Before Neverland

She didn't want to talk to me today, understandibly. I've written down the little information that she showed me as neutrally as I could, but she was very unhappy talking about the Captain. Well, not just the Captain - she was very unhappy talking about the woman as well. Better luck tomorrow.



The scene was not as quiet and calm as the previous day. Angry clouds lined the horizon and choppy waves slapped up against the sides of the Roger. The crewmen shouted across the decks at one another, yanked at ropes and tied knots, and loudly harassed the prisoners.

"The croc is lookin' pretty hungry," they would jeer at the children.

"Hallo, hunny," they'd say to the women, winking suggestively. They'd laugh bitterly at the disgusted and frightened looks of the prisoners.

"Get back to work," the first mate growled. The sailors shrank away from the chained captives and returned to their stations.

"Sorry, Smithy," they muttered. The first mate sniffed and rounded on the two red-haired captives in the middle of the line.

"You two," he snapped, getting the girls' attention. They looked up at him in terror. "Names."

The oldest took a moment to compose herself. "I'm Emily and this is Kar-"

"Last names," Smithy interrupted. Emily sighed and answered flatly.

"Williams."

"Moore." The first mate smiled. After his little talk with the young prisoners, he'd ventured down into the Captain's cabin to speak with their older sister.

"Well, the Captain won't be pleased to hear that," he said with a laugh. The woman sitting front of him rolled her eyes.

"I know our names don't match up," she said. Smithy raised an eyebrow. "I took my husband's name when we were married," she explained. Smithy stared at her for a moment. His eyes suddenly left her face and he straightened up.

"Captain," he greeted, tipping his hat. The click of boots approached the back of the woman's chair, followed by two harsh words.

"Get out." Smithy's goofy grin reversed with confusion.

"But, sir, don't you want me to-"

"I said get out. The prisoner and I need to have a word." Smithy opened and closed his mouth a few times - looking remarkably like a goldfish with his dull black eyes and scaly complexion- then saluted and hastily departed.

For a moment, there was silence. The woman sighed and rubbed her face gently. Her wrists and ankles were especially sore from the salty air that irritated her wounds, and she hadn't slept for a day or two. She barely noticed the footsteps that circled around her chair, and the faint scraping of a chair moving across the wood planks of the floor. She nearly missed the click of a lock on the far side of the room and the soft clatter of dishes on a table. Nearly.

The woman raised an eyebrow as she moved her hands and examined the situation before her. The cabin door was closed -and locked, she presumed - so the oil lamps in the corners cast long shadows across the cabin. The room smelled like dust mixed with the scent of something slightly burnt. Shifting sideways in her chair, she met they narrowed blue eyes of the Captain.

The woman's name was Moore, he knew that much. She stared at him with narrowed, hazel eyes. He adjusted a knife that sat beside one of the scratched plates on the table and examined her. Her brown hair was tied back loosely, though many stray locks hung down around her face. Her cheeks were red from the salty wind off the ocean, matching the raw skin of her wrists. The rest of her skin was a light, uneven tan - mostly on the tops of her arms and shoulders - and was visible in bits through the tears and holes in her damp blue dress. She sat straight up in her chair, her eyes examining the table set out before him.

"I'm expecting company," he said suddenly. She glanced up at him.

"Oh?" she asked. "And somehow I thought you had this set out for me." He rolled his eyes, and slung an arm over the back of his chair. She watched him settle into the creaky wooden seat and leaned back in her own.

"So," she began slowly after a time, "why am I here?" The Captain mulled over the question a bit in his mind.

"Well, you see, I'm curious. I've had plenty of families on this ship - more than I can count - and all of them have cried and tried to save each other, blah, blah, blah. They all end up dying of course, but they still seem to think one of them will live. Your family is no different. The little girls cried at the death of their mother and father, and the eldest - that's you, or so you tell us - tries hard to be brave and not cry for her sisters. When the youngest is chosen to be killed the older girls offer their lives in exchange, and they all die. We haven't gotten to that last bit yet, my dear, but it will come. No difference at all. When I decided to kill you first, which I usually do, you played the part well: you didn't scream, cry, or try to escape. You just let yourself die. Fine, predictable even. What stumped me was this." He paused and stood, walking over to stand in front of the woman.

"What stumped you?" she asked mockingly. "Was it the fact that I don't look anything like my family? Was it the fact that I didn't wince at the death of my mother and father, and only showed emotion at the prospective death of my sister? Is it now that our last names don't match? I can give you explainations for all of them, Captain. Those girls are my kin, and even if we will all die, I don't want to watch it happen."

"Exactally," he answered with a smile. The woman looked surprised. "That's exactally it. It's the fact that, even in the face of death, you had no fear. When you looked at me as you were lowering down to the crocodile, you had the look of a person with nothing else to loose. You didn't look like a woman with a family, friends, a job, a husband. You looked blank, emotionless, not even the slightest bit afraid. That was what made me curious, my dear, because even in the eyes of the bravest of sisters, there is always fear." The woman nodded slightly and smiled.

"And here I was, thinking pirates weren't smart."