A/N: Thank you again for your reviews. A bit more light-hearted a chapter this time, and I've made efforts to improve some stuff. I'm not used to writing in first person though so apologies for its poor quality.

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Bootstrap got lashes that night for my inability to keep my mouth shut. I flinched at the sound of the whip from below deck where my numbed fingers were busy tying a piece of sackcloth around my legs. The spread of the material was such that I knew I would waddle no better than a goose, but it would have to do.

I waited a long time for him to come down, but he did not. I confined myself back to my comfortless room and forced myself to sleep again.

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The sound that roused me made me think I was dreaming. Beyond the thick plug of my room's door, someone was singing. It was a gruff voice, but not like Mr Turner's. Whatever the song was, it had a sad tune but its singer seemed to be making it almost merry.

I pressed my ear against the hatch.

"…listen to the ocean waves for Davy Jones's lullaby,

though his heart beats in foreign lands

still never does he die…"

Thinking it to be one of the crew, I remained quiet for a bit longer. The song repeated in a jolly hum before starting again with slightly altered lyrics.

"Salute, ye sea-dogs far and wide, for ol' Fishface's lullaby…dum de dum de…somethi-ing else…and then spit in his eye…"

Utterly baffled, I dared to open the door for a glimpse of this mutinous daredevil. Oddly, when I'd swung open the hatch aside, the singing stopped. I couldn't see anyone in the hold, though the ship's lamps gave off little light anyway.

Frowning, I stepped out of my room and closed the door.

There was a man standing behind it.

I managed to prevent myself from screaming. He, however, didn't.

Fearing that the crew or the captain might rush down at any moment after this racket, I stammered, "Pirate!"

"Where?" The bizarre man held his hat in place as he looked behind him.

He looked back at me and calmed down. "Oh, I see. You mean me."

Now, I described this man as 'bizarre'. It might have been more appropriate to say he looked like something you would find at a bazaar. His clothing, beneath a calico coat, was as mismatched and rogue-sailorish as they came, but his hair…it was like an arts and crafts stall. Thick black dreadlocks with strange trinkets threaded here and there, poking haphazardly out of a fading red bandanna. His beard consisted of two little beaded braids hanging off his chin, and a tiny tuft below his bottom lip. Not forgetting the moustache, which was the tidiest thing on all his person.

"What do you want?" I asked warily.

The pirate's eyes – ringed thickly with charcoal – were darting all over the place, narrowing and widening as he listened to his surroundings and studied the hold. A minute later, he finally got around to the fact I had spoken to him. His gaze settled on me, a little too much of me I might add.

He smirked.

"What is there on offer, love?"

I stepped back. He grinned at me, revealing a set of teeth that had a selection of silver caps. The teeth that remained though were in surprisingly good condition for a man of his profession.

"No worries, missy," he said. "I'm not 'ere to hurt ya."

He reached out and patted my shoulder. At least, that's what he intended to do, but somehow his fingers slipped right through me.

The pirate gawped at his hand as if it had turned purple.

"You're a ghost!" I gasped.

"Am not," the 'spirit' said indignantly.

"Pick up that crate," I suggested, pointing out one of the lighter boxes.

He grumbled and offered me a bottle that he was carrying.

"Hold this then."

I tried to grasp it but the bottle fell through my waiting hands and shattered on the floor. The man went through a series of different expressions and colours in his aghast face.

"Agh!" he cried. "Rum! It – you – rum – dropped!"

I hissed at him to be quiet, terrified of any moment hearing the 'thunk' of Jones's approach. The seething, wounded man went to pick up the crate. Not only did his fingers pass through the surface, he overbalanced and fell into it. The result was like a peculiar tortoise…a box with a man's head, arms and legs sticking out.

He picked himself up and wobbled unsteadily.

"Right." He straightened his hat. "New plan." He found himself an open space in the hold. "I have come to the conclusion that none of this exists so I'm going to sit down -." He sat down and crossed his legs. "And ignore you until you go away."

His eyes closed in his meditative state.

It was my turn to smirk. If I was going insane and imagining this scene, it was certainly an interesting way to go about it.

"I'm not going anywhere," I chuckled. "You're the one out of place."

Without opening his eyes, the pirate turned his head to one side and said, "Did you say something, Mr Gibbs?"

I marched – well, bounced due to the sackcloth, over and crouched next to him.

"Who are you?" I wondered. "Why are you here?"

He stuck his fingers in his ears and made an irritating noise with his tongue.

"Fine," I sighed. "Let's say I'm not here. Where are you and what were you doing last?"

He stopped making the childish noise. His brow furrowed.

"I don't -."

His eyes snapped open and he disappeared.

"I've gone mad," I spoke to the empty room.

I glanced over to where the rum bottle had struck the boards. Not a drop and not a shard remained.

I heard the stairs creak. Getting to my feet I tensed, worried that whoever was coming down would be an unfriendly face. They stopped out of the shadows.

"You're awake, Millie?" said Bootstrap.

My throat felt parched.

"I was woken up, I…" I trailed off.

He 'hmm'ed passively.

"I'm so sorry sir," I mumbled as he sat upon one of the crates – the same one the pirate had fallen through in fact. "Those lashes, they were for me. I should have taken them."

"That's not the way it works," he answered, if a little coldly.

I bit my lip.

"I'll not mention you again should I try to ask for anything else."

"For that I'm grateful. I said I'd look after ye, but – though it pains me to say this – if ye get in troubles beyond the necessities for livin', you'll be on your own."

I gave a solemn nod, feeling as though my insides were being scooped out with a ladle. I had caused another's suffering and that hurt me more than the thought of the Boatswain's whip. How much this ship would change me I could not have known.

"So," said Turner. "What was it that disturbed your sleep?"

I blinked away a few tears and shrugged.

"I thought I heard something. Then I thought I saw something, but it wasn't there."

"This place can do that to a person. Don't worry too much or it'll only get worse. Might be gettin' a fever. We'll cook you up somethin' small, I'll watch out for the Bo'sun, and best thing you can do is get some more sleep."

I was fully fed up of sleeping but thought it better to agree with the man that had gone through more than enough for me. I wondered why, not simply the small reason that Jones had mentioned of his son, and made a mental note to question him on his kindness someday.

I curled up near the stove as he tossed some rather unappetising mollusc about the pot. Dozily, I tried to imagine it smothered in fresh butter and herbs when it was time for me to eat.

I fazed out once again.