#v.vanecek|41

[devils-pirate-crew]

"So you were giving Arber a tour?" Vitek guesses, bright blue eyes looking at Dougie and Jesper.

"We'd brought him here to get a meal, actually," Jesper clarifies. "I thought Nico was going to give the official tour, considering Nico made the arrangements."

"Captain's too busy with Quartermaster," Vitek chirps up, nonchalant. "No wonder they share that bedroom."

Arber blinks twice, trying to process that statement. "They share a bedroom?"

Jesper sends an icy glare towards Vitek, no doubt for blabbing again. "Jersey Devil used to be a merchant ship. She came with a fancy bedroom in the stern for the captain of that merchant ship. When she turned to piracy, they kept the captain's quarters, partly for legitimacy of disguise and partly for simple comfort," he explains, "And traditionally, for us anyway, the captain and quartermaster share the bedroom."

"That's where we stopped just before heading out to the tavern," Dougie fills in. Arber nods.

"But the agreement is that they sleep in the forecastle if the captain's quarters are needed for anyone sick," Jesper adds. "So they don't get too much of a big head about having a real bed. It's a resource for all of us for when we need it."

"You even have that in your articles?" Arber wonders, amused.

The master gunner nods, decidedly not amused. "Gotta make sure."

"Right, of course," Arber tugs at his hat.

"A pirate ship as storied as Santé probably doesn't have anything like that, though," Dougie points out.

The representative from Santé shakes his head in agreement. "She was built for piracy." He shrugs. "Which I guess is also strange, in its own way. We've got better things to do with an empty room than make a bed for a captain. The captain serves us; we don't serve the captain."

"Of course," the pilot nods.

"Having specific quarters for the captain doesn't lead to issues, though?" Arber wonders aloud.

"Well," Dougie chuckles guiltily, "It does harbor some discontent from, uh, those of us who also do crucial work and who might not fit well in a standard hammock..."

"Dougie keeps begging Nico to outfit another special quarter for him," Jesper translates.

The pilot turns red at that. "I didn't specify!"

Bratt fixes him with a blank stare. "You were saying it in everything but words, Dougie."

"You really were," Vitek agrees, giving Dougie a warm smile.

"I - fine," he whines, "But I'm the one who makes sure we don't crash and die!"

"I'm the one who keeps the ship fed, and I'm not asking for more than I deserve," the cook hums.

"You fit in your hammock!" Dougie pouts. "I don't."

"Sure," Bratt rolls his eyes, returning to poking at his food as the table goes quiet.

Now feels like a good time to get more information. What do you think, spirits? Arber asks silently.

[devils-pirate-crew]

"Thanks for reminding me about the jam," Vitek claps Jesper on the shoulder as they return to the table. "It was close to burning, but you saved it!"

Jesper flashes a smile that's only somewhat pained in reply. "Anytime. Wouldn't want to ruin my breakfast for the next few months, would I?"

"Exactly," Vitek trumpets, dropping into his seat - his eyes flick back up to the cauldron, clearly watching it. "So! Arber, my newest best friend!"

Arber stiffens at that - Dougie notices and laughs. "He does that to everyone Czech we meet, don't worry," the pilot hums.

"Not true," Vitek crosses his arms.

Jesper rolls his eyes. "You were schmoozing it up with Radek Faksa last time we docked at Bristol."

"We had to drag you away before you asked a pirate hunter to join a pirate ship and blow our cover entirely," Dougie appends.

"That was a one-time mistake!" Vitek yelps, pursing his lips in disdain. "Okay? I didn't know he sailed on Victoria!"

"A one-time mistake. Because Nico kept you on a leash when we docked for at least the next year," Bratt retorts.

"He's been very interested in the supplying of food," Vitek defends. "And I don't blame him, given how your gunners sneak out extra hardtack biscuits every time I turn my back!" He pauses for a second. "At least they appreciate my hardtack."

"They really don't," the master gunner sighs. "They're just hungry as hell because your rations are too small. They do hard physical labor all day and you barely give them one bowl of soup for that!"

Vitek sucks in a deep breath. "It's not my fault there was a storm that blew us two weeks off course! I had to make do with what I had! Everyone's got to make sacrifices, Bratter."

Dougie clears his throat, interrupting Vitek and Jesper's argument. "Not in front of our guest," he states, quietly, but loudly all the same. "I'm sorry about the storm. I should have navigated us away from it so we would have gotten here faster. It's on me. Okay?"

The other two Jersey Devil crewmates lock eyes, then nod after a second. "Sorry," Vitek offers, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. Jesper looks down to his plate, pushing a pea around, sharing the sentiment.

"So, uh," Arber cuts in to try to divert their attention. He considers the hundreds of questions floating through his mind right now, plus the soft chattering of the spirits at the edges of his consciousness, before he speaks. "Does this happen often?"

Vitek shrugs. "Only when people don't agree with me."

Arber actually laughs at that one. Yeah. That makes a lot of sense, actually.

"When they do, we're best friends," the cook continues, that puppy-like demeanor already coming back. "Like we are, Arber!"

"Yeah," the gunner agrees warily. "Best friends."

It's gonna be a long trip.

[devils-pirate-crew]

"I know it's not that great," Vitek sighs, "But come on. I can't make fresh bread all the time. It won't hold. Besides, baking for almost a hundred of you means I wouldn't sleep at night. I didn't know you hated me that much."

Dougie pats Vitek's hand. "Relax. It's just a joke."

This does little to dim the despondent look in Vitek's eyes. Arber jumps in, now, as he reaches for a piece of bread with which to clean up some of the sauce on his plate. "I'm sure it's still fine, even if it is hardtack," he points out. "Even Juraj can't make hardtack appetizing, though."

"Juraj?" Vitek tilts his head, inquisitive.

Arber feels his cheeks heat up. "The cook on Santé," he mumbles into his bread, taking another bite.

"Juraj," Vitek balances the name on his tongue. "Where's he from?"

"Kingdom of Hungary," Arber responds, drumming his fingers on the table.

"Doesn't sound like a Magyar name," Dougie comments, chewing on a piece of carrot.

"That's 'cause it isn't," the gunner retorts. "He's Slovak. From near Kosice - or Kaschau, I think you'd know it as."

"One of us, then," Vitek smiles, delighted at this news.

"Yeah," Arber chuckles. "One of us." He bites the inside of his cheek, reminding himself to keep steady. "You said there were more Czech sailors?"

Dougie nods, counting on his fingers. "Vitek, Pally's from Silesia, I think Nosek's Bohemian too..."

"And the Slovaks!" Vitek pipes up. "They're almost Czech."

"Almost," Arber intones, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

"That's Tuna and Nemo," Bratt points out. "But Nemo's still new enough to sailing that he gets seasick sometimes," he adds with a clear snicker.

"He's a good kid," the cook defends, crossing his arms. "More than I can say about your Swedes."

"What did Holtzy ever do to you?" Jesper's tone is incredulous, as if he's putting on a show of being accused of something not entirely false.

"Alex is fine," Vitek shakes his head. "But I caught Zett and Boqy stealing double rations the other day."

"They're growing boys!" the master gunner defends his gunner crew. "You can't expect them to be satisfied with those tiny portions."

"You're lucky I didn't tell Pally about it." He sighs. "He would have had a field day."

"And you better not tell him!" Jesper points his fork at Vitek in what's supposed to be a threatening gesture, but ends up being more funny than anything as the leafy green on his fork wilts, then falls off onto the plate. "I'll - discipline them myself."

"Sure you will," Vitek smirks back. "And Jack will stop dancing around it and admit to Dougie that - "

"Heeey!" Jesper jumps up, looking at the cauldron on the fire. "I think you need to go check on your jam, Vitek!" He drags the cook along with him, whispering something through gritted teeth about "One of the rules was that they've got to figure it out on their own, you're interfering!"

"What's Jack got to admit to me?" Dougie wonders out loud, chewing on a piece of chicken. Arber bites his tongue to hold back his laughter.

[devils-pirate-crew]

Jesper turns a sharp corner and opens a door. Immediately, the smell of fresh bread, roast chicken, and chopped vegetables assaults the group. A few crewmates sit at tables, assaulting plates of food and loudly praising the chef between bites. "Hey, Vitek!" the master gunner calls.

In the back of the canteen, a man spins around, holding a ladle dripping red - he quickly puts it back in the large cauldron behind his back, stirring it. A few moments later, a strong scent of berries wafts over. "Jesper!" he calls back in a clipped accent. "And Dougie! Here for your rations?"

Bratt nods, leading Dougie and Arber to a table bordering Vitek's kitchen. "We've got a guest too. Or, well - it's a little more complicated than that, but I'll let him explain it."

Arber takes off his hat, nodding at Vitek as he sits. "Arber Xhekaj, from Santé. Our captains have agreed to travel together until New York City to make it easier to capture ships we see along the way. As part of that agreement, I'm to be traveling with you."

Vitek leaves the ladle in the cauldron, moving over to prepare three main courses. He looks up, eyes sparkling at Arber's words after he takes a second to process them. Damn, those eyes are blue. "You're from the Czech lands?" he asks, tone infectiously delighted at this news.

Arber feels himself break into a grin as well. "Yeah," he nods. "Near Hradec Kralove."

Vitek positively beams at this development. He makes a show of adding a few extra pieces of chicken to Arber's plate, garnering laughs from everyone at the table, then tosses some extra food onto a fourth, presumably for himself, and carries all the plates expertly to the table. Vitek sets the plates down, then dashes back to the kitchen for cutlery. "I'm from Havlickuv Brod! We're practically neighbors!" If the cook had a tail, Arber thinks, he'd be wagging it right now like an overexcited puppy.

Dougie chuckles. "V, he's not the only pirate from that area. Even on our ship."

"The more, the better," Vitek defends, tossing the cutlery in the middle of the table and taking a fork for himself. "You wouldn't get it. Half the ship is from England or the Americas."

The pilot hums to that statement, giving up the point as he reaches for his own fork, spearing a piece of chicken. "What's cooking?" he asks instead, moving away from that topic entirely.

"I'm making jam!" Vitek announces with a glance back to the cauldron. "If we're at shore for a while longer, I figured I might as well. It's a little expensive and takes a lot of time, but everyone loves it, so it's worth the sacrifice."

"It sure makes hardtack a little less awful," Jesper snarks, then ducks, a second too late to avoid the smack to the back of his head that Vitek delivers.

"My hardtack is not that awful," the cook pouts.

"Whatever you say, V," Dougie chimes in, laughing, as Bratt rubs the back of his head.

[devils-pirate-crew]

Dawson's shift at the wheel goes by with little issue. He hands the wheel off to Nico shortly after 17:00, then resolves to immediately go find something to eat.

The Voices begin to speak to him as he heads below deck, a cacophony of quiet, whispered, unintelligible questions, weights pressing down on his head, his neck, his shoulders, growing stiff and uncomfortable. "What do you want?" he asks again to them. No response. Please just ask your questions. Please.

The pilot's mate enters the small dining hall, head down, and walks to where a small group is sitting - the same sailors from earlier.

"Dawson!" Erik Haula pats the seat next to him, scooting over to make room. Dawson flops down into the seat, looking up to catch Vitek's eye.

The cook, tending to a large pot, nods, scooping up two bowls of soup and heading over, taking the other seat available. He slides one bowl to Dawson, along with a few pucks of hard bread; Dawson nods in appreciation, dunking the bread in the broth and chewing on it. Sea turtle. Figures, given the point of the journey they're at. "Good?" Vitek asks, with the charismatic smile that you're not going to say no to, even if there are literal maggots in the food.

"Great, VV," Dawson offers back, appreciative, as he turns back to his plate. Vitek, too, stirs his soup, waiting for it to cool down as he listens to the group talk.

" - So there we were, facing off against the Crown Jewel! One of the Royal Navy's best! And our ship was so much smaller, less crew, fewer cannons, everything. But Captain Landeskog had an idea." Ryan Graves's eyes twinkle as he tells the story he's told many times before. "He told us that we'd have to trust him completely for this to work - that he'd turn Frostbite around and go straight to pass Crown Jewel on her starboard side. And none of us bought into it - we all thought we were signing our death warrants - but we believed in him. The captain took the wheel as the storm only got worse, and we turned hard around. Crown Jewel was so surprised, her sailors didn't have time to load the cannons, and we sailed right past them! By the time she turned, we were half a league away. We pulled out a victory without firing a single shot!"

Luke Hughes drums his fingers on his wooden glass. "What happened to Frostbite?" he asks, voice deadpan.

Gravy splutters. "That - I'm sure they're doing well," he defends, crossing his arms.

Yegor Sharangovich grins over his soup-drenched puck of hardtack. "Sure they are."

Gravy only rolls his eyes as Haulzy speaks up. "I've met those guys on a number of occasions," the elder pirate muses. "If they went down, we would have heard by now."

Dawson nods, lifting his bowl to his lips to take a long sip. "Remember when Phoenix was sunk by Hunter?"

"Hah," Haula grins. "Back when you were still in the Navy, eh, Mercy?"

To that, the pilot's mate only shrugs. "Only proves my point," he agrees. "Word travels fast." He consciously ignores how his shoulders ache, how the Voices get louder and louder in the peripherals of his hearing. If they ask their questions, speak what they want to, it'll ease up. If they won't, well, he'll just have to live with it until they do.

[devils-pirate-crew]

The table descends into a silence for a few minutes. Nobody seems to want to discuss the Navy for, well, obvious reasons. Haula picks the conversation up again. "Have I told you guys the story of Holy Roller's inaugural voyage?"

"You used to sail on Holy Roller?" Luke perks up at that, raising an eyebrow. "You were part of the original crew?"

"Yep," Haula grins, leaning back and stretching his arms. "Tuna too. He never told you?"

"Not really," Shango muses. Dawson considers it and shakes his head as well. The gunner was experienced, and it was clear he'd been on ships before Jersey Devil, but he never really talked about his past adventures, always preferring to stay in the present with a smile on his face. And yeah. Dawson gets that. A little too well, in fact.

He wonders how Riley and Jessica are doing back home. If he penned a letter and sent it, would it make it across the ocean? Would they know how to read it? Were they even still in London? With his thoughts, the Voices whisper louder, unintelligibly in his ears, of regrets and things left unsaid, the pressure on his shoulders increasingly painful.

"Mercy." Gravy's voice shakes him - he blinks twice, looking at the older pirate with a shaky smile. "You alright? Dougie hasn't killed you with his sextant?"

"Yeah, I'm good," he nods. "Can I head out now?" Without waiting for a response, Dawson power-walks out of the dining hall. He closes the door, not listening to the further conversation.

Vitek catches Gravy's eye as the young pilot's mate makes his escape. "Is he alright?" the cook whispers.

"He looked a little... lost," Ryan chooses his words carefully, shrugging; at some of the concerned glances from his fellow pirates, he quickly recovers. "He's probably just thinking of what he's got to do later."

Luke nods, agreeing. "Mercy's always like that. Out there," he gestures dismissively with a hand. "Like Dougie. Guess that's what makes a good pilot."

Vitek stands, collecting the plates from the sailor crew. "The pilots need you to be rested for the night shift," he reminds them. "Not chatting up a storm. Go, now. I'll leave something for you to pick up when you wake."

Meanwhile, Dawson moves through the ship, making a beeline for a small storage room. Hopefully, he doesn't bump into Akira - or anyone else, really - on the way there. He has no idea what he'd say if confronted with Johnny right now. Luckily, he makes it without much fanfare, sliding inside and slamming the door shut.

What he's not expecting, however, is a chicken to squawk angrily at him from one of the shelves. "What the fuck?" Dawson mumbles, seizing the hen by her middle to get her to calm down. She kicks at him until he catches her feet and holds them in place. "I thought we were out. Vitek said he used the last of you a week ago. The fuck are you doing here?"

The hen chirps at him, quite severely miffed at her new position, unable to do much of anything but tilt her head angrily at him. Dawson slides down to sit on the floor, shifting the chicken in his arms until she's resting securely on his lap. With one hand, he keeps her in place; his other hand runs through her feathers lightly.

"What do you want to know?" he quietly asks the Voices, which swirl around him, still whispering to each other in tongues he can't decipher. "I'll tell you anything. You know that already... Just ask what you want, say anything, give me a sign..."