Bones hoped the day would go without a fight. He did not approve of unnecessary conflict, even if he allowed the men to have themselves the occasional brawl for purposes of nought but entertainment, well aware mutiny was the permanent solution any crew would find as a means to end their discontent, thus sealing the Captain’s fate. Being a smarter man, and as he did not want to lose his multiple manpower, Bones decided that when the time came for the first to be thrown by or against one of his men, he’d be ready for the ensuing chaos.
A merry bunch they were, occupying five or six tables and making noise above the foamy pints. Only Santiago and Paraty did not drink. The former, a man of the cloth, harboured no ill feelings towards the alcohol-loving crewmates but refused to inebriate himself the same way. The latter, he was a young boy still and even if the older men insisted on him having a drink - “It won’t hurt the lad!” - the priest would put a stopper to any funny underage business by giving the child a petrifying look or weighing a holy hand on his shoulder.
The captain himself sat on a stool by the bar, back turned on the crew as though embarrassed by their antics. This was only partly true but could a man be blamed for wanting a break? If trouble started, then he would turn around to face the mess and watch the fight a bit like a negligent guardian would watch his playful children or end everything on the spot, should the activity prove harmful to innocent bystanders.
With his eyesight free of distractions and a mind hardly yet touched by alcohol - and so it would remain, a single drink always sufficing - it took him no efforts to sense a longing gaze upon his person, just the kind he was not used to anymore. Sure, the captain had his oddities and sometimes a strange look would meet his own, prolong a minute to fully absorb the man’s looks and mannerisms, but eventually, the stranger would shrug it off and decide not to waste time deciphering a boring puzzle which brought no reward. It was not like Black Bones was a non-human creature or a supernatural one. He was just a man.
Yet, this attention was not unfamiliar to him either, just lost in a past he insisted was distant even if it was very much still in the present. In other words, back when Bones was still Morgan, the nameless pirate’s attention would have been, in her head, very much, if not completely, justified and easy to understand.
It made her uneasy but the man did not shift in his seat. After all, he’d learned how to keep himself collected and conceal his thoughts before those he found unworthy of knowing them, whether out of dislike or caution. Bones would not be alive to tell the story if he had not. In some aspects, lowly piracy did not differ much from high politics.
Whether by female intuition or a very capable (genderless) brain, Bones guessed the man who eyed him so intently must be the other captain. Should it happen that they shared the same attitude towards binging and brawling, then both would be allowing the crew a moment of indulgence while staying apart of the inebriation.
Decided to break the awkward silence, Bones ventured a chat.
“I thought a captain ought to keep an eye on his crew rather than in another captain but that is actually a wiser thought.” It was no threat, though, and Bones lifted his pint in the manner of a peaceful nod. “Those are yours, aren’t they?” He indicated the second drunken bunch with his tankard still.
