touchy, isn't she? He mulls over that a moment, in a way somewhat amused. She no doubt didn't realize she acted exactly as he expected, considering.] Simply an observation, Missus O'Connell. Me mum was Irish. No need to hang the jib over it. But a colonial, then, I take it? [Because America as America is only that, at least to him.

But the question makes him laugh despite himself. Pirate slang such as that coming from someone very obviously not a pirate...It's amusing. And he halfway wonders if, given she knows that, could she quote the Code at him like certain others, though he honestly hopes not. It's one thing for a girl on what she thinks is grand adventure to think she has the upper hand...This is something different.]

Originally signed on with the merchant marines, out of Bristol. [Which, if anything, certainly explains that painful West Country accent, that, unbeknownst to him is the future's hallmark of a pirate.] But, aye. Been an Admiral of the Black a long time. So there's no need to mince words over it.

[Colonial? Sure, we'll go with that. Even Rick doesn't know. He was thrown into a Cairo orphanage at a very young age, the poor thing. Evelyn nods along to keep the rapport going and heats up some olive oil in the pan.

Much like the young lady Barbossa is remembering, Evelyn spent a great deal of her youth reading. That ravenous desire for both knowledge and adventure led her to multiple books on the subject of piracy and those men who flouted the law. Her older brother indulged the occasional fantasy and 'walked the plank' whenever she demanded it, but Barbossa can take comfort knowing that Evelyn is a little rusty on her knowledge of "the Code."]

I rather like mincing,

[she replies amusedly, wearing a smile and rolling the chicken in the flour to coat each piece evenly.]

Grew up in Mentmore, just north of Aylesbury. We visited Bristol once, but I don't remember it very well. If we ever traveled, we went out by way of the Thames.

Aye, but a spade's a spade, as they say. Pirate be not a dirty word, and you'll nary hurt me feelings. [The sarcasm is light, but still present. More than anything, however, he's simply amused. The various reactions he's received to his profession...Well, it's been something.]

I know it, vaguely. I'm afraid my time has been spent more in places far from England, as she tends to not smile upon me kind too much, unless we're working for the Crown. [The distaste for that is evident, because really, that's something he won't ever do. Won't be a picaroon, either, as that, in his opinion, is the lowest a pirate can go.] The Caribbean, Singapore, and the like.

[And all with the tattoos to prove it.]

Singapore, really?

[Evelyn's never been, but then, it's still considered a haven for disreputable activities and peoples on the outskirts of a thriving port city for rubber exportation. The furthest afield she's graced with her presence is Greece, and even then the visit was brief and most of her time was spent enjoying the ruins.]

The only other territory I know well is Egypt, but I doubt it's ever been in your captain's log.

I've been to the Mediterranean, aye, but rarely put into port anywhere but Spain. [Because, seriously, most countries along that shore tend to be...Less than friendly to law-breakers.] Those in the heathen countries tend to be less than welcoming to pirates, you understand, or thieves of any kind.

I've lasted this long with all me limbs and me spine still in once piece. I prefer to keep it that way.

Less than welcoming, but prepossessing in that they have a great deal of plunder further inland,

[Evelyn points out, because this is the sort of thing that her brother is interested in: treasure. Not all great hauls of booty came from Spanish galleons, but for a pirate ship, looting ancient temples was probably an inconvenience. There's that whole 'land versus sea' thing.

The trick to getting out unscathed with limbs intact is simply not getting caught in the first place.]

If you don't mind my asking, Captain, what's the year you hail from? Or...rather, who is the current monarch?

[Eras are much easier to distinguish if you date them by royal reigns.]

[She'll have to forgive his pause as he looks up in thought, because really, he hardly has time to keep up with that. He might be both British and Irish by birth, but he's belonged to neither for a very long time, and news of anything other than trade routes and ship schedules has been only peripheral for a very long time.

Also, that whole being dead thing. It's really screwed up his entire sense of time.]

King George...The Something, et cetera et cetera. I'm afraid I haven't been to England nor cared for her monarchy for a very long time. Though last I figure it the year was near or around 1747 or 48. Give or take a year, of course. There be no seasons in the Caribbean to judge by.

[There were a lot of Georges, but the one he's referring to is George II. Evelyn doesn't exactly remember anything further back than the sixteen-hundreds - not well, anyways - so she nods again in comprehension and places him mid-eighteenth century.

Speaking of placing, there goes the chicken into the pan. That smell? The satisfying scent of well-seasoned, sizzling poultry.]

You must find it very frustrating to be without your ship.

[Like any seaman, she could imagine. But a captain lacking a ship? It's like Evelyn lacking access to Egypt, it- there's no easy escape, no familiar ground.]

[Oh, he knows. And while he's been surviving of a sort since arriving, his visceral reaction to food is still the same as the day he awoke in Tia Dalma's shack. He's hoping that's something that will change, as it's almost painful, and he presses a hand to his middle without much thinking about it. He can't, of course, keep doing this. Surely the memories of the curse will fade. Surely.

Or perhaps it's still too soon to think about things returning to what he vaguely remembers from before the curse.

Either way, what is there to say about the Pearl at all? She's sitting in the Locker with that fool, and while he was going to go retrieve her, true enough, there's still the absolute exasperation with Jack that he can't hold onto her for more than a handful of years at a time. He really is a terrible pirate.]

Nay, I wouldn't want me ship in this place, where we'd be cornered so close to land. Too deep in the draft, she be. And as it stands, I didn't have her there, either. A fool sunk her and got himself eaten by the kraken while she was in his care. [Because that's all it is. The Pearl had simply been on loan to Jack, whether Hector knew he'd be returning or not.]

We were...Going to retrieve both. When I was brought here.

[Hey, as long as Barbossa isn't leaping on the hot pan like a rabid dog, everything's jake.

Evelyn is about to ask what the ship is like when he casually mentions that an old pal was eaten by the kraken. The kraken. All right, yes, stranger things have happened. She's seen men raised from the dead and witnessed the coming of God's wrath on the land of Egypt. What's a little leviathan added to the mix?

Evelyn pretends she didn't just drop her cooking utensil in surprise.]

..the kraken and the ship, or the fool and the ship?

[Alternately, the fool and the kraken, but she's certain that particular pair isn't high on Barbossa's list of priorities.]

[He'll actually be kind and pretend he didn't just see her drop said cooking utensil. He's aware what's normal for his own kind is probably a little out of the realm of experience of others.

And here everyone thinks pirates just plunder and steal.]

To be honest, I'd rather have the kraken and the ship. But we're in need of the fool, so it will have to be him and the ship, instead. But as far as I know, the kraken is not, in fact, in the Locker. [He pauses, giving a little sigh.] Though, to be honest, I'll admit to being a tad bit afraid, seeing what condition she's in. He's a fool, and one who can't properly care for a ship.

["Normal" isn't perhaps the right word to use, since she's become accustomed to curses being real, and all that rot, but it's still strange to think of them in everyone else's little universe. Whatever happened to things being as plain as the nose on your face, instead of lurking behind a veil of illusion?

The 'locker,' she's assuming, is another nautical term for the afterlife. Davey Something-or-Other, wasn't it?]

Well, [she reaches for a spatula, turning the stove burner off.] How did this fool get a hold of your ship in the first place?

[She'd be surprised to learn that curses do, in fact, exist where he's from, as well. And he's seen plenty of them altogether, hasn't he? Yes. Yes, he has. And he's heard (And probably seen, though his memory of death is...Fuzzy, to say the least.) plenty about the Locker, too. Enough to know while it may be an afterlife of sorts, it's also a very real place, if one knows how to get to it.

But her question is what catches him, and his mouth twists in something not quite a smile, though full of personal amusement.]

Being dead for a year has a way of inviting all kinds of problems like that, I'm afraid.

[Evelyn's reaction probably isn't as startled as he thought it might be. She's got human reanimation experience coming out her ears, even if was an accident the first time around. She doesn't gasp or simper. She's very unladylike.

She snorts.]

Only a year?

[There may be a little sarcasm colouring her tone. Perhaps if he'd been dead for three-thousand years, he might have come back more ill-tempered.]

I don't suppose you were brought back in a conventional manner?

[There are extenuating circumstances there, of course, but yes. He'll stick with only a year, since it makes things less...Complicated. Besides, there's a whole lot there he doesn't want to even begin to explain.]

There be a conventional manner is resurrecting the dead, then? [Because really, dead is dead. Or, as Tia Dalma put it to him so kindly upon his returning to the world of the living, he'd only been mostly dead, as his body was still around.]

No, I suppose not.

[Evelyn laughs and fetches a plate, transporting a serving of non-microwave-mutilated fowl to the dish.]

In my limited experience with resurrection, though, you look much more well-off than the fellow I've met.

[And twenty times more agreeable, if you can believe it! She offers him the plate.]

[To be fair, as far as resurrections go, he would admit that Tia Dalma had been fairly gentle with the process.

Well. Until she laid on him what she wanted from him in return. But that's not important at the moment, since it's out of his hands for the time being.

He takes the plate with a nod of...Well, it's not thanks, but it'll do, ignoring the sense of trepidation the thought of food continuously brought on. No sense in explaining that, either.]

You could say I'd already...Had a bit of experience feeling like death warmed over.

[She laughs again, serving herself and shaking her head. Evelyn has yet to know what it feels like to be brought back from the dead, but it won't be but a few more hours in her timeline until she experiences it firsthand. Until then...]

That's a dreadful joke, Captain.

[But she'll forgive him. Her brother has a tremendous fondness for apropos puns as well.]

Have you been settling in all right?

[Until then, forgiving him is the best option, because it's truly something a body has to experience to understand.

But it is pretty dreadful. Sometimes he wonders if perhaps Tia Dalma hasn't done a bit of tinkering on his mind, while he was otherwise incapable of noticing. If so, she could have gone the distance and fixed his bloody twisted leg while she was at it.

But ignoring all of that, he pauses, because...Really. He would think the microwave was absolute proof that his 'settling in' was going swimmingly!]

Well, I suppose it could be worse. [No, no it really can't.] Though it doesn't seem this place was...Designed with those like me in mind, if you take me meaning.

[It could definitely be worse. He could have knocked over the entire library.]

If it makes you feel any better, Captain, I'm not from the standard year, either.

[Although given his clothing, she's certain he has to be...what, mid-1700s? The golden age of piracy was somewhere around there, but Evelyn isn't entirely well-versed in the subject. Her historic interests lie elsewhere, more than a millennium away.]

Most everyone appears to be from the twenty-first century. [Fetching a fork and a knife, she begins delicately cutting her meal into careful bites.] I'm from 1935.

[He stands where he is a bit uncertainly, because while her...Assistance isn't unappreciated, he certainly has no plans to eat in front of her, or anyone. He's still far too neurotic - as he is very aware of - to do it just yet. Food is still too touchy, and he actually fidgets a bit, before forcing himself still.]

Still closer to theirs than mine, Missus O'Connell. Such is the way of it, then, and I suppose...It actually might be better that way.

[Because it's bad enough he's here. God forbid he be trapped in this place with the others.]

ship log 003 [video/action for the kitchen]

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[action] 1/2 you done it now, son

[action] 2/2

[action] Gdit.

[action] I am sorry for the essay that follows.

[action] Nope, never be sorry.

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